Page 98 of Flint’s Strike

Nate clears his throat. “Check your email. I’ll give you two a minute. Or nine.” He takes his coffee with him, and shuts the conference room door.

Parker scoots her chair back, tipping her face up to look at me as I step between her legs. “Do we really have nine minutes?”

“Three, at best.” She links our fingers, tugging me down until I seal my lips to hers. The kiss is soft. Gentle. On a sigh, she sits back in her chair, but doesn’t let go of my hand. “I’m glad you came.”

“I wanted to see you. After yesterday…” I rest my ass against the table, searching for the right words. “I’ll debate the choices they make on This Old House with you any time, but I really wanted to hold you.”

“I needed to get through last night on my own. The emotional part of it, anyway.” She gives my hand a squeeze. “I told Nate a little bit about my mom at lunch.”

“He didn’t know?” I can’t decide if I’m shocked. Parker’s such a private person, but she’s told me more than once that Nate’s like a brother to her.

Her shoulders hike up toward her ears. “It’s not something I talk about. Grace, Emi, and Isabel know. Most of it, anyway.”

Fuck. She thinks I’m judging her.

“Parker, you don’t owe me an explanation. About anything. We’re⁠—”

The door flies open so quickly, it bangs against the wall hard enough to leave a dent. Chief Stone strides into the room with Nate on his heels. “AFD just called. Fire on Rutherford Lane. Commercial building, standalone, unoccupied. It went up in minutes. The incident commander said he’s never seen anything like it.”

I grab my coffee out of the drink carrier, sling my bag back over my shoulder, and meet Parker’s gaze. “I want to get there before they knock the fire down.”

“Eliot!” she calls when I’m steps from the bullpen. “We won’t be too far behind. But be careful. Don’t make me patch you up again.”

There’s a hint of real fear in her voice. She’s standing now, her hands balled into fists at her sides.

Fuck it.

I turn around, hustle back to her, and in full view of Chief Stone and Nate, wrap an arm around her waist and kiss her, hard.

“I’ll be careful,” I whisper against her mouth. “Promise.”

I only make it two steps away from Parker when Stone turns to Nate. “Think they forgot we were here?”

Nate huffs out a laugh. “AJ, we didn’t even factor into the equation.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Eliot

Dark, rolling smoke, thicker at the top of the column, tells the story before I’m close enough to see the flames. There’s nothing left inside the building to be saved. Enough heat plus time, and anything inside a building that can burn does. Often all at once.

Two engines, a ladder truck, and an SUV with the battalion chief’s insignia crowd the parking lot. Parts of the roof are open to the sky, flames visible through some of the disintegrating ceiling tiles and blown out windows.

No one’s going inside. Not yet. They’re running defense—the ladder truck’s main stream working the roof, while handlines soak the walls—waiting for the fuel to run out.

The firefighter on the nozzle braces against the recoil while someone else feeds the line from the truck, keeping the slack out of the mud without being told to. I haven’t held a charged line in more than seven years, but I can still feel the weight of it in my hands. The dull, throbbing ache that never quite went away unless you managed to score a full week’s vacation.

A probie—the kid can’t be older than twenty-five—runs back to the ladder truck for something, and for a moment, the face behind the mask looks like Zack’s.

Fuck.

Would he still be doing this job if it hadn’t been for me? Would he have taken his Captain’s exam early like I did? Or listened to the guys with a shit-ton better sense?

His birthday was in August. I’m not sure why I suddenly remember that now. He’d be almost twenty-nine. Maybe married. Maybe divorced…because this job—that job—is fucking hard on the families.

I robbed him of the chance to find out. Robbed the world of a good kid who was growing into a good man.

He should be the one on the nozzle. And I should be the one who never came home.