Page 120 of Flint’s Strike

I thought he always drove?

He stayed up all night trying to figure out who owns Apex. He was in no state to drive. I’m not sure he even realized he was in the passenger seat until we were already on the road.

I chuckle, the moment turning the day from awful to merely painful.

When are you heading back to the Ranger station?

Parker’s reply comes less than a minute later.

Sorry. This brisket is amazing. You’ve got to try it. I’m getting a second order. Check your office fridge before you go home.

Something in my chest warms. I’m a grown-ass man who can take care of himself. But Parker thinking of me when she’s in the middle of a case…it means more than I can say.

You sure Nate isn’t gonna complain the whole way back to the station?

Parker sends five crying-while-laughing emojis.

He’ll do that anyway. He complains whenever someone gets close to the speed limit. You might as well get brisket out of the deal.

Kurt texts back, but I ignore him long enough to send Parker one last message.

Wish we didn’t have to wait till tomorrow. Be safe out there.

It only takes her ten seconds to text back.

You too.

The kiss emoji she adds at the end might get me through the rest of the day. That and the promise of brisket.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Parker

Nate’s snoring softly as I pull into the station parking lot. It only took three years, but I’ve finally found his weakness—a brisket plate with a double order of collard greens. For a man who lives and dies by his “macros,” when he lets go, he really lets go.

He didn’t even wake up when I stopped at the SFMO office to drop off food for Eliot.

I shift into park, but keep the car running. “Nate.” Nothing. “Nate.”

Her jerks upright, hands balled into fists in front of his face, gaze sweeping the car like he’s calculating which threat to go after first.

I stay very still, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on my thigh. I keep my voice soft. Calm. “Hey. It’s me.”

The fight drains out of him in an instant. “Shit. Sorry. I was chasing someone who alphabetized my inspection files by first name.”

I blink at him, trying to decide if he’s serious.

“They also put the blue folders after the yellow ones. That was just rude.”

I pretend to believe him, pocketing my keys and giving him the side-eye. “Even your nightmares are color coded. That’s commitment.”

Nate rolls his head from side to side, and his neck gives up a loud crack before he opens the passenger door. “You’d be surprised how many people disrespect proper organization.”

The walk inside is quiet, and by the time we’re set up in the conference room, my partner’s fully back from whatever had a hold of him in the car.

“So, Apex,” he says, turning to the wall monitor. “On the surface, they look like a legit company. But their website is all stock photos and the world’s most boring marketing copy. I fell asleep reading it last night. Twice.”

“Some people fall asleep to true crime. Or nature sounds. You fall asleep to research.” I shake my head. “You should talk to someone about that.”