Page 121 of Flint’s Strike

“I have my priorities.” He drags another document onto the screen, apparently secure in his life choices. “The company was incorporated in Delaware. Found that right before last night’s—err, this morning’s—pen incident.”

“That doesn’t give us anything.” I pop the tab on a cold can of Dr. Pepper, desperate for the caffeine hit. “Delaware has the cheapest and simplest incorporation laws in the country. Half the LLCs operating in Texas were incorporated there.”

“Bingo. Parker, you’re a genius.”

I’d agree, but Nate’s on one of his rolls, his fingers flying over the keyboard, switching between typing and the trackpad like they’re extensions of his body. Interrupting him now would be rude. It only takes him another ninety seconds before he sits back with a smug grin.

“The minute Apex started doing business here—office space, employees, paychecks—the state required them to register as a foreign entity. And that registered agent is...” He clicks one last key, and Apex’s local certificate of formation fills the screen. “Dale Pruitt.”

I know that name. How do I know that name?

I reach for the green folder, flipping through the twenty or so pieces of paper inside until I find the ownership records for the Round Rock building. “Lonestar Ridge Holdings. They’re the LLC that bought the Round Rock building a few years ago. I’ll give you two guesses who their registered agent is. But if you need both of them, I’m gonna be disappointed.”

Nate’s entire expression goes blank. For a moment, I worry he’s having some sort of episode. I’m not even sure he’s breathing. But as quickly as he froze, he springs up and grabs for the newest folder in the stack—the purple one with all of Rutherford Lane’s paperwork.

“Parker.” He slides a single sheet of paper across the table. “Lonestar Ridge Holdings also owns Rutherford Lane.”

“Well, now we’re gettin’ somewhere.” I aim a pointed stare at Nate’s collection of dry erase pens fanned out in precise order next to his laptop. “Go for it, Captain Color Coding. You know you want to.”

He pushes his chair back, chooses five separate colors from the lot, and arches a brow. “You sure about this?”

I roll my eyes at him. “If you make me beg, I’m telling everyone you have a color-coded spreadsheet for your color-coded spreadsheets.”

His mouth twitches. “Parker, I thought we’d established that my organizational skills require very little encouragement. Now where did I put the string and pushpins?”

By five thirty, we’ve hit a wall. Nate’s reorganized his crime board twice. He finally divided it into five equal sections after muttering, “If there’s another fire, this room is gonna need a second whiteboard.”

Each location has its own column. Owner. Inspector. Registered Agent. Deficiencies. Insurance. Deaths. They’re all filled in. And after getting updates from the SFMO guys in the field, he dedicates the final column to Apex.

Only two of the buildings inspected today had issues—the adult care home Kessler told us about and the Bluebonnet Event Hall. Both have Todd Ferris listed as the inspector of record.

Someone’s building a paper trail leading right to him.

“Todd just moved to the top of my worry list.” I push to my feet, grimacing as my back protests the amount of sitting I’ve done today. I brace a hand against the table until the ache eases. “And Dale Pruitt won’t give us anything we don’t already know. We’re gonna need a court order to find out who’s behind Lonestar Holdings...and Apex.”

Nate nods, caps his pens, and runs a hand through his shaggy hair. Stepping back from the whiteboard, he studies it for another few seconds. “Time to bring in the big gun.”

I tuck my notebook into my back pocket and head for the door. “I’m telling AJ you called him that.”

One corner of Nate’s mouth quirks. “He won’t mind. Asking him to authorize protective custody for Todd, his entire family and Charlie? That might get a rise out of him.”

“I’m more worried about going back to Judge Nesbitt a third time in as many days.” I stop with my hand on the door. “She still hasn’t come through with the warrant for the county clerk’s records.”

Nate sighs. “I think I’ve worn out my welcome. You might have to take one for the team, Parker.”

Glancing back at the board—at the five colors that still aren’t enough to solve this—I nod. “First we talk to AJ. Then we figure out how to convince Nesbitt we’re right.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

Parker

I toe off my boots next to Grace’s front door while Belle does her level best to knock me on my ass. “I know, girl. It’s been a whole week. I missed you too.”

Garlic and lime mix with the scent of the roses blooming around the house. It’s cooler out by the lake, and the windows are thrown open to let in the evening breeze. At the edge of the property, water laps against the shore, and I’m a world away from burned buildings, a dead inspector, and a court order that’s still theoretical.

Emi’s at the kitchen counter, chopping green chiles with more force than necessary while Isabel frowns at her phone. Soft music plays from the speakers in the living room, and an empty glass waits next to a bottle of Chardonnay chilling in a silver bucket next to the fridge.

“There she is,” Emi says, glancing up and swiping at her eye with the back of her hand. “Get a drink in your hand before Isabel starts up about Veronica’s application again.”