Page 126 of Flint’s Strike

If possible. Shit.

I remind myself to take the win, but apparently I don’t school my expression quickly enough. The judge levels me with a stare that must terrify anyone who dares to be guilty in her courtroom.

“I’m not saying no, Captain Elmore. But I’m also not rubber-stamping these requests without sufficient evidence. If I do that for you, I have to do it for every Ranger and detective who walks in here convinced they need a court order without proper justification.”

She runs the signed BRYCER order through a small scanner next to her desk, then slides the paper copy across to me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m due in court in an hour.”

“Yes, ma’am. We’ll be in touch again very soon.”

I tuck the court order into my bag—the electronic copy will be in my email by the time I get to the station—and text Nate from the hallway.

BRYCER approved. She’s not budging on Pruitt.

Well, shit.

And???

I made Todd cry.

Nate!

It wasn’t my fault. I told him we thought someone was setting him up to take the fall, and he had a minor emotional collapse. The man’s got all the backbone of an octopus. With only one brain. At least he used it. Got two APD uniforms escorting him home, and Vern’s setting up round-the-clock protection for the whole family.

Well, that’s something. On my way back to the station. You can work the BRYCER angle. I want to call Kessler. He’s had enough time to take care of his business.

I’m stopping at Alabaster’s. You want your usual cup of darkness and despair?

Yes. But have them add a splash of hemp milk.

…Well, okay, then.

I’d tell him to mind his own damn business. That my coffee order isn’t up for commentary. But that would just encourage him. Instead, I tuck my phone back into my bag and head for the parking lot.

The fact that I’m adding hemp milk to my coffee because of Eliot should probably feel like a big deal. It doesn’t. It’s just something that connects me to him. And the tension currently twisting my stomach into knots has nothing to do with him. It’s the case. It’s the feeling that we’re running out of time.

Eliot

I’m updating Nate’s spreadsheet of many colors with the two buildings the Laredo inspector cleared this morning, when Kurt stops at my desk with a legal pad tucked under his good arm.

“I’ll take the middle school, the call center, and that urgent care clinic on Villasco Street. I should be able to get through them all by the end of the day.”

No hello. No small talk. Not that I have time for casual conversation anyway.

I save my changes before I glance up at him. His cast has seen better days. Plaster doesn’t stay clean when you’re climbing through ceiling access panels and dirty utility closets.

“Kurt, no one expects you to take the biggest buildings on the list. Let the young guys from El Paso handle those. Take the nail salon on Burnet. Less time overhead. Fewer crawlspaces. You can’t brace on that arm.”

“I’ve been doin’ this job longer than you, Eliot. I know what I can handle.” He sets the legal pad at the edge of my desk, squares his shoulders, and flexes the fingers poking out from the dirty plaster.

“And if you make the arm worse? If you can’t inspect anything tomorrow? Then I’m fucked. A hell of a lot of people could end up fucked. I’m runnin’ this sweep, and you’re takin’ the nail salon.”

His jaw works for a moment, his gaze pinned to his work boots. “I gotta feel useful,” he says, finally, his voice almost…tiny. “At least let me take the urgent care clinic, too. It’s small. Single story.”

“Fine. Those two only. Nothin’ more until tomorrow.”

“Eliot…”

I push to my feet, gritting my teeth to hide my wince. Every muscle in my body aches. I thought I’d pass out the second I laid down last night, but after an hour of staring at the ceiling, I got back up and started measuring for the acoustic tiles in the bedroom. When I heard Umberto leave at four this morning, I grabbed the drill. I’m running on fumes. Worth it, though. Tonight, I get a night with Parker.