Page 148 of Flint’s Strike

Nate throws Gabe’s photo up on screen. Balding, with what remains of his hair shaved almost to the skin, wire-frame glasses, a reddish-brown beard, and the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen outside a commercial for veneers. He’s got that slick, self-satisfied look of a man who knows he’s powerful and doesn’t give a damn about anyone who isn’t.

“Last election, his signs were on every other lawn in the district.”

“And he won by a landslide. The man tried to eliminate Title IX in schools, Parker. Yet, he’s won every election for the past thirteen years.”

“Tell me how you really feel.”

Nate snorts. “Let’s see what his personal financial statement can tell us.”

A few more clicks, and he’s got the Texas Ethics Commission filing for Senator Dines. “Yep. It’s his. But because the law is sometimes an idiot, he doesn’t have to disclose a fucking thing about where Ridgeline’s money comes from.”

I lean my ass against the table, letting all the various bits of information Nate just threw at me settle.

“He built Apex. Funded the majority of its startup costs eight years ago. But this ain’t enough for a warrant on him.”

“No.” Nate sighs and looks longingly at the muffin. “But if AJ gives us the go ahead, it gets us a conversation.”

AJ listens, looking more and more like he wants to put a fist through something with every minute that passes.

“I sat across from that sombitch at a Chamber of Commerce dinner two years ago. He had the fuckin’ gall to ask me if I wanted him to set me up with his secretary. Said she was a ‘fine piece of ass’ and surely I needed some ‘company’ at night.”

Well, now I hate him on principle. You don’t say that to a man whose wife has been missing for two years.

“Somethin’ about him never sat right with me. But hatin’ him don’t get us anywhere, and—as impressive as it is—neither does all this work. Not on its own.”

“We’re not askin’ to bring him in.” I tap the founding capital line on Apex’s operating agreement. “We’re askin’ to talk to him.”

AJ's quiet for a moment. “You make it damn clear this is voluntary. His office. His terms. He’ll want his lawyer present. Politicians always do. You do this by the fuckin’ book or you don’t do it at all. And for the love of all that’s holy in this world, don’t say anythin’ that’s gonna get me a call from the governor.”

I call Senator Dines’s office twenty minutes later. The woman who answers has the practiced warmth of someone who’s fielded angry constituents day in and day out. When I explain who I am and what I’m asking for, she puts me on a brief hold, then comes back and offers us an eleven a.m. appointment tomorrow at his office.

I assure her we’ll be there with bells on, hang up, and scrub my hands over my face.

Gabe Dines might be responsible for this whole damn operation, but I don’t know that we’ll ever be able to prove it.

Eliot

After being on my feet in a hundred and one degrees since eight this morning, I ain’t proud of the sound I make stepping through the doors of the Ranger station. I don’t want to know what their electric bill is like running the AC this cold all summer long.

Parker and Nate are in the conference room. She looks up when I step through the door, a tiny smile curving her lips. “Hey there. I thought you were inspectin’ all day.”

“You know how some people say their body’s a temple?” I angle a pointed gaze at Nate. “Mine’s from the middle of the Stone Age. But we’re down to the last twenty or so buildings, and half of ‘em are either empty or the businesses leasin’ them are small enough to relocate for a few days. I’m sendin’ most of the other inspectors home tonight.”

“I count thirty-three lines with no status update,” Nate says. “That isn’t twenty.”

“Whoa there, Pookie. I said twenty or so. The other eleven burned down some time in the past eight years. Four of them this month. I’ll go through the arson investigation files for the others tomorrow. From my desk. Where no one’s gonna ask me to climb a fuckin’ ladder.”

Nate holds up his hands. “Sorry. The data guy likes it when the numbers match.”

“You should have enough data to see trends now. Ownership, inspection date, type of deficiency. I tried makin’ the pivot table, but all I got was garbage.”

I sink down next to Parker, and she rests her hand on my thigh under the table.

“You look wiped. I’m gonna get you a water. Dr. Pepper too?” she asks.

“God, yes.” I’d kiss her if Nate weren’t sitting across the table from me. Or if I didn’t smell like yesterday’s trash drenched in sweat.

The door swings shut, and I let my head fall against the back of the chair. If I close my eyes⁠—