Page 158 of Flint’s Strike

“APD’s got the BOLO out on Kurt. He never came home last night. Got Vern updating me every couple of hours.” Nate turns back to his spreadsheets, giving me space I suddenly don’t want.

“You’re gonna have to handle that interview.” My voice cracks, and I dig my fingers into my palms until my nails leave perfect crescents amid the jagged scars. “You put me alone in a room with that idjit, he might not walk out of there.”

Nate nods. “I’ll handle Kurt. He’ll live. He’ll even be able to walk. Eventually. When I’m done, there won’t be a mark on him.”

A little before noon, I take a quick break and pull out my phone.

How are the inspections going?

Eliot takes a full five minutes to text back. He was probably in a crawlspace somewhere.

Slow. Two down, two to go. Are you coming here after girls’ night? Or do you want me to come to your place?

Your call unless you need me to make the decision. I just want to be with you.

I’ll come to you. Text me when you’re home.

Will do. I hope the knitting ladies don’t give you too much of a hard time tonight.

Oh, they will. That’s a given.

I’m about to put my phone away when it vibrates one more time.

Parker? Next Friday, maybe you could come with me. I want you to meet them.

I never thought going to a knitting circle would feel so…significant. Or that I’d want it this much. But it does. And I do.

I’d like that. But maybe start me off with something smaller than a blanket. How about a coaster?

Coaster it is.

He signs off with a kiss and a heart emoji, and I grab another cup of coffee before rejoining Nate in the conference room.

Chapter Sixty-Two

Eliot

The weather report lied. They claimed it’d stay in the eighties today, but by the time I reach the abandoned middle school on Turnbull, the thermometer in my truck reads ninety-five.

I check the notes before I turn off the engine. Power was cut two years ago when the district decided it was cheaper to build a new school than retrofit this one. Never restored. Guess I ain’t testin’ the water pump. Not today. Should’ve looked at the file last night. Hell, even first thing this morning. Then, I could’ve gotten someone from the power company to meet me out here. Too late now. They’ll put me off until tomorrow for sure.

At least the other three properties were simple. I didn’t have to think much. Walk the structure, check the suppression tags against the main list, confirm the structural elements match what’s on file, and give the site a ruling.

This one, though…it’s a fucking maze inside. Dozens of classrooms, gym, locker rooms, and more closets than a damn hotel. Every time I turn around, I find another one. Half of ‘em still have boxes of paper towels, toilet paper, and cleaning supplies in them.

The sprinkler heads are a problem. Twenty-five percent fewer than on the coverage map. I can’t check the coating on the steel columns—not without cutting deep into a wall, but I ain’t hopeful. I’ll come back with a couple of the junior guys tomorrow.

I give up after two hours. There’s no danger of the district suddenly deciding to reopen it. I flag it as unsafe for occupancy and head for home.

The apartment’s mostly quiet. Umberto’s blasting music next door, but I’ve never minded that. He always shuts it down by eight, and I’ll be out of here in half an hour. Just need a shower, some clothes that don’t reek, and my project bag. If I’m lucky, I’ll be early enough to grab a couple of tacos from the truck across the street from Purl on Pine.

I drop my keys in the bowl by the door and untuck my shirt. Maybe I’ll be brave enough to wear short sleeves tonight. The women will notice, but I’m tired of hiding.

Opening the fridge, I hunt for the last Dr. Pepper. I really need to go shopping.

Blinding pain cracks across my skull. The can hits the floor, and as I try to straighten and right my balance, my foot lands right on it. I go down, hard, my back slamming into the cabinets.

On instinct, I throw my arms over my face. The second blow slams into my forearm.