Page 18 of Flint’s Strike

“It’s medium,” AJ calls from the grill.

I look at the plate, then take another drink rather than meeting Nate’s gaze. The chair creaks under his weight as he shifts forward, elbows on the table, as relaxed as always.

“Come on. Back me up,” he whispers.

Peering down at the burger, I eye the slight char around the edges. “It’s a shade more than medium.”

“See?” Nate jerks his chin toward me. “Parker’s the voice of reason.”

“Parker, when was the last time you had an eye exam?” AJ mutters.

I flinch. Nate notices. He always notices. He’s been watching me like I’m about to shatter ever since we got back from Mexico. “Two months ago. The department required it to clear me for active duty, remember? Twenty-twenty vision.”

“Truth hurts, Chief,” Nate says, already reaching for the tray of condiments. He slides it closer with a practiced hand, then, without sparing me a glance, taps the top of the ketchup bottle against the table, twists the cap, and sets it in front of me.

I should thank him, but I don’t know how.

Connor snorts at something AJ says, Jasper fires back, and for a moment, the noise is too much. Voices over voices, Belle barking, the metal spatula scraping against the grill…

My heart thuds against my ribs. I search for my Loop earplugs buried deep in the pocket of my shorts. The one good thing to come out of the two weeks of therapy I managed before I gave up. I don’t want to know how they turn the volume down on the world, but still let me hear the conversations around me. I don’t care how or why they work so well. I just want to find them and let them do their thing.

I fumble with the case, pull out the left earbud, and shove it into my ear. Once the other one is seated, my hair hiding them well enough, I can focus on the plate in front of me. And the ketchup bottle there’s no way I could have opened on my own.

“Don’t encourage him,” I call over my shoulder, then give my partner the side-eye, like nothing in my head is half a bubble off plumb. “Nate’s gonna start thinking he knows what he’s doing.”

“Too late,” Nate says, dry as dust. “I’ve been right for years. Nobody listens.”

AJ scoffs. “You’ve been loud for years. That’s not the same thing.”

The laughter that follows soothes the overwhelm from earlier. I even manage a small chuckle.

The breeze comes off the lake again, cooler this time, lifting the hair at the back of my neck. For a second, it carries the scent of char and smoke, and my body reacts before my brain can catch up—spine locking, lungs forgetting how to pull in air.

I press my thumb into the heel of my other hand, right over the thickest scar, grounding through the ache.

I’m outside. With the men and women I consider family.

Belle skids across the grass, nails scratching, tennis ball clenched in her mouth, eyes bright. The ball lands in Grace’s lap, and with a laugh, Grace tosses it a good twenty feet.

Nate nudges my plate a little closer. “It’s not an art installation, Parker. Eat.”

I pick up the burger, relieved my hands are steady, and stifle the sigh trying to slip out. “Make yourself useful. Get me some pasta salad.”

Chapter Six

Eliot

The receptionist checks my ID and directs me through the bullpen to a set of offices tucked away in the corner next to the break room. Parker’s not in hers, but after a moment, I hear her voice coming from the Chief’s office.

“I’m fine. Me and four a.m. have come to an understanding. It shows up, I pretend not to notice, and, sometimes, it gets bored and leaves.”

“Parker—” Chief Stone says.

“Nope. We’re not doin’ this, AJ. It doesn’t affect my work.”

I stop at the edge of the doorway before they can see me. This conversation isn’t any of my business. Stone’s a good guy. How he managed to keep his shit together with his wife missing for three fuckin’ years, I have no idea.

Before I can back far enough away for plausible deniability, Parker comes out of Stone’s office, her blue-gray eyes blazing, then stops short. “You’re the last person I expected to see here today.”