Page 19 of Flint’s Strike

I lift the green file folder. “Got the lab work back on the accelerant. Thought you’d want to see it ASAP.”

“That could’ve been an email.”

“Probably. But I was drivin’ by. Want me to walk you through it?”

Parker gives me a quick nod. “Fine. Coffee? It’s shit, but it’ll get the job done.”

“Sure.” I follow her into the break room, where she pours me a cup of the darkest brew I’ve ever seen, then leads me into her office. It’s sparse. Like she doesn’t so much work here as drop in and out.

The only personal touch is an El Paso Comfort Food mug full of pens next to her monitor. “That’s something I never thought I’d see again,” I observe as I take the seat across from her.

Her blond brows furrow slightly.

“The mug. I took a couple of certification classes in El Paso. Pretty sure I ate at Comfort Food every night.”

For a moment, I’m not sure Parker’s breathing. Her face has gone pale, and she’s gripping the edge of the desk like she’s trying to keep it from floating away.

“It was…something special.” She shakes her head, takes a sip of coffee, and grimaces. “So…the lab report?”

Opening the folder, I pass the report across her desk. “The accelerant was naphthalene. It’s solid at room temperature. This ain’t somethin’ you can get at the local Home Builders Warehouse. It has to be processed before it’s remotely flammable, but once it is…” I shake my head, picturing how quickly the Round Rock fire must have gone up. “That shit burns hotter and longer than any kind of petroleum distillate. Plus, it binds to porous materials in a way that makes it harder to separate it from the rubble. The fire was probably a thousand degrees Celsius. Temps that high can compromise the structural integrity of steel in under ten minutes. You don’t need much of it either. Small quantities—a couple of tablespoons max—strategically placed, and the building takes care of the rest.”

“So this wasn’t an amateur.”

“Nope. The unsub knew what they were doing.” I nod at the report. “Found it at three distinct locations. Two load-bearing columns on the east wall and the base of the stairwell. With those columns compromised, the building didn’t have a chance.”

The coffee is barely one step above gasoline. But I haven’t slept well in seven years, so I take a healthy swig and try to ignore the way it burns going down.

“There’s more. The suppression system should have covered the entire building. But only the sprinkler heads on the west side of the building activated."

“You mean the ones on the east side failed?” she asks.

“Either that, or they were tampered with. This wasn’t an accident, and it wasn’t someone settin’ a fire for shits and giggles. Whoever did this wanted that building to collapse.”

Before Parker can ask another question, someone raps on the open door to her office. I twist in the chair, and the motion pulls at the scarring across my ribs—a tight, breathless reminder that things don’t stretch the way they used to. I barely react after so many years.

“Flint,” Chief Stone says. “Good to see you again.” He shakes my hand, his grip firm, then looks between the two of us. “Got another fire. This one’s in Cedar Park off of Lakeline. It’s been out since nine. Cedar Park PD’s holding the scene and they’d like someone there ASAP.”

“Hardison’s still at the dentist,” Parker says.

Stone shakes his head. “He won’t be back until at least two. Longer if he needs a root canal.”

Parker chuckles. “Hardison is a root canal.”

Stone’s mouth twitches. “New nickname?”

For a brief moment, Parker’s whole face lights up. Her rich, throaty laugh fills the small space. “Captain Root Canal? He’ll love that.” In the next breath, her eyes narrow. “Wait. Did the two of you…?”

“Nope.” Stone holds up his hands. “I’d never. Not without telling you. You’ll be Captain Loose Cannon until someone tells me otherwise. Get a move on. Cedar Park is short-staffed this month. They’ll want the scene cleared before dark.” He gives me a terse nod, and strides out of Parker’s office.

Her fingers flex once on the file folder. “I’ll get my kit and meet you there.”

“I can drive. My truck’s not bad for a state vehicle.”

She’s grabbing her radio, already moving toward the door. “No. I’m not getting myself stuck at the scene of a fire for God knows how long waiting for you to finish gathering samples.”

“By the time we get there, your partner will probably be on his way. One car is…more efficient.”

It’s also a way for me to get to know you better. And I’d very much like to get to know you better.