Page 28 of Flint’s Strike

“That area wasn’t safe to begin with. Either someone fucked with the sprinklers so they wouldn’t go off, or whoever installed them didn’t care about safety. But I’ll contact the manufacturer when I get back to the office. Some of the more modern systems report to home base on the regular. That data could tell us how shit went sideways so quickly.”

Hardison nods. “Got it.”

“And stay out of the foreman’s office,” Parker says. “I ain’t comin’ back here to save your ass after Urgent Care.”

Nate staggers a few steps away, his hands clutching his chest. “Your lack of faith wounds, Parker. It wounds.” A moment later, he turns on his heel and strides toward the building.

Parker pinches the bridge of her nose, then lets out a slow breath. When she meets my gaze, the humor is gone, leaving only exhaustion.

I toss my hard hat into my gear bag. “Please tell me we’re actually going to Urgent Care. I like living, and he’s armed too.”

“We’re going,” she says with a sigh. “If we don’t, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Parker braces a hand against the truck and pushes to her feet. The moment her weight hits her injured leg, I know she’s in trouble. Her eyes go wide. The color drains from her face so fast, it’s like a switch flipped. Her knee buckles. One second, she’s upright. The next, she’s falling.

I get an arm around her waist, and her hand fists in my shirt. For almost a full minute, neither of us moves. I can feel every sharp inhale, the curve of her breasts, the tremors she’s trying so desperately to hide. Her hair smells faintly of smoke, but there’s something citrusy underneath.

She squeezes her eyes shut. “Dammit.” The single, strained word punches me in the gut. Anger brings the color back to her cheeks.

I tighten my arm when her leg buckles again. “Easy there…”

“I had it,” she grits out.

“You keep tellin’ yourself that.”

Her lashes lift enough to glare at me. We’re so close, I catch the hint of freckles on her cheeks. The soot on the top of her nose. And my body reacts in a way Parker definitely would not appreciate right now.

She breaks eye contact first. “I hate this, Eliot.”

The admission is quiet. Barely a whisper. Raw in a way I didn’t expect. She’s not talking about the injury. Or even going to Urgent Care. She hates needing help.

Her balance starts to shift, and her hand slides from my chest to my forearm. This is dangerous. She won’t look at me, her gaze landing somewhere beyond my shoulder.

I get it now. Why Parker picked me to take her to Urgent Care. It’s not because she trusts me. Or thinks we’re friends.

She knew I’d drive straight to the clinic, take her home after they patch her up properly, and not ask questions.

Nate would see right through her. Hell, he probably already has.

Whatever happened in that office to put that haunted look in her eyes isn’t something Parker wants to talk about. Especially not with someone who knows her as well as her partner.

Every instinct I have demands I push for answers, despite barely knowing her. But she’s trusting me because she knows—deep down—that we’re both dealing with shit we don’t want to talk about.

For a few seconds, we let the world continue around us. One of the Cedar Park guys reports back to base over the radio. The hot summer breeze kicks up dust from the parking lot. Somewhere on the next street over, a car horn blares.

Parker flinches.

She doesn’t strike me as a woman who shows anyone her weak spots. Yet somehow, I’ve ended up holding one. Holding her.

Carefully, I loosen my arm enough for her to stand on her own. “Let’s get outta here before Nate makes good on his threats.”

She lets out a soft, almost surprised laugh. “Good idea.”

“Think you can make it around the truck?”

She eyes the uneven surface of the parking lot. “That depends.”

“On?”