Chapter Forty-Five
Parker
I wake tucked around Eliot, and for one blissfully ordinary moment, my biggest concern is what time it is.
A sprinkling of hair tickles my fingers. His skin is warm under my palm. The only sound in the room is his steady breathing.
But then reality creeps back in. Kessler. Two hundred and three buildings to inspect before our arsonist strikes again. Or faulty wiring, a kitchen fire, or an overloaded breaker turns one of those buildings into a death trap.
I open my eyes, and in the early morning light, watch him sleep. Really sleep. The kind of deep sleep I think we’ve both been missing for a long time.
Carefully, I start to ease my arm off him, but his fingers curl around my hip, pinning me in place. “Not so fast,” he says, his voice rough. “We’ve still got…ten minutes.”
“Five. And that’s bein’ generous.” I lean in and press my lips to the top of his bare shoulder. “If we get up now, we might even have time for coffee before I have to go home and change.”
He groans, loosens his hold, and pushes the covers off his hips. “Coffee, it is.”
Ten minutes later, we’re standing at his kitchen counter, hands wrapped around steaming mugs of what my mom always called her liquid sunshine. The memory warms me almost as much as the coffee.
“I have dinner with Isabel, Emi, and Grace tonight,” I murmur, stifling a yawn. “Are you working out of the SFMO office today?”
“I’m startin’ there. But I’m inspecting two of the high occupancy buildings from Nate’s list, and that’ll tie me up all fuckin’ day.”
Eliot sounds exhausted already. Last night changed us.
This morning should have been slow. It should have been coffee and conversation and the chance to ask the questions I didn’t know I had until he trusted me with the answers.
It should have been a chance for him to see that telling me didn’t change how I look at him.
A morning where we get to figure out this thing between us before the rest of the world demands our attention.
But the case doesn’t give a damn.
He’ll be inspecting buildings from now until forever, while Nate and I track down Kessler, hunt for an arsonist, and keep pulling at the threads behind Apex Building Solutions.
I set my mug on the counter and step close enough I can slide my fingers into his hair. “I’ve gotten used to seein’ you on the regular. You think maybe…tomorrow night—”
“Yes.” Eliot answers before I can finish the question, curling his arm around my waist and closing the last few inches between us. He kisses me like he has nowhere else to be, though we both know that’s only a dream.
The conference room’s empty when I get to work forty-five minutes later. Nate’s car wasn’t in the lot. Neither was AJ’s. The chief rarely gets in before eight, but my partner is chronically early.
Settling in with my travel mug and a granola bar, I pull up the video that came in overnight from the auto body shop on Rutherford Lane.
“Twenty-four hours?” I almost choke on a sip of coffee.
We’d asked for twelve, figuring our unsub likely placed the accelerant overnight and used some sort of timer.
The building had been vacant for two years, but Rutherford Lane itself stayed busy enough during the day, anyone lingering would have drawn attention.
I hook my laptop up to the wall monitor, spin my chair around, and put my feet up on the chair next to me. Here’s hoping the world’s most boring movie has at least one scene worth watching.
After an hour, when Nate still hasn’t shown up, I pause the surveillance footage and head to the break room for a cup of what passes for coffee around here. At least it’s usually fresh this time of the morning.
“Son of a bitch. Whoever drank the last cup and didn’t start another pot is gettin’ written up!”
My voice carries far enough into the bullpen, Hunt and Downes hunch their shoulders in tandem. If this case hadn’t turned into a mountain the size of Everest, I’d interrogate both of them until one of them cracked.
Instead, I start a new pot. While it’s brewing, I text Nate.
Is everything okay? The last time you were this late to work, I had to take you to the hospital for appendicitis.
It only takes him five minutes to reply.
Running late. Be there in forty.
I stare at the screen. No explanation. No sarcastic comment about my inability to survive without his organizational prowess. No reminder that he is, in fact, a grown man capable of taking care of himself. Just a time estimate.
Nate has never been “behind” in his life. He probably color-coded the concept of “behind” some ugly shade of brown and categorized it as unacceptable.
Shit.
Please tell me it’s not gallstones this time.
No hospital needed. I’d tell you not to alert the authorities, but you are the authorities.
There he is.
No longer worried my partner’s dying, I take the first cup out of the fresh pot and head back to the conference room. The video footage hasn’t given me a damn thing. Even at double speed it was mind-numbing.
The only thing worth noting happened around four p.m. A kid on a skateboard caught a bad edge, wiped out, and ended up sprawled on the sidewalk. A homeless man pushing a shopping cart stopped, helped him up, and waited until he was steady before moving on.
That’s it. The most interesting thing was a stranger making sure a kid wasn’t hurt. I’ll go back to it later. When we can divide it between the two of us.
Rather than waste the next thirty-nine minutes until Nate shows up, I start pulling on the threads Denise gave me last night. Up first: cousin on his mother’s side of the family.
Kessler’s personnel file led me to his next of kin—his mom, Barbie. Our records aggregator listed a Barbie Platt at the same address, and the county clerk confirmed Barbie Platt married Bobby Kessler forty-seven years ago. But that’s as far as I got last night.
Time to go digging through Barbie’s family.
The conference room door opens right as I find the last of Charlie Kessler’s three cousins. I glance at my watch. “You’re ninety seconds late. Scratch that. You’re one hour, forty-one minutes, and thirty seconds late.”
Nate lets his bag slip from his shoulder, and sets a Big Gulp next to his laptop. “I was hoping you’d round down.”
His eyes are bloodshot, and his normally shaggy hair is somehow even shaggier this morning. But the biggest tell he’s had an awful morning is the lopsided knot in his tie. “Your tie’s crooked.”
Nate closes his eyes for a full second. “I know.”
Shit.
Despite the usual state of his hair, and his habit of “accidentally” spilling something on his shirt before interrogating suspects to throw them off their game, Nate has never shown up to work without a perfect Windsor knot. “You gonna tell me what happened? Or am I supposed to guess?”
He slides a legal pad from his satchel. Three different colors of ink bleed together on the wrinkled top page. Nate squints at the now illegible scrawl.
“Turns out sleep deprivation eventually wins. Who knew?”
Flipping to the next page, he shakes his head, then rips that one out completely. “Around midnight, I started chasing down Apex’s origins. Found a few things.” He taps the yellow paper. “Then I lost a fight with an energy drink.”
I give him the side-eye. “You mean you spilled it.”
Nate sighs. “On my notes. The table. Myself. Fell asleep halfway through cleaning it up. I only woke up because someone thought I was in the hospital.”
Frowning, I point at his cheek. “You’ve got a smear of green ink. Right…there.”
Nate rubs a hand over his face. “Pen caps are terrible pillows.”
“You want to walk me through what you found? Or wait until the caffeine hits?”
“You go first. I’m not…spreadsheet ready yet.” He says it like he’s never had an off day. Then again, I’m not sure he has.
I nod at the monitor. “Auto body shop came through with more than we asked for. A full twenty-four hours of footage.”
“Twenty-four?” He drags the Big Gulp closer. “I guess I know what I’m doing if I can’t sleep again tonight.”
“The first two hours were riveting. I decided to pivot.” Sending the electronic case file to the wall screen, I scroll to the last few lines.
“I did a deep dive into the Kessler family. Barbie Kessler, formerly Barbie Platt, had one sister, Ruby. She married Kent Butler, and they had a son. Eugene.”
Nate studies the screen. “You think Kessler’s cousin knows where he is.”
I fill him in on the conversation I had with Charlie’s ex-girlfriend last night. “If Charlie watches the news, he knows a building he inspected burned to the ground two days ago.”
“And an off-the-grid cabin would be perfect to hide out in.” For the first time today, the exhaustion in Nate’s eyes fades.
“I was just about to search for Eugene’s property records. Want to watch?” I waggle my eyebrows at him, hoping to keep him focused a little longer.
“Ready when you are.” He reaches for a highlighter.