Epilogue
Eliot
A loud buzzing pulls me from sleep. Parker, curled against me in the hospital bed, groans.
She picks up her phone and squints at the screen. “Nate better have a damn good reason for this.”
We look at the message together.
Turn on Channel 5. Right now.
“Now? It’s five in the fuckin’ morning.” I try to sit up, but my body ain’t having it, and Parker has to find the remote.
The television mounted high on the wall flickers to life.
“Holy shit,” Parker croaks.
Emi’s on screen, standing in front of half a dozen APD vehicles, red and blue lights flashing behind her.
“If you’re just joining us, a high-speed chase has shut down six blocks in downtown Austin surrounding Congress Avenue and Cesar Chavez.”
Fire crews coil their hoses not far from a smoking pile of wreckage, a car burned almost down to its frame.
“As we reported earlier tonight, Senator Gabe Dines and his lawyer, Denny Osgood, had barricaded themselves inside the senator’s home in the Rob Roy neighborhood after a warrant was issued for the senator’s arrest. APD and SWAT attempted to negotiate, and just after four a.m., Mr. Osgood agreed to turn himself in.
Minutes later, Senator Dines escaped in a sports car parked in a garage at the edge of his property, triggering a pursuit that lasted nearly forty-five minutes as the senator wove through side streets and around multiple roadblocks. ”
Parker finds my hand under the blanket and holds on tight.
The camera cuts back to Emi. “The chase ended here, where Dines’s vehicle struck a barricade at high speed, flipped, and caught fire.
” She pauses, and her smooth, professional facade cracks for the briefest of moments, her voice taking on an edge I doubt anyone who doesn’t know her would catch.
The barest hint of satisfaction. “Senator Dines did not survive.”
Parker turns off the broadcast and settles back next to me. “Well. I suppose that solves one problem.”
“Just one?” I ask.
Her mouth twitches. “Maybe two. But let’s not push our luck.”
Three Days Later
Parker
“So,” Nate asks, passing Eliot a Shiner, then cracking a second one open for me. “Any updates on the move? I need to make sure I’m out of town that day.”
“Please. You’re gonna be first in line, Captain Last Nerve. You’ll have at least three color-coded spreadsheets, a barcode on every box, and run the whole operation over comms.” The last word cracks, and I take a healthy sip of beer. My throat still gets a little testy if I talk too much.
Nate’s eyes light up, and he pushes to his feet. “I didn’t think about barcodes.” Scanning the deck, he grins when his gaze lands on the rest of the guys gathered around the grill. “Connor! We’re gonna need barcodes.”
I glance at Eliot, who’s shaking his head and grinning. “I’ve created a monster. He’s gonna do it. Every box.”
Grace sinks down into a deck chair across from us. “You’ve picked a place?”
“No. But we’ve got it narrowed down to three.” I pass her my phone. “Check out the starred listings.”
I stare out at the lake while Grace thumbs through photos.
Neither of us have been cleared to return to work yet, so, between episodes of This Old House, we’ve spent the past couple of days browsing rental listings online.
My apartment might as well have a revolving door installed.
Every single member of our family has shown up with food.
The women from Eliot’s knitting circle—who have dubbed themselves our aunties now—dropped off enough cookies, cobbler, and pies for a small army.
Connor filled the fridge with enchiladas, while Grace brought cinnamon rolls, and Emi showed up with queso.
Nate, who can’t cook to save his life, liberated Eliot’s knitting and some of his clothes from his apartment, since it’s still technically a crime scene.
“I love the little cottage.” Grace passes the phone back to me. “You could have an herb garden on that patio.”
“That’s what I said.” Eliot takes my hand, giving my fingers a gentle squeeze. “Don’t know why we need to look at those other two.”
“What if someone rents it before we tour it on Monday? I like having options. Just in case.”
AJ joins us, brushing a kiss to Grace’s forehead. “Darlin’, mind givin’ us a couple minutes?”
The look she shoots him is pure exasperation, but Belle trots over with her tennis ball, and Grace rolls her eyes. “Fine. But only because you told me everythin’ already and Belle needs to run.”
“Well, I done fucked that right up,” AJ mutters.
I chuckle. “I hope you’ve been practicin’ your groveling.”
“Every damn day.” He runs a hand through his dark hair.
“The man you shot outside the school was named Brad Bishop. He’d worked for Dines for the past ten years.
Captain Vern and a couple of his detectives searched Bishop’s apartment and found enough evidence on the senator to put him away for life three times over.
If he hadn’t turned his car into a bonfire.
“Kurt Lynch accepted a plea deal. Twenty-five years for arson along with the murder of Jerry Hollis and the Castillo cousins, in exchange for his testimony. He gave his deposition yesterday. The day Eliot was taken, he’d met with the senator at dawn.
Through backchannels in the DA’s office, Dines found out we were close to arresting him.
He snapped, had Bishop take Kurt to one of the empty buildings, and zip tied his good hand to a radiator pipe in the basement.
Kurt knew if he didn’t get out of there, Eliot would die, so he spent six hours workin’ himself free.
Between what was on the memory card you found at Kessler’s, Bishop’s files, and Kurt’s testimony, we had enough to arrest five members of Ridgeline’s Board of Directors, as well as the head of Apex, and two more of their inspectors yesterday. Near as we can tell, it’s over.”
AJ looks each of us in the eye, nods once, then goes in search of his wife.
I turn to Eliot, a sigh releasing the last bit of worry I’ve carried for the past three days. “I love you.”
He kisses me, slides his fingers into my hair, and whispers against my lips, “I love you too.”
Thank you for reading Flint’s Strike! I hope you love Parker and Eliot as much as I do.