And froze.
Ahead of him stood a group of portable holding yards, with a camouflaged shade over the top, to hide it from the air, holding more than just some prime cattle.
Banteng.
No doubt a goldmine on hooves.
Finn’s boots crunched on the gravel behind him, as he spoke over the radio, ‘Stone, take Porter back to town to grab Craig and the Hellhound—we’ll need our best trackers on the job.Sawyer’s on the run, and we’ve got a paddock full of evidence soaking up some sun.’
Porter didn’t say anything.He didn’t need to.
Sawyer could run—but Porter was damn well going to chase him to the ends of the Territory if that’s what it took.He was not done with Sawyer Dixby.
Thirty-eight
The sterile scent of antiseptic still clung to her sunburnt skin as Amara slid gingerly into the chair behind her desk.She’d traded hospital gauze and a tattered ballgown for a set of borrowed Northern Territory Police coveralls.They may have been too big in the shoulders and rolled at the ankles—but they did the job, because Amara had work to do.
Her hair was pulled back into its regulation bun, minus the tiara.A bandage ran along one inner arm, with an assortment of bruises blooming across her skin, along with some scorching sunburn, and a heavily bandaged ankle that didn’t fit into her boot.
But she had a set of crutches and was mobile enough to work, to make up for the damage she’d caused.And she would not let Porter take the fall for her foolishness, either.
Amara popped the cap on the pills she’d bought for Finn’s hangovers and swallowed them down with more water.She just couldn’t get enough water, even if it meant she’d be racing to the loo more times than she cared to.She guzzled down the water as her mind went into action.
Finn might have been chasing ghosts in the field, but Amara knew him—knew how he read a map and how he triangulated terrain and tactics in his head.She’d watched him, listened and learned how Finn would use his many maps to create a plan with the precision of a master chess player shifting pieces across the board for the ultimate checkmate.
In this case, the manhunt for Sawyer Dixby.
She carted her trusty tablet to the Stock Squad’s main table and shuffled through Finn’s vast map collection.She dragged over her case files, terrain maps, brought up the drone feeds onto the wide screen, set notices for satellite pings for satphones and vehicle locations of key players.Within minutes, the table where they’d shared morning tea with Bree looked like a war room—organised, prioritised, colour-coded, and strategic.
This was her battlefield.
And she was about to remind Detective Sergeant Finn Wilde why she should remain a member of his Stock Squad.
Porter was already on the job, trying to catch the man who’d tried to kill them.He was still out there, wounded, sunburnt, but determined to chase Sawyer down in the Hellhound along with Cowboy Craig, the best tracker she’d ever seen.If you were ever to run a manhunt, who better to team up with Craig than Porter, who was well skilled at hunting.
But she needed to do more.
Her eyes flicked around the office, catching on the notice for the missing horse, Lot 728.He was safe now at Craig’s quarantine station, getting checked out by the vet, while being watched over by Izzy.
More importantly, Bree and her husband, Ryder Riggs, were out at Dustfire helping Izzy, with Bree offering to send in the rest of the Riggs brothers to help.
Amara knew Finn, Craig and Porter trusted Bree, like she was part of their team.
And Porter was all about teamwork.
He’d told her they were in a unique situation, working on a land mass bigger than the city of Sydney, with none of the resources—so trust and teamwork meant survival.They had to use what they had, and that meant relying on others.And right now, she could use those resources, which meant leaning on the locals.
Amara swallowed hard.Porter hadn’t just said it—he lived it.He’d fought for her.Cared for her.Led her through the outback on horseback like she was royalty, while he went on foot.Even when she’d been drowning under the weight of her own past, that man had carried her through the sun and dust to make sure she’d survive.
And now, it was her turn to repay the favour, somehow, from behind a desk.
‘Anything I can help with, sweetie?’It was Tanisha, pulling down the headphones she normally wore when plugged into her switchboard area at the front counter.
Amara hesitated, straightening up her own shabby, wrinkled attire, which was way worse than Porter’s messy uniform.But it didn’t matter, not when she had a job to do, and swore to never turn her nose up at Porter’s uniform again.
‘Go on.Say it.No need to be shy.It’s just you and me in this office, hon.And I want in.’Tanisha leaned over, her voice low and gritty.‘I want this bastard who dared to hurt you and Porter.’Everyone knew Tanisha doted over Porter.
Amara hobbled to her feet, making sure to keep the weight off her ankle as she dragged out her map.‘We need to establish roadblocks across cattle grids, access roads, and any stock routes that Sawyer might use, here and here.’
