Then, just for maximum irritation impact, he lowered it to theexacteye level—Amara’s eye level—for her to spot first thing in the morning.No chance she’d miss it now.
Job done.
He flicked off the light, smirking to himself as he headed to his room.
Now, all he had to do was wait for the fireworks.
Or maybe—just maybe—she’d finally laugh.
Nine
Amara gripped the steering wheel so tight her knuckles were white as she sped down the dusty track towards Dixby Downs.
She needed space.Space from Finn, space from the cramped police station and, most of all, space from Porter and his damn fridge notes.
She could still see his scrawled handwriting mocking her from the kitchen this morning.Passenger princess(es) must open and close all gates.(Excluding said dog.)
The audacity of this guy.
She’d yanked the list off the fridge and shoved it in her pocket, then into her car’s glovebox, hoping the satisfaction of hiding the evidence would cool her temper.
It hadn’t.
She was also mad at her own stupidity for not disposing of her list properly in the first place.Especially while living with a cop, which meant he was as nosy as she was when it came to paperwork.
So now she was back at Dixby Downs.
It’d been three months since theCold Stock Casewas signed off and boxed up.But the outstation kept playing on her mind.Sure, it was too long for a follow-up, by most standards, but she hadn’t let it go.Not while the outstation sat empty, like unfinished business.
It was a feeling she just couldn’t shake.
The wind whipped through the car’s open windows, carrying the sharp scent of dry grass, sunburnt soils and the hint of eucalyptus from the scattering of trees, as she pulled up beside the abandoned shed, with the holding pens on one side.
She climbed out, sliding on her wide-brimmed hat, and scanned the empty yards.The last time she was here, it had involved a stash of stolen crocodiles.
Then she noticed a large ute parked near the old drafting pens, by the water tanks.A familiar, dust-covered police patrol, four-wheel-drive ute with a cage on the back.
Amara’s heart sank.
Please, not today.
Porter leaned against the side of his ute, arms crossed over his shabby uniform, watching her with a knowing smirk.
‘Montrose,’ he drawled, pushing off the car like he had all the time in the world.With his police cap shading his eyes, he removed his sunglasses and hooked them into his shirt’s top pocket.‘Tell me you didn’t come out here to avoid me now?Or did you just need more time to admire my contributions to your list?’
Her teeth ground together.Of all the places in the Territory…
She squared her shoulders and kept her voice as professional as possible.‘I’m following up on a loose end from the Cold Stock Casereport.’
‘That so?’Porter tipped his cap back, eyes glinting with something that wasn’t quite amusement, and it wasn’t quite work mode either.
It was silly she’d said that, because Porter had helped them transport the prisoners on that case.He’d know it was three months too long for her to be here.Or would he?
‘So, you’re in my crime scene, now.’Porter gestured to the empty yard behind her.
Amara frowned.‘Your crime scene?As if.And what crime?’
Porter crossed his arms again.‘It’s a cold case.Missing overseer.Never found.’
