He drove up to Cowboy Craig.
Craig pushed back the brim of his cowboy hat, while giving the beast an appreciative once-over.‘Please tell me you’re taking me for a spin in that?’
‘Wanna see what we can find on the road?’
‘Hell yeah, I’m in.’Craig leaped into the passenger seat.
With a final nod to Amara, Porter gunned the Hellhound down the dirt track, dust spitting out behind them.Craig rode shotgun, one arm hooked on the roll bar, already scanning the terrain.
Porter locked onto the tyre marks ahead—tracks that had no business being on his land.
Further along he eased off the throttle, letting the buggy cruise as they rolled over various rocks, cracked washouts and churned through the bulldust.They veered towards the fence line, and they were back on the main road where dust settled slowly in the morning heat.
They both climbed out and searched the ground for clues.But this morning there was more traffic than normal, thanks to Marcus calling in everyone from the station.
‘Too many cars now to see where it went.’Craig crouched down, squinting at the ground.
‘Yeah…’ Porter couldn’t get mad at Marcus.He knew his boss was just as ticked over this situation as he was.They weren’t just a squad of cops, they were like family, and this theft situation was personal.
But the thieves never went near the house, they never travelled down his driveway.They came in through the land next door, cutting the fence closest to the stables.That much he’d been able to work out from the tracks.
But Craig had a genuine gift for reading the story in the soils, especially for vehicles.
‘What do you think it is?’
‘It’s not a Hilux,’ Craig muttered, nudging at the deep impressions in the dirt track with his boot.
Porter crouched low to the track, where the tread was clean and heavy.‘These tyre tracks are wider than my patrol ute.And there’s a deeper drag at the rear axle like it was carrying a load.’
‘I agree.The weight’s sitting over the back wheels, which says it’s a ute.But it’s bigger than your standard ute, but smaller than a truck.’
Porter ran a hand over his jaw.‘It’s not one of them American pick-ups?The Ram?’
‘Not a fan?’Craig squinted at the sun as he adjusted his cowboy hat that shaded his blond curls.
‘I’ve picked up plenty of Ram side panels as road hazards from getting shaken free just from the corrugations.’Porter remained crouched beside the tracks.
Craig snorted, shaking his head.‘Only a fool—or a bloke with too much cash—drives one of those out here.They hate the heat, guzzle fuel like they own their own oil well… but they do have the towing capacity.’He traced the edge of the tyre tread.‘I don’t think this is just any Ram.It’d be a 2500 or bigger.Diesel.Towing something heavy—one of those long horse floats.’
‘Those horse floats are everywhere.But the Ram, well…’ Porter’s jaw ticked as he stood beside Craig, their shadows stretched long onto the road, rolling out like a red carpet that disappeared in the watery haze.Whoever had stolen Amara’s horse had come prepared and was brazen enough, or stupid enough, to steal from a cop’s house.
Craig kicked at a stone, it tumbled for a few paces until it stilled.‘Amara told me her horse’s brand had been tampered with.’
‘Yeah.That reminds me, I sent it to Bree for her opinion last night.’Porter dragged out his phone, hoping for some answers.‘I’m going back to the office.Tanisha and I can run a vehicle check on any Rams registered in the region.’
‘In this buggy?’
‘No, police van.’He was still in the same uniform from last night.
‘Can I go with you?’
‘Why?’
‘I’m not sitting in the car with Finn.The booze is coming out of his skin now.’
That didn’t give Porter much confidence in Finn’s ability as a leader of the Stock Squad, not when one of his own needed him.‘Do you know what triggered his drinking?’
‘Wish I did.Because Finn’s a good guy under all that ink.’
