‘Tempest.’The name stung.She didn’t want to feel the hurt, the worry, the raw ache clawing up from her past, hating that she’d been here before, giving her every reason to cuff the neck of a bottle like one of the old shearers, and drown it all.
But she hadn’t.Not then.Not now.
And maybe that’s why this hit harder.
Because she respected Finn.Blindly and totally trusted him to hold the line, no matter what came at them.
And now, the one person she thought would never falter… was struggling and she didn’t know how to help him, without crossing the line.
‘Good name,’ Finn mumbled.‘What was the name of your first horse that got stolen?’
Of course, he’d know of her past.Finn would’ve dug deep to find her motivation, her drive to do this job.He was very careful about who he chose to be a part of his team.
‘Three were stolen, sir.Vortex Fire, Tex was his stable name.Calypso’s Catapult, Callie for short.Then Brigadier’s Pride.’Her favourite.Dear-to-me, she’d call him.After all those hours in the stables, the practising yards, the paddock, losing Brigadier’s Pride had felt like her best friend had been taken from her.
‘Fancy names.Aren’t racing horses the only ones with the fancy names?’
‘Pedigree polo horses have them, too, sir.’
‘Was Tempest a polo horse?’
‘I’m willing to bet my badge on it, sir.Lot 728 was—isa pedigree.’
‘Well, let’s get inside and find out where he came from.’Finn closed the passenger door behind him, his long legs eating up the asphalt at the rear entrance to the police station.
Amara scrambled after him.‘But sir—’
‘Porter’s here already.’Finn nodded at the police van.‘Leave him to do the legwork.If his boss is right, Porter would’ve started vehicle searches already.We need to roll with the forensic findings and other searches.’
Amara followed Finn inside, the familiar scent of stale coffee, dust, and printing ink wrapped around her as they stepped into the Stock Squad’s large office.
She opened the fridge, grabbed two bottles of water, and set one on Finn’s desk, dropping a packet of painkillers beside it.
Without the sunglasses, it was all there—bloodshot eyes, pale skin, and that flat, haunted look she knew too well.
But she couldn’t say a word.
She dropped her bag, though the weight still clung to her shoulders, and slid behind her desk.Powered up her PC.Ready to roll.
She was not going to give up—she had a job to do.
She was trained for this.She knew the cold logic of an investigation.
But to steal it from a known policeman’s house… a horse with a tampered brand—maybe they were onto something bigger than she’d imagined.
Seventeen
The Elsie Creek Police Station was a frenzy of paperwork, with Tanisha at her post behind the reception counter, Sarge was holed up in his office, and the Stock Squad were tucked away in the boardroom.
At the large muster table, Porter sat at his laptop, scanning reports, now well into pulling a double shift, the glow of the screen burning into his tired eyes.
‘Got anything yet, Porter?’Stone, the Stock Squad’s pilot and part-time crocodile wrangler, strolled in for what had to be his umpteenth cup of coffee.
‘Nah.’Porter didn’t look up.‘You?’
‘I’m seeing double.’Stone blew out a breath.‘I don’t know cattle brands from hieroglyphics, mate, but I can read the family traits in the skin of a crocodile.And poor Romy, all she’s seeing is red—red sand, red soils, red roads from her drone footage.’
‘How’s Amara?’He was worried about her.
