The stereo played an old Springsteen track, the vinyl crackling like campfire wood.The needle skipped.But he didn’t fix it.
Taryn hadn’t called.Not that she was supposed to.And not that he could have called her if he wanted to.
But still…
One month and only a couple of short text messages.
And, yeah, he missed her.
Didn’t mean anything.When it should have meant nothing.Come on, it was only three days after weeks of bickering with each other.
It just meant the house was quieter.The beer went untouched.And the shadows didn’t talk back.
He reached for a wrench, twisted it down, listening to the click of steel on steel.The bike didn’t complain.Unlike the paperwork piling up in his inbox back in the Batcave.
The quarry had stayed quiet with the one-month shutdown, and the illegal surveillance still ongoing.Stone had even bought extra cameras for Romy to continue filming her documentary.
There’d been three smaller busts: branded calves moved on false tags.One rogue contractor in Katherine skimming the sales.And another stock agent trying to retire early by accepting kickbacks for allowing a lesser grade of stock to pass through.
But the big one?The operation behind the operation?
That was hibernating like a grizzly bear, waiting for spring to come before that beast started stealing stock again.Only this time, his team was ready to pounce.
Finn wiped his hands on an old rag and stood, stretching his back.He reached for a soda from the fridge and was halfway to cracking the can open when he heard an engine.Too fast, and unfamiliar.
He dumped the can on the kitchen bench, grabbed the shotgun from behind the fridge, and slipped into his boots by the back door.
He took the long way round, cutting behind the water tank, hugging the shadows, with his eyes locked on the erratic swing of headlights cutting across his front yard.
Sliding on the gravel it was enough to spot the mismatched tail-light.
It was Red’s ute.
GradyRedGalloway, the elusive Stock Agent he’d been chasing for a year.It had taken over eight months just to put a face to the title, that was linked to three deaths and millions of dollars in stolen livestock.
So why the hell would that red-bearded bastard be barrelling onto Finn’s property in the dark?
Through the long grass, he held his shotgun raised and ready.If Red was stupid enough to come here, he’d get a very different kind of welcome.
‘Finn!’It was Brodie.
Finn lowered his shotgun as he stepped into the light.‘What’s wrong?’
Brodie turned.
Finn stopped cold.
The kid was covered in blood.Limping, with his left arm hanging uselessly at his side, the shoulder lower than it should be as if dislocated, with blood dripping from his fingertips.
‘Help!’ Brodie gasped, a fragile kid with chest heaving, and eyes wide with terror, stumbled towards him.‘It’s Lydia—she’s dying!’
Through the open driver’s door he spotted a body slumped on the passenger side.
Finn cut across the bonnet, his boots kicking up gravel.Blood slicked the door handle, his grip slipping as he opened the door.
The smell hit first.
Blood and diesel, with the tick of the engine the only sound.
