‘Federal Investigator Taryn Hayes.’
‘Nice to meet you, Taryn.’Porter shook her hand, then handed over a cup of actual coffee, not just muddy water.‘You’ll want that.Especially if your next interview is with Stone.Bloke’s a menace.’
‘Already survived him.Barely.’
‘Then you’ve earned it.’Porter dragged out a chair before the silent laptop that occupied the far end of the large table, lifted the laptop lid and sipped on his coffee while giving Taryn an inviting nod to sit.
Did she dare?
She did.
‘I’ve been told that you’re the man to ask about the Hellhound.I found some receipts,’ she said, cradling her cup.‘Exactly what is the Hellhound?’
Porter grinned.‘It’s a four-wheel-drive-converted beach buggy that looks like a Frankenstein’s version of a Mad Max movie escapee.Built it myself—ex-speedway junkie.’
‘You raced?’
‘Junior Champion many times.But these days, the Hellhound’s more of a bush-bashing speed machine I use for hunting ferals.And those receipts were for a manhunt while on thatWild Stockcase.’
‘So you work for the NT Police, stationed at Elsie Creek, but help the Federal Stock Squad?’
‘Sure.When they need me.Prison transfers.Manhunts.Bit of backup.Sarge, there,’ he said, pointing to the OIC’s closed door, ‘he’ll loan me out—especially if something’s gone bush.I do some tracking.Nothing like Cowboy Craig, who’s a master at it.But after wearing out three patrol vehicles, I do know the roads in this region.’
‘And the Hellhound?’
‘Can go places no patrol ute can.Here, I’ve got a picture…’ Porter thumbed through a few images on his phone.‘There’s the hell on wheels.’
It was a beast.The Hellhound looked like it had been forged in a thunderstorm.Caked in red dust, on oversized tyres, with welded mesh for a bull bar that’d definitely hit things on purpose.Racing seats, roll bars, lots of spotlights, and aerials that reached skyward like antennae on a monster-eating creature that could sniff out trouble from a kilometre away.And fast.
But leaning against the side of it, in dusty boots, was Constable Amara Montrose.Her stockman’s hat tipped low, her hair down, and laughing.Relaxed.And herself.
Porter stood beside her, holding her hand, sharing a laugh with her in the kind of unguarded moment that didn’t need explaining.They were a young couple sharing a moment together, and were deeply in love.
Taryn said nothing.
Porter just took the phone and shared a soft smile at the photo lighting up his screen.‘She keeps up with me, even when the Hellhound doesn’t.’
‘How big an area do you patrol, if you’ve worn out three patrol vehicles?’She’d seen the hefty ute parked in the back.It was nothing like the simple police vans she’d seen in the city.Porter’s police vehicle was a big four-wheel-drive ute with a cage, winches, beefy tyres, rows of spotlights, and a solid bull bar, heavily kitted for the outback.
Porter dug around his pile of files occupying the nearby chair and pulled out a heavily creased map.He spread it across the desk like he was rolling out a blueprint.‘This area…’ He drew a circle on the map.‘It’s what this station, NT Police, cover.My patrol area.It’s big enough to get lost in twice, huh?’
Her eyes widened.‘That landmass is over a third the size of Victoria.’
‘But then…’ Porter flipped the map over and tapped a broader area that dwarfed the first map.‘That’s the area Finn’s team covers.All these cattle stations that run from the north, west, and east.’
She blinked a few times as if ridding some grit in her eyes.He was talking about Northern Australia.‘That’s got to be—’
‘A hundred times bigger than our area.’Porter nodded.‘And we’ve got how many cops trained in livestock crime out here?’
She didn’t answer.
Ported did.‘Two.Four, if you count the part-timers.I’d say the Stock Squad’s running lean, wouldn’t you?’
She stared at the map, gripping onto her coffee mug.No one had put it that plainly before.The sheer scale.The overwhelming odds.And yet they kept showing up.
Before she could ask another question, the back door slammed shut, followed by a set of heavy boots that came down the corridor, heading for the coffee.
It was Finn Wilde, complete with dust in his wake.
