He stopped.Then narrowed his eyes, which were full of heat, on her.
He said nothing.Just turned and barged straight into the OIC’s office—
And slammed the door behind him.
‘I think the big man likes you.’Porter casually sipped his coffee as he eyed the door that Finn had just slammed.‘What do you reckon, Tanisha?’
‘Please…’ Tanisha over-dramatically rolled her eyes.‘That was a full-blownI like you, but I’m emotionally constipated about itdoor slam.That man right there,’ she said, pointing at the closed door with one of her dangerously long fingernails, ‘needs glitter, a double cocktail, and a big bear hug.’Tanisha then winked as if she’d just dropped the juiciest gossip of the day.
Porter laughed so easily, fist-bumping Tanisha, while casually keeping Taryn involved, like she belonged.
How was Taryn meant to audit this?
Not when Finn’s silent storm had somehow stirred up an in-house scandal.
Nine
The door slam echoed like gunfire through the station.Followed by Tanisha and Porter’s laughter.
Bloody Fed, making friends with Tanisha and Porter like she belonged here.
Marcus casually glanced up from his desk, mug in hand.‘Did that door offend you, Wilde?’
‘It was open.’
‘Mm.So was the front gate last week.We didn’t slam that.’He sipped his coffee.‘You here to hide, throw a tantrum, or talk stock routes?’
Finn dropped into the visitor’s chair with a grunt.‘What do you know about the Spinifex Highway?’
Marcus straightened slightly, his police uniform barely containing the bulky mass of muscle that came from brutal, disciplined effort—the kind that’d make even the hardest of prisoners, the ones who’d hog the barbells in the yard, nod with respect.‘Just that it’s a little red vein of hell.Why?’
‘Young Brodie was sent a video of cattle loading at Tinderflats Station.’Finn played the footage on his phone.‘That road train, supposedly carrying the same load of cattle, turns up at the stockyards with a different load of breathing assets.They’d been swapped out somewhere under the radar.’
‘And you think they’re doing it along the Spinifex Highway?’
Finn nodded, pulling the map from his pocket and spreading it over Marcus’s cluttered desk.‘It’s happening somewhere in this region…’ He tapped on the map.‘It’s central to half a dozen western stations, with plenty of space for two trucks to swap out a trailer load of fats.It also wouldn’t be too hard to stash a stockyard somewhere in the scrub, to draft out the prime stock in that area either.’
‘Any idea which stations are involved?Or stockmen?’
‘That’s the problem.Station owners might be double dipping, but I’m betting its contractors.’Finn started folding up his map.‘SW Rural Contracting.Ever heard of them?’
Marcus shook his head.‘A lot of stations hire contractors these days.Mustering crews, fencing, transport teams—it’s cheaper than staffing full time.’
‘Makes the paper trail messier.And I’m guessing some of the stockmen might be complicit.’
‘Or they’re being leaned on, hoping to cover their debts.A lot of cattle stations these days are fighting a mortgage, sky-rocketing diesel costs, and the risk of a corporate takeover.’
‘And if they’re corporate-owned stations, who’s to say their staff aren’t turning a blind eye?’Finn slid the map back into his back pocket.‘But Spinifex does have a long, unbroken stretch of red dirt and no cattle fences.’The perfect cover.
‘And you think it links to the smuggling ring?’
‘Yeah.’Finn leaned back in the chair, grinding his teeth.
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because Red is the one signing off on the paperwork.And only the locals know the Spinifex Highway exists.It’s not on any GPS or any other official stock route planner.But it’s how they’re sneaking cattle across without going near a weighing station or a stock inspector.’
Marcus gave a low whistle.‘So, they’re running stolen stock down a ghost road, backed by real paperwork.’
