But she could feel it now, the weight of what they were all about, and what they were trying to stop.Because in all this dust and movement and noise… no one would notice the switch of one single cow or twenty, where each beast easily came in at two grand a head.
Finn patted the kid’s shoulder not just like a mate, but more like a big brother.‘You’ve done good, mate.Now keep your head down and call me if there’s any trouble.If you can’t reach me, hide at my place or go straight to the station.Got it.’
‘She’ll be right, mate.’Brodie grinned so wide his teeth were a bright white against the dirt.
‘Just tell me you’ve got it, Brodie.Or you’ll be giving me ulcers.’
‘Yeah, yeah.A man your age, that’s bound to happen.’The boy chuckled before slipping back into the stockyards like a ghost in dirt, dust and denim.
Taryn watched him go, as the questions built in her chest.‘Who was—’
‘Not now.’Finn shot off a text to his team, catching the words: ...timeline moved forward.We’re a go.He then tossed his phone on the dash, shifted gears and steered them back onto the road.
There wasn’t any anger in his voice.But something in the way he gripped the steering wheel told her he wasn’t shutting her out—he was holding himself in.He was worried for the boy, and this other woman, Lydia.
Taryn sat back, her pulse thudding annoyingly out of sync, like a warning she should’ve listened to.
But she ignored it, as she’d just seen something she wasn’t meant to—a glimpse of who the real Finn Wilde was behind the scowl.
And that, somehow, made detaching herself from this case so much harder.
Fifteen
The tyres hummed against the bitumen before it gave way to gravel.The familiar crunch of dirt under the wheels, with gravel pinging against the underbelly before it got tossed around like confetti, was normally a sign for Finn to breathe.
But today it just wasn’t doing its magic, not with the Fed taking up space on his passenger seat.
They were maybe thirty k’s out of town, and she still hadn’t said a word since he’d told her to zip it.
Good.
He didn’t want words.He wanted space to think, to clear his head before he did something stupid—like slam the brakes and demand to know what the hell was she doing getting into his team’s heads.
But his thoughts weren’t just on her.They were on Lydia.And on Brodie, the kid wearing old burns and even older eyes.
Finn went over the conversation again.He’d said the right things, offered the safe house, the station, the fallback plan—but was it enough?If Red was escalating, would Lydia ask for help?
He should’ve pushed harder.
He should’ve—
Finn exhaled through his nose, keeping his jaw locked tight.
At least the intel was solid.He’d suspected a load was coming through soon, but now Brodie had given him what he didn’t have—a timeframe.
Tomorrow morning.Ten sharp.That was when the last truck was allowed through the stockyard’s boom gates, when the yards were closed to focus purely on loading the train.
With a quick text message to the team to get into position, they had one night—tonight—to plan the sting, and pray Red didn’t sniff them coming.
And Taryn?
She shouldn’t have been there, hogging his passenger seat.
He hated that she’d seen Brodie, forcing him to trust her.It was a risk he hadn’t meant to take.But the worst part?
He wasn’t sure if he regretted it.
Taryn sat beside him, flicking through the file he’d slapped on her desk earlier.Her pen tapped the side of her notebook, with her legs braced as the troopy hit a dip and rumbled on.
