She flicked him a look over the top of a printout.‘That depends.Are you planning on answering anything?Or are you going to just glare at me like I’ve touched your laundry?’
Finn huffed.‘You’re the one nesting.’
‘Organisation is not nesting.And this isn’t a filing system, it’s a scrapbook of conflicting witness statements, with chicken scratches in the margins, and pick-the-date roulette.You’ve got three versions of the same report, with six different times.If this goes to court, it’ll burn on contact, or make my stapler run screaming into witness protection.’
He watched her for a moment longer.Sharp eyes and steady hands with the kind of brain that didn’t need noise to function—just patterns.
Damn Izzy for being right.Again.Because Taryn held the power to shut him down.Not just the squad—buthim.
Finn grabbed his billy.He needed to do something while Taryn continued to tear through the Gaps File, sorting papers into neat little piles held under more rocks.
He could offer to help or give her a tarp to lay over the dirt, but her focus told him to not interfere.So, instead, he lit his single-flame burner—an old tin thing that had seen more country than most blokes in the burbs.
Beside it, his dented thermos sat like an old soldier.He’d hurled it at a runaway thief once, outside a roadhouse, and cracked the bastard clean in the temple.Still kept it, even with the dent, because it’d hold heat for days.
The water hissed and steam curled up as he emptied the coffee grounds into the billy.The stuff was so strong it looked like floor shavings mixed with gunpowder, set to brew a round of bullets.They’d need it if they were going to pull an all-nighter.
Finn put the coffee down for her.He’d actually made someone a coffee.And that never happened.‘You’re welcome, by the way,’ he muttered.
‘For what?’
‘The hill.The view.The coffee.The tactical genius system in my folder of—’
‘Sticky notes, highlighters and the odd roadhouse napkin or five, do not make a system.’She took a sip.Then peered inside her cup with a wince.‘Sheesh!This coffee tastes like a sour pool of poor life choices.’She gave him a sideways look.‘What’d you brew this with?Floor shavings and a dash of vintage gunpowder?You know, it should come with a warning label:Do not ingest if you ever want to sleep again.’
‘Just drink it.Builds character.’
She grinned, with a sweet spark lighting up her eyes, as she took another sip, and put her cup down on the ground beside her chair.‘But I will thank you for the hill.’
‘Huh?’
‘I know what a good stake-out spot looks like.’She nodded at their view.‘High ground, clear view, with fallback options and only two entry points.It’s almost charming.’
He grunted.‘Charming.Right.’
She smirked.‘What, you want praise?A round of applause?Wait, I can download something off the internet.Put it on a loop, to really boost morale.’
‘I wanted quiet.’
‘And yet, here we are.’She took another sip of coffee, tucking a stray strand of hair behind one dainty ear, and leaned closer to the pile of paperwork now surrounding the esky.
But the way the sunset cast a fine shade of gold across her face, did wonders in highlighting her smooth skin.
Her sleeves were rolled up, with a pen gently held between her slender fingers, belonging to a woman with brains and the nerve to sit in his space like it was hers.
It should’ve ticked him off more.
But it didn’t.
Which wasn’t right.
‘You could’ve stayed in the office,’ he said finally.‘No one forced you out here.’
She met his stare with steady eyes.‘Says the man who’s been avoiding me for days to sneak off to solve the world’s problems with a deck chair and a billy can.’
‘It’s a camp chair,’ he muttered.
‘It’s a habit,’ she shot back.‘You, playing the lone wolf all the time.’
