The driver shoved his hands into the air.
With cuffs in hand, the way Finn slammed the troopy door practically shouted:Try something.I dare you.
Still, she kept her aim steady while he cuffed the driver, neither of them needing to speak.They had it covered, like they’d done this a hundred times.
The only difference was, this time… they weren’t just covering each other’s backs.They were playing to win.Together.
The driver glanced between them, frowning.‘She with you?’
Finn didn’t miss a beat.‘Yeah,’ he said, tightening the flexi-cuffs.‘She’s with me.’
A simple answer.Just three words:She’swith me—were loaded as hell, like a sucker punch to her heart.
With him.Not under him.Not against him.Butwithhim.
Taryn arched a brow, holstering her weapon.‘Careful, sergeant.You keep saying it like that and people might get the wrong idea.’
‘You saying it’s wrong?’he muttered, while still patting the guy down.
She held his gaze for a heartbeat too long.‘I’m saying I still want the last word.’
‘Wouldn’t expect anything less.’He gave her a sly wink.
Her pulse gave the briefest traitorous kick.
She ignored it.
Well, she tried to… Not react and just play the Fed, like a good little professional.
Down the road, Craig pulled in beside Porter’s beastly buggy, as Romy’s drone did a wide sweep overhead.That thin, high-pitched buzz cut through the air like a mozzie, recordingeverything.
‘In a few days, once the dust settles from this bust, we might have to buy the Fed a beer and tell tall stories,’ Stone’s voice drawled over comms.
Porter’s voice chimed in next, over the speakers: ‘Long as she’s buying the second round.’
Taryn smirked, shaking her head as Finn handed her the driver’s wallet.Their fingers brushed, just for a second, but it lingered.
‘Good work,’ he muttered.
It was tough to not smile at him.
Then he dragged the driver towards the police ute, his tone all tough-guy-official again.‘Amara and Porter, check over the truck and trailers.Craig, do a headcount on the cattle.Check their condition to see if we need a vet.’He then keyed the radio, glancing up at the drone buzzing overhead.‘Stone, Romy, you know what to do, play ghost.’
Finn paused, holding the driver like a ragdoll, halfway to the police ute, and glanced back at Taryn.‘Fed, the truck cab is yours.Paperwork.Keys, phone, radio logs.I want it all.’
And just like that, she was in.
Nineteen
The local police station’s interview room wasn’t much, just a metal table and two chairs in the kind of space meant to squeeze out the truth by sheer discomfort.The same place the Fed had extracted information from Finn’s team these past ten days, in the place he’d been trying to avoid.
Arms folded, and jaw tight, Finn leaned against the open doorframe, still in his police vest with the radio on low to listen out for the others.He didn’t do interrogation rooms, he’d rather get confessions from the back of police vans, or at the scene of an arrest.Call it a kickback from his days of living in a 6x4 concrete block with window views of nothing but bars and bullies in orange jumpsuits.
At the table sat the busted truck driver.His wrists were still zip-tied behind his back, with sweat soaking his shirt collar.
And sitting opposite?
The Fed.Taryn Hayes.Clipboard in hand, posture sharp enough to cut steel—like she ran the AFP’s entire interrogation unit.
