Especially in that vest of hers.
Tactical.Tailored.And way too polished for the Territory.
And somehow, on her, it worked wonders on his pulse.
Not only was the woman gifted at always having the last word—she was now running point.
Didn’t help that Finn had no team left in town, either.Craig and Amara had taken the truck and cattle to the quarantine station to meet the vet to check the animals’ condition after that jack-knife.There, they’d do a check on cattle brands and stock against the so-called paperwork.Porter, towing the Hellhound behind his patrol ute, had to meet his own sergeant for an NT Police job.While Stone and Romy were in the air, stealthily following that other truck.
Which left him with either Tanisha, from the front counter, to talk about glitter cannons, cocktails and cats… Orher.The Fed.
He hadn’t agreed.Not out loud.
But he’d stepped aside.Andlether.
Which might’ve been the most dangerous thing he’d done all day.
Taryn pressed the button on the video recorder, its red light blinking, making sure to hold eye contact with the suspect as she spoke.‘For the record, this interview is being recorded under caution.What you say can be used as evidence and may be admissible in court.And unlike telemarketers—thiswon’tbe used for training purposes.’
Then she took her seat opposite the driver, keeping her voice smooth as syrup and clicked her pen.‘First, let’s do the cocktail party niceties, shall we, and confirm your name and address…’
And damn if she didn’t pull it off, delicately peeling back the guy’s defensive layers without him even realising it.
No bluff.No stutter.Just steel in a silk shirt, jeans and boots.
Finn stayed quiet, occasionally shifting his weight in the open doorway, careful to never cross that threshold, with his boots creaking on the old tile.But giving enough of a death glare to make the driver swallow nails and let the beads of sweat trickle down his face.
He’d done interviews alone before.Maybe hundreds.But something about watching her do it—onhisturf, withhissuspect—felt like the beginning of something neither of them were ready to admit.
The driver cracked fast, sweat pouring down his temples, nerves twitching, and stuttering through every answer, like it was his first time in such a situation.
And it may be, just from the basic research they had: Darren Tooley.Forty-two.Long-haul truckie out of Katherine.Married, two kids, with a mortgage hanging over him like a dust cloud.No criminal record.
Desperate?Maybe.
Dangerous?Not likely.
But someone had his leash, and Finn wanted to know who was holding it.And he was letting her do the talking.
Taryn didn’t raise her voice.Didn’t lean in.She just kept pressing calmly with the preliminary questions—but, damn, if it wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d seen her do all day.
‘Who gave you the order for the trailer swap?’she asked.
‘The other driver, didn’t get a name.’
‘Seriously?’She raised an eyebrow at Tooley.
‘Bob.Okay?’
‘Bob who?’
‘Bob.Y’know Two-bob Bob.’Tooley shrugged.
Taryn tilted her head.‘Two-bob Bob?What—couldn’t he score an upgrade to Fifty-cent Frank?’
Finn sniffed to stop the smirk.
It was enough for her to reset with a click of her pen.‘So, you’ve driven for this Bob before?’
