‘Just tape.And maybe a whiteboard, if you’ve got one stashed behind your Harley shrine.’
Finn gave a small huff.
He still didn’t step into the room.
Instead, he grabbed a large plastic tub.Lifted the lid and passed her a roll of tape, and a battered clipboard.
‘Thanks.’She got to work and taped up the first few sheets that made up Tooley’s statement.
She sorted through the freight schedules and stock route maps as the start of her web.But it felt lopsided.Fragmented.She needed a second set of eyes.
‘Do you want to help or just lurk?’
His brow lifted.‘You’re the one running point.’
‘I am.Which means I get to delegate.’She handed him a stack of papers without touching him.
He stepped in.Quietly.Like the floor might give out, or the ghosts might speak.
Funny how he could chase down a road train, or lean against the public bar like he owned it, but still paused like this—like walking into his own spare room was something he had to earn.Was it a prison rule he hadn’t shaken, or just… Finn?With her?
It was awkward at first, but soon they settled into a rhythm—her taping up evidence, him sorting out freight manifests.The two of them dancing around each other in the room like they’d rehearsed it.
He didn’t ask questions, just got to work grouping statements and manifests, laying it out like they already saw the pattern beneath the mess.
She taped another stock route to the wall and tried not to watch him.She knew she’d have to sort through this lot, before he gave her the missing file, the one about Everlight.It’s what she’d do in his situation.
Taryn reached over to stick another stock route map higher on the wall and cursed under her breath.
Finn glanced up.‘Need a boost?’
‘You were given height for a reason.Don’t waste it.’She held up the tape to him.
His mouth twitched just enough to hint at a smile he wasn’t letting her see.But those sinful eyes of his were calm.Along with a heat she was getting dangerously good at interpreting.
He took the page from her, their fingers brushing for just a second, but it was enough to scramble something under her skin.
He stepped in closer.She didn’t move.Not because she was frozen, but because if she shifted now, she might do something stupid.
Like breathe.
Finn taped the page to the wall, dead centre, of course.His arm brushed hers as he stepped back, leaving her nerves sparking like they’d just shorted out over a freight manifest.
Fantastic.So now red dirt and spreadsheet crimes were her kink.
Come on, this was about paperwork.Ink.Pages.And where pushing pins into the wall was like playing voodoo dolls for bad guys.
Yet somehow, she was having a full-body crisis over the proximity of a man who smelled like spice and poor decisions—the kind you knew better than to want but wanted to taste anyway.
Either she was losing it, or this was karma for pretending she could kiss Finn Wilde and go back to being professionally unaffected.
She just needed a minute.
Or a hose.
She cleared her throat.‘Here’s another one to pin to the wall.’
Pin to the wall.
