Bob leaned back in his chair, but there was nothing relaxed about it. The movement was rigid, controlled, like a man forcing himself to sit still while every instinct was telling him to pace the room.
“Last confirmed sighting?”
“Before he rode out. The horse came back without him, and nobody’s seen him since.” Bob dragged his hand down. “There’s no sign of Frank anywhere.”
“Any indication of foul play?”
He paused. A flicker crossed his face and vanished in an instant. Most people would have missed it. I didn’t. And suddenly, I wasn’t sure whether Bob wanted answers because he suspected foul play, or because he already had them.
“I want you out at Koolaroo.” His voice steadied, his jaw didn’t, though. “Get some bloody answers.”
“But Sarge …” I kept my voice even. “If Frank fell off his horse three weeks ago in this heat, he’s probably dead. You know that, right?”
He held my gaze for a beat too long but said nothing.
I had a rotten feeling he wasn’t telling me everything. I’d seen Bob pull Frank out of trouble many times. Whatever this was, it went deeper than just a missing man.
“I want eyes on that family regardless,” he said. “Something’s not right out there.”
I drew a breath. Koolaroo Ranch. Everyone in the district knew the place. Everyone had an opinion about the Bransons and their never-ending dramas.
“I’ll call Cassidy first thing in the?—”
“Get your ass out there, Delaney, and you’ll stay out there until you find that bastard. Dead or alive.” He held my gaze. “Pack a bag.”
The words hit like a wrecking ball.
The Branson brothers were the last people on earth I wanted to spend time with. The name alone stirred an ache in me that I’d stored away years ago. It was best that it stayed there, too.
I opened my mouth to argue but held back. This was not the moment to unpack my crap.
Bob had given me this posting when nobody else would take a chance on a pint-sized, blonde-haired, blue-eyed first-year constable. I’d lost count of how many times I’d been called Barbie by crooks, by colleagues, by my annoying sisters, even when they knew how much I hated the Barbie reference. I was no bloody Barbie. But Bob had seen past my appearance and given me a shot.
I owed him, and I always did what he asked.
“Okay,” I said, and stood.
“Report back to me every day. Twice a day. I want you to search every building on that property, including the outstations.”
I frowned. “The outstations? But they’re a long way from?—”
“I know where they are, Sapphire.” His tone left no room for argument. “Get Kayden to chopper you out to each one. That’s an order.”
I bit back what I wanted to say. Bloody hell. I’d wanted to switch things up, but this was not what I’d had in mind.
I drove home with the windows down because my car’s air conditioning was no better than the station’s. The sun was low, throwing long shadows across the road and turning the dust in the air to copper.
My little rental cottage sat at the end of a dirt street on the edge of town. It was nothing special, just a fibro box with a corrugated iron roof and a massive mango tree in the front yard that had never once given me a mango, thanks to the bloody possums who always beat me to them.
As I pulled into the driveway, my phone buzzed. I killed the engine and looked at the screen.
A text from Nate: The Sarge released Bruce Henderson. No charges.
What the hell?
As the engine ticked, the heat pressed in through the open windows. I stared at that message and felt something cold settle in my stomach.
I’d been working under Senior Sergeant Bob Ackerman for four years.
