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CHAPTER SEVEN
FINN WATCHED THE figure of Detective Sampson disappear into the mess tent, directing the two officers under his command to start searching at the back of the large tent. This new turn of events was annoying, to say the least. Because it undercut Finn’s clandestine efforts to do exactly the same thing. He’d been conducting covert searches of the camp himself, but so far had come up empty-handed. Which was why he’d been glad when they returned early to camp this afternoon. It gave him a chance to clamber beneath the Scanlon’s big truck and check it out, while everyone was busy grading the cattle. Looking for hidden compartments, suspicious lock-boxes, anything that looked out of place or wasn’t supposed to be there. But Finn understood why this Detective Sampson would fast-track a search warrant. They still hadn’t found the murder weapon, and it’d only been a matter of time before they came back to make an official search of the camp. It would’ve been nice if someone could’ve warned him it was happening. He hadn’t had time to check in with Mike today, and that was probably why he’d heard nothing about this surprise visit.
Nash and Constable Willow stood talking in low voices to Dale and Mack, as everyone else hovered in an anxious semi-circle around them. Dale probably didn’t realize it yet, but Nash and Willow were here to take part in the search, as well. It was part of the job. A shitty part of the job, but a part, nonetheless. Nash could ask to be removed from the case due to his intimate relationships with some of the members of Stormcloud. But heprobably thought he was doing his best to protect his friends the chief way he knew how. Finn was surprised that Nash’s supervisor hadn’t already asked him to step down. Finn didn’t know Nash at all, but he guessed the man had fought to stay on the case. It was what he would’ve done if he’d been in the same situation. Things could change in an instant, however, depending on what this search turned up tonight. Nash could still be pulled. Almost as if the Senior Constable could read his thoughts, he flicked his gaze up to meet Finn’s. Hinting at many unspoken emotions in that gaze, Nash quickly looked back to where Dale was pointing out something in the warrant, but Finn could feel the other man’s regret and frustration.
“Did you know this was going to happen?” Indy hissed into his ear as she turned accusing eyes on him.
“What? No!” He took her by the hand to lead her away from the others. If she didn’t keep her voice down, she was going to blow his cover.
As soon as they were far enough away, hidden by the dark shroud of night, he said, “Sorry, I know this is upsetting. But blaming me for something I have no control over isn’t going to help.” But more than half of his concentration was on the way Indy hadn’t let go of his hand straight away, clinging to it as if for support. Small and warm, work-roughened but fine-boned, her hand sat in his like it’d always meant to be there.
“So, you didn’t know the search warrant had been issued?” she asked, pulling his focus back to her.
They were just outside the circle of light cast by the fire, and he could barely make out the contours of her face. She was all soft lines and hidden depths in the muted dimness. His mind took him back to last night when he kissed her. And she’d kissed him back. The feel of her lips beneath his, inviting him in.
“Well, did you?” she demanded.
“No, I didn’t.” It was the truth. But Indy was still staring up at him, and even in the dark, he could see the confusion and anger on her face. She needed more from him. “But it was only a matter of time before they came back,” he sighed. “They need to find that murder weapon.” Or some sort of clue, or connection, that might lead them to the murderer. And the stock camp was the only thing they had right now.
She was silent for many long moments. “And what if they do?” Indy eventually whispered. “What if someone in this camp…?” she didn’t finish her sentence. Didn’t have to. She was finally getting it. And he knew it was a painful conclusion to come to. That someone in this camp could very well be responsible for Wombat’s murder. At the very least, were connected to the drugs somehow. Which was exactly what he was trying to uncover.
“Come back to camp,” he said gently. They couldn’t be seen off whispering together, it’d look highly suspicious. “Do you want me to be with you when they search your tent?” he asked.
She nodded mutely, raising dark eyes to his. He understood how scary this could be to someone who’d never encountered it before. People often felt violated and irritated that someone else could so casually go through their stuff.
Her small hand was still in his as he led her back to the campfire, and for a second, he considered holding onto it. Liked so much how it felt to be connected this way to Indy that he almost let protocol fly out the window. But it wouldn’t do for anyone to see how close he and Indy were becoming, so he gently let her go just as they re-entered the veil of light.
* * *
Finn stifled a yawn. It’d been a long night, and now the morning was dragging by as slow as if he were swimming in treacle. He stopped his motorcycle and flicked up his visor to take a drink. The water was lukewarm, but wet, and that was all thatmattered. Thankfully, it was nearly lunchtime. A trail of dust rose over the thicket of gum trees in the distance, heralding Bindi’s arrival in her Land Cruiser, which would be laden with their midday meal. His stomach rumbled with anticipation. Finn dearly hoped Bindi had also brought her enormous thermos full of coffee, because he needed a mugful badly. Preferably more than one. As did most of the rest of the crew, judging by their tired expressions.
Detective Sampson had come up empty-handed. Apart from a small stash of dope in Dave’s bag, which Finn already knew about, but had kept his mouth shut. Because it was for personal use, Dave was only slapped with a stern warning from the detective. Then there was the unregistered handgun found hidden in the cab of Brian’s truck and immediately impounded. Which was a little more concerning, but Brian tried to explain it away as needing protection for himself and Rosie as they were on the road so much. It wasn’t unusual for country folk to have a firearm stashed somewhere on their property, and a lot of them remained unlicensed. Nash intervened when it looked like the detective was going to become overly officious about the whole thing, and argued that because Wombat’s murder hadn’t involved a gun, Brian should be let off with a lesser charge. It would still mean an appearance in court, which would most likely end with a fine. Rosie had dissolved in a puddle of near-hysterical tears until Indy and Beth had gone up and comforted her. And no one had made it to bed until well after midnight.
Finn silently thanked the powers that be, that the cops hadn’t discovered the false bottom in his bag, where he stashed his gun and the sat phone. If they had, he would’ve had no choice but to reveal himself to them all. But at least his identity was still kept between himself and Nash. And Sampson, who’d been let in on the undercover op by Mike. For now. His undercover missioncould continue unhindered, as long as the rest of the mustering crew were ignorant of who he was and what he was looking for.
All of this had left Finn feeling both relieved and disappointed. Disappointed, because if they’d managed to uncover the murder weapon, this case might be on the way to being closed. But mostly, he was relieved. Which was weird, because he should want this case to be over, so he could get back to his real life in Sydney. But that’d mean he’d no longer get to see Indy. And he knew he’d miss her, as stupid as that sounded. He’d only met her three days ago. But she’d already wormed her way into his subconscious.
Finn pushed his visor down and put the bike into gear. This helmet was damn hot and sweaty, but at least it kept the dust and the flies away from his face. Heading toward Bindi’s car, which was pulling up beneath the shade of two large ironbarks, Finn wondered if he’d be able to eat straight away, or if he’d have to wait. Dale said he’d split the team in half and rotate them through lunch, leaving a skeleton crew to make sure the cattle didn’t drift away and scatter while they ate.
He was in luck; Dale called his name for first seating and Finn went forward gratefully to get a plate of food. A nice big slab of quiche and a pile of potato salad were on the menu today. Finn’s mouth watered as he eyed the large tray of brownies on the back table. He’d grab one of those on his way out, too.
Chairs had already been set up in a semi-circle in the shade, and he took a seat opposite Indy, who was conversing with Beth over which website was best to buy clothes online. Finn listened as he ate, learning for the first time how hard it was for country women to get the items they needed. It was often the luck of the draw with sizing when you ordered stuff online, and it could sometimes take months for packages to arrive.
“Time to swap,” Dale called, just as Finn stuffed the last bite of potato salad into his mouth. He snagged a brownie and bitinto it as he made his way to his motorcycle, as the others did the same to their respective steeds. Goddamn, the gooey, chocolate dessert was delicious. His mood picked up, perhaps because of the food, or possibly the two mugs of coffee he’d slammed down.
It was a typical outback Queensland day. Hot—the temperature was probably hovering around thirty degrees Celsius, very dry, with a sky as blue as a cornflower. And flies. Millions of flies. It amazed Finn that they were heading into winter, and it was still as hot as a furnace out here. The top end of Australia didn’t have the normal four seasons most other regions had, they merely had the wet and the dry. Winter was dry and slightly cooler, and summer was wet, hotter, and terribly humid by all accounts. He was glad he was experiencing the dry right now; he could just imagine all this fine, red dust turning to ochre mud when it got wet.
Finn trundled along in the lowest gear at the back of the mob with his visor open. There was no urgency for the next twenty minutes, while the other half of the crew ate. The cattle were allowed to drift along at their own pace; all he was here to do was to make sure they didn’t go in the wrong direction, or split up. Someone always took point, to lead the cattle. Today, that was Mack. The others were scattered around the mob, one or two at the rear, driving them forward, and at least one person on each flank to make sure they didn’t head sideways.
His mind drifted back to his conversation with his boss, Mike, over the sat phone last night. Mike had confirmed he’d heard about the search warrant exactly five minutes before the cops arrived at the camp. He wasn’t happy, and Finn could imagine the earful Detective Sampson would’ve received once he made it back to his office that morning. Finn reported everything he knew about what they’d found during the raid.
Mike had at least given him one scrap of good news. After going over Wombat’s impounded truck with a fine-toothedcomb, the police in Cairns had found two likely spots where drugs could be hidden beneath the chassis of the truck. A fake spare tailpipe had been welded on at the rear. And a rusty old lockbox had been inserted into a void next to a rear tire. This was good, as it proved their theory that the gang were using the cattle trucks to transport their ill-gotten wares. The interesting news was that a small stash of methamphetamines had been found in the second hiding place. But it wasn’t anywhere close to the huge quantities of drugs this gang was shipping. This news merely deepened the mystery. What’d happened to the rest of the drugs, if they’d even been there to start with? Did it confirm what Finn already thought, that Wombat had perhaps been skimming off the top? Selling some of the drugs on the side to bolster his wages? Was that why he’d been murdered?
Just as Finn had been ready to end the call, Mike had said, “Oh, by the way, Griff.”
“Yeah, Sarge?” Finn had stiffened, hearing the underlying tension enter his boss’s voice.
“I’ve heard more chatter. The rumors are getting harder to ignore. Garrett may be more involved in this than we first thought.”
