Page 7 of Outback Skies


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“I think it was the other trucker, Swampy.” Indy pointed a finger at the tattooed man standing slightly to the side of the group on the road.

“Right.” He looked squarely at Indy for a second. “How are you holding up?” he asked, voice softening. “I know this must be traumatic for you.” He placed a hand on her arm, but this time, Indy didn’t seem to mind.

A spike of jealous heat surged through Finn’s gut. He quickly tamped down on the surprising emotion. Who was this guy, and what did he mean to Indy? There was a familiarity that spoke of more than a vague acquaintance. Nash was good-looking, in a blond, surfer-dude type of way, with sky-blue eyes that seemed to see everything at once. Finn was sure he did well with the ladies.

“Skylar would want to know that you’re holding up okay. And Julie, too. All the women at Stormcloud would break my balls if they thought I wasn’t concerned about you,” Nash added.

Finn wracked his brain. He’d heard that name before. Skylar was the resort chef, and the owner’s daughter, if he wasn’t mistaken. Was Nash involved with Skylar? A little of the tension leeched from Finn’s shoulders.

Indy gave Nash a wan smile. “You can tell Skylar that it was a shock to see a body like that, but I’m tough. I’ll cope. I always do.”

“I’ll make sure she’s okay,” Finn said, trying to keep the possessive tone out of his voice.

Nash dropped his hand from Indy’s arm and glanced at Finn. Again, his gaze was penetrating, and it was all Finn could do not to look away.

“Right. Would you mind getting everyone back to camp, please?” Nash’s tone took on a no-nonsense edge again. “I’ll come over as soon as the homicide boys get here to take over the crime scene.”

“Will do,” Finn promised, leading Indy toward the road. She seemed eager to get back to camp, and he didn’t blame her.

“What’s Nash saying?” Dale asked, coming forward to meet them.

Indy didn’t answer straight away, and Finn jumped into the silence. “We’ll tell you when we get back to camp. Let’s get everyone moving,” he directed.

The murder scene was around a kilometer from their camp. Far enough for none of them to have heard anything, but close enough to wonder at the gall of the murderer to take a chance this close to such a large bunch of people. Some of the crew had ridden their horses up to the crime scene, and some had driven up in their vehicles. Indy and Finn untied their mounts from the shade of a large tree where they’d left them, and people mounted up or returned to their cars as he ushered them back down the road toward camp.

Glancing back only once, he followed at the rear of the slow-moving crowd. He’d love to know what Nash thought about this whole scene. Would love to talk it over, professional to professional, to get his insights. And he’d also love to stay and watch the homicide boys work the scene, to see what clues, if any, they turned up. But if he were to stay undercover, then he needed to act as ignorant as the rest of them, so he didn’t arouse any suspicion.

Everyone drifted into camp in an aimless wave. He knew how they felt. Instead of being out mustering cattle all day, their work had been disrupted, and they were all at a loss for what to do next. Most people took a seat around the campfire, which had been left to burn down to glowing coals. Dale took the initiative,and stacked a few longs on the embers, while Bindi turned on the gas stove to heat the big, steel kettle.

“I’ll get lunch going,” Bindi called to no one in particular.

It was too early for lunch, but they’d all missed smoko, and most people would be hungry. And Bindi clearly needed something to keep her busy. Although, Finn’s stomach was churning so badly, he didn’t think he could eat. He’d also like to get Mike’s take on this disaster. But without his boss’s input, he had to play it cool. Think on his feet and make his own decisions. This wasn’t the first time things had gone south while he’d been undercover. This was what he was trained for.

“I’ll help,” Mack chimed in, but Finn wondered if his sudden urge to assist was more out of a need to stay close to Bindi. People were on edge and jumpy. And they had every right to be. They may not have guessed it yet, but Wombat’s killer could possibly be hiding in plain sight. The murderer might be part of this crew, and the very idea had Finn’s skin crawling.

Talk around the campfire was subdued, everyone overawed by the reality of death. Brian and Rosie huddled close to each other in their seats on the other side of the fire, talking quietly. Rosie’s face was ashen, and it looked like she’d been crying. Brian had an arm around her shoulder, comforting her. The Scanlon team stood near the entrance to the mess tent, talking to Dale. Their gazes constantly darted around the camp, and Beth kept biting her lip, also looking as if she were close to tears. Dave and Carrot sat staring into the fire, not saying much, as if trying to process what’d just happened.

Just as he began to worry that Indy was taking a long time tying up her dogs, she returned and flopped down into a chair next to him.

“How you holding up?” he asked.

“I’m okay.” But her words belied the listless slump of her shoulders. “I just can’t believe that a human being could do thatto another human,” she said softly. She was probably reliving the image of Wombat. The murderer had sliced him over and over with what looked to have been a very large, very sharp knife. Finn just hoped the wounds had been inflicted post-mortem, but he had a horrible feeling that they hadn’t been, not with all that blood. The man had his mouth taped up and his hands tied behind his back. He would’ve been as helpless as a sacrificial lamb.

“I know,” he replied. “It was shocking. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Indy’s normally vivacious brown eyes had lost their sparkle, and Finn wished there was something he could do to bring it back.

“Thank you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.” Her small hand briefly rested on his arm, sending a tingle of awareness up his shoulder. “You were so calm. Almost like…” She brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes and tilted her head to stare at him.

Like what?he wanted to ask. But he was afraid of her answer. She was too perceptive for her own good, this lady.

Swampy stomped into camp, breaking their moment. “I told yous all there was something wrong,” the bearded man growled, snatching a handful of biscuits in one hand and a coffee in the other from the table where Bindi had set up a makeshift smoko. He took a seat. “Now he’s bloody turned up dead.” Coffee slopped over the edge of his mug as Swampy waved it in the air to punctuate his words. “What kind of half-assed camp you running out here?” The tattooed man turned to glare at Dale.

“What do you mean?” Dale took a step forward.

“I mean that my schedule is all fucked-up, now. I’m supposed to be on my way to Townsville with a truck full of cattle right now. Which means I’ll be late for my next job.”

“Well, I’m sorry that Wombat’s death is such an inconvenience for you.” Dale raised his voice. “But we’re all just as shocked and as put out by this mess. And I don’t think I like what you’re implying.” His fists were now clenched by his side, and he stared daggers at the truck driver.

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