Twenty

Finally. Ryder felt like he was finally starting to break through the many barriers surrounding the pretty little outlaw. He understood why Bree shielded herself, but she needed to know he wasn’t the enemy.

‘Would you like us to give you a run-down of where we’re at?’ This was him putting down the chips on the table, as per her request. ‘But I won’t show some images, okay?’

‘Sure. No icky stuff.’ Again, there was that rare hint of vulnerability in her eyes.

His chair scraped across the floor. ‘Dex, have you got that measuring tape?’

‘Yeah.’ As Dex sat forward, his chair legs whacked against the floor. ‘You’d remember this scene, Bree.’

‘What do you mean?’ Ryder’s brow shifted as he peered back at the pair of troublemakers.

‘Bree interrupted Porter that time.’ Shifting to the window, Dex extended the tape measure.

‘I didn’t see much.’ Bree got up from the table with her pretty green eyes dancing with curiosity.

‘Because you chased us away to protect your illegal still.’

The sneaky wench . Ryder grabbed the end of the tape measure and paced out the distance from the window as per his own detailed notes, then used his triangular drafting ruler to line up his measurements. ‘Can you grab that chalk on the bench, Bree?’

‘Sure. Are we going to play hopscotch?’

He shouldn’t grin, but at least they were playing nicely together. ‘Can you mark a line on the floor here? At the outer base of the ruler. It’ll be our starting point.’

‘Okay.’

Ryder let go of the tape measure. ‘Dex, can you go outside to feed that tape measure to me?’

‘You two play nice while I’m gone.’ Dex’s laughter followed as he left the room.

Ryder grabbed some masking tape and laid it on the floor, where she’d marked it with the chalk. Through the polished steel of the side cupboards, he noticed Bree’s head tilting to watch his arse in the air as he taped down the floor. She was perving on him.

Well, well, well. Remaining expressionless, he referred to his notes.

‘Which way was the body lying?’

‘Huh?’

‘I have the chalk, I can draw in the body. You’re measuring the gun’s—’

‘The trajectory of the shot, based on the entry and exit points.’

‘Yeah, that. I’m good at drawing stick figures. And I’ve watched the odd murder mystery or two.’

But this was also close for her.

Bree narrowed her eyes at him, the anger flaring.

He did not want them arguing again. Not when they were finally playing nicely together.

He dragged his boot across the floor. ‘Price was lying about here, face down, with his head towards the doorway.’

‘Okay. How big was he?’

Ryder referred to his notes. ‘Five-nine.’

‘So, Cap’s height?’

‘Yeah, but he had Ash’s build.’

‘Got it. Were his arms out, in, tucked under? How were his hips? Legs—’

‘You know what…’ He rummaged through the file. ‘I’ll show you, but I’ll block out some parts of it.’

‘No, I can take it. I’m guessing accuracy is the key if we’re recreating the crime scene.’ She pulled his hand away and inspected the images.

‘You don’t have to do this, Bree.’

‘You don’t have to either, but you are. And I’m doing this for Charlie.’

She was so close he could pick out the details of her eyes with their differing greens that contained fine shards of aqua blue. They were beautiful.

‘I’m here. Miss me?’ Dex called out from the window behind them.

‘Pass the tape through.’ Ryder laid the photo face down on the table as Bree began drawing a chalk outline across the concrete floor. ‘Hey, Bree?’

‘Mmm…’ Her concentration was amazing to watch, and he marvelled at the level of detailed accuracy she’d created, copying the police taped outline on the floor. But then again, Bree was used to drawing plans for her job.

Ryder grabbed the end of the tape measure from Dex and began pacing out across the floor as per his notes, to double check his measurements. ‘In your great-uncle’s letter to Charlie, he mentioned stolen guns.’

She stood and faced him. ‘Are you asking if my shotguns were Price’s? I’m assuming they were.’

‘How many?’ Dex asked from outside the window.

‘Originally, there were six cases. Twelve guns in each.’

Damn. Ryder dropped the tape measure, and it whirled back with a snap.

‘What the flip!’ Dex shook his hand.

‘How many are left?’

‘Over the years, Darcie sold a few guns to the ringers.’ She shrugged casually. ‘As for the remaining shotguns on this station, there are sixteen working guns left. Now that you’re working with the police, does this mean I have to surrender them?’

‘Good question.’

Dex called out through the window, ‘What I’d like to know is where did you find them in the first place?’

‘Where do you think, Stormcloud?’ She nodded at the hidden room built behind the wall, which Ryder had turned into his arsenal.

‘Did you find them when you set up your still?’ Ryder asked.

‘I was much younger than that.’ The woman with many secrets grinned. ‘So, what were you measuring?’

‘I’m trying to figure out where Price was standing, but the investigator’s numbers are all wrong. It’s bad enough they’re all in imperial measurements, but this…’ It wasn’t right. ‘Bree, stand right here for me.’

Ryder grabbed the levelling string and handed one end to Dex and the other to Bree. ‘I need a stand. Wait there, you two, I’ll be right back. Don’t move.’

‘Where’s he going now?’ Bree asked Dex.

‘No idea.’

Ryder grabbed the stand Dex used for his mobile spotlight for working on engine bays and dragged it back into the room. ‘Good girl, you listened.’

‘You really think I’m a good girl?’ She cocked an eyebrow at him as if in challenge.

‘Well, if you’re naughty, I can work that out of you later.’

Her jaw dropped.

His eyes flicked over to Dex, who thankfully hadn’t heard him. But he had trouble keeping a straight face, especially when he found a reason to grab her hand. ‘I want you to grip this pole.’

She gave a choked sound, but amusement was lighting up her eyes. ‘How tight do you want me to grip your pole, boss?’

The dirty, flirting, pretty little outlaw! He’d never been like this with anyone.

Then she laughed.

She was toying with him.

He exhaled heavily, dragging his focus back on the job. He used the measuring tape to find the appropriate height on the pole.

‘Hold the string right here.’ He manipulated her small but strong fingers. ‘Don’t move.’

‘If you insist.’

‘Dex, I need you to move to the left. Bree, can you shift the pole slightly to your right… There.’ Again, he took the opportunity to touch her soft hips, moving her around the pole. He leaned close to her ear, her soft hair brushing his cheek. ‘Don’t move.’ He loved this game.

‘Okay. But—’

‘This is where the shot entered the body, based on his height and shape.’ He inhaled her soft feminine scent of vanilla, pecans, and something alluringly spicy underneath.

‘Way to kill the foreplay, soldier boy.’

This time, his jaw dropped.

‘Is this good?’ Dex called out from outside.

‘Yeah… No. Hold on.’ Bree was torturing him, he had to walk away from her.

He emptied the folder out on the table, shifting the images around like a puzzle to create one big picture. ‘Dex, you need to go lower. Your end represents the height of the gun’s barrel, and where Bree’s holding the string is where the shot entered the body.’ He tilted his head at the images, then glanced back to the window. ‘The crime scene photos show there was a stack of old oil drums stashed along that window.’

‘Wait, I’ll grab one of them. There’s some close by.’

‘Do I stand here and keep holding this string as practise for my debut as queen of the midnight infomercials, selling faux jewellery that’d tarnish in a month?’ asked Bree. ‘Or do I tie it off?’

Ryder leaned one hip against the table. ‘You can stay right there, while you seriously consider staying home tonight.’

Plonking her free hand on her hip, she scowled at him. ‘I did the right thing telling you first, before I—’

‘And I’m glad you did. Just know I’m trying to keep you safe.’

‘Pfft, I may be a fine figure, but I’m not made of porcelain, cupcake.’

‘Why do you call me that? When you know I hate it.’

‘Call you what?’

He dipped his head at her. ‘You know very well what I’m talking about. I’m not a cupcake. If anyone else called me that, I would’ve decked them on the spot.’

Her tinkling laugh was evil. Since when did an evil laugh make his skin tighten with desire?

Bree was filled with the ultimate feminine power of a goddess of war and lust, all wrapped up into one curvy package, who was skilled enough to play the long game of a master strategist. It was the sexiest thing about her, along with her soft hair that he wanted to dive into face first, and those lips he wanted to taste that came with a body he wanted to explore…

Yeah, he was into her more than she realised.

‘I’m back.’ Dex shifted an oil drum against the window. ‘What now?’

Ryder focused on the job, putting Dex and Bree into various positions. He’d given up on the original police report’s measurements, written over sixty years ago. But he did work off the images and the coroner’s report that showed accurate measurements for the entry and exit wounds on the body, using those as a guide. Once he got the right angle for the shot fired, he’d then use that as a base to work on the bigger picture.

‘It makes little sense.’ Ryder dropped heavily into his seat at the table, while Bree leaned near the door as if to make her fast getaway.

They’d been at this for a while, working on different scenarios and measurements. Dex had resumed rocking in his chair, swapping out his coffee for a beer. ‘We’ve got the measurements right?’

‘Yeah. Mine. Not the police reports.’ And he’d checked the images, sprawled across the table, countless times now. ‘Whoever pulled the trigger couldn’t have been right at the window, not when there were two rows of drums in the way.’ He tapped on the picture that had zoomed in on the drums. ‘How did they line up the sight to hit the body from that angle?’

Dex turned the various images of the crime scene that were spread across the table. ‘Hey, who’d keep an old oil drum like that without a lid, right under a window? The fumes would fill this room in no time. Unless that’s common practice for you guys?’

Bree shook her head. ‘Remember, this is before my time. But I do know Darcie was very particular about fuels and oils because he had an old burn scar on his leg he’d gotten as a kid. He made sure everyone put any and all flammable things away in particular places. I also remember Pop telling me that Jack Price would lecture the new ringers about everything being in its place when they started here at the beginning of the muster season… What I want to know is,’ said Bree, as she pulled out a photo. ‘What is that length of elastic string doing there?’ She tapped the corner of the image. ‘They use that for sewing and it’s not something you’d normally find in an old tack room. Not to mention I can’t see why or how they could accuse my great-uncle of this murder. It could have been anyone.’

Ryder and Dex both sat back.

‘What am I missing? You’d better not be hiding anything from me. Not when I’ve been forthcoming with you two.’

‘Bree deserves to know,’ Dex mumbled to Ryder. The big mouth.

‘Are you kidding me?’ Bree wagged her finger at Ryder, her temper making her eyes shine. ‘Did you think you could deceive me with your fluffy powdery sugar cakes, hoping I’ll be too busy counting calories to notice!’

‘Calm down, Bree.’ Ryder went to his desk and removed the photo he’d hidden for a reason. ‘I didn’t want to show you this one.’

‘Uh-uh, sugar pants, we had an agreement.’

‘Yeah, but this…’ Ryder hesitated, because he was trying to protect her.

She snatched it out of his hands. ‘No freaking way.’

It was another image of the dead body, taken from a different angle, but it was enough for Bree to become eerily still, and completely expressionless. And they thought he had ice in his veins—not when Bree had a much quicker trigger to shut down her emotions.

She then grabbed the chalk and approached the outline of the body, where the right hand lay in a particular position. There, she wrote the words of a dead man:

Harry Splint did this.

‘The chalk was in his hand when they found him,’ explained Ryder, taking the chalk and the damning picture from Bree’s small hands. He felt the slight tremor in her fingers, but also saw the look of terror in her eyes. But Bree feared nothing. She may seem hard as ice set in a glacier wall, but the cracks were starting to show all from that one image that killed any hope of her proving her great-uncle’s innocence.

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