Chapter 6
Six
Finn should’ve known the Fed would still be here.
Still feeling the sun baking the back of his neck, and with his shirt stuck to his spine with sweat, when all he wanted was a cold drink and ten minutes in his own bloody office without a battle.
Instead—there she was.
Taryn Hayes.
Stationed at his desk like she owned it, with files spread in front of her, highlighter uncapped, picking through the bones of his life like a bureaucratic crow.
Finn turned around and headed back the way he’d come. No way in hell was he dealing with that.
‘Sergeant Wilde?’ Her heels click-clacked behind him. ‘Wait!’
His jaw clenched as he punched through the back door. He didn’t stop.
‘You signed for feed and fencing supplies two weeks ago, but the receipts don’t match the delivery records.’ Taryn chased him down, waving a folder like it was a weapon. ‘There’s a discrepancy.’
Figures she’d find something he’d missed.
‘I’m working.’ His boots crunched on the gravel as he headed for his troopy. ‘Ask Craig or Amara.’
‘I did. They said you handled the order.’
He stopped and finally faced her, leaving only the afternoon heat to shimmer between them.
Her blouse clung to her collarbones, with her hair twisted in that sharp, neat knot. Those eyes—goddamn them—still watching, still dissecting him like she was three moves ahead.
‘Are you always this persistent?’ He hated that she was here with the power to kill the whole damn squad, and not a hint of a smile to soften the blow.
‘Only when things don’t add up.’
Finn dragged a hand down his face. Of all the days…
But then he caught it—that scent. Subtle. Clean. Not perfume. Not out here. Something softer. Citrus maybe. And like skin after a hot shower.
His brain refused to name it.
His body, unfortunately, had no problem recognising it.
And how it curled around him like smoke, messing with his focus, making him stupid. Noticing the strands of hair that had slipped from her neat little knot, curling against her neck like they didn’t care about the rules either.
He stepped back, as if distance might cure the stupidity.
But it didn’t.
‘You want the paperwork?’ His voice was rougher than he liked. ‘It’s at the feed store. We’ve got an account there. I’m sure they’ll print off what you need.’
‘Where?’
Don’t do it.
Why should he play nice with her? The sharp-eyed woman with a government badge and heels, sent to dissect his squad like a butcher.
Since when did the devil come wrapped in a package like her?
He exhaled through his nose. Hard.
‘I’ll drop you off. Less chance you’ll get lost.’ Dammit. He hadn’t meant to say that but now it was too late to take it back.
You’d think the drive would be short…
Not with Little Miss Perfect, perched in the passenger seat like the upholstery might catch on fire. Her eyes on the road, and that notebook balanced neatly on her lap like it held state secrets.
He didn’t look. Not directly.
He didn’t trust himself to.
But again, that scent. Soft, clean, and shower fresh. There was citrus and something else, like vanilla blossom, maybe. It was the kind of scent that didn’t belong out here, not with the bulldust and sunbaked leather. Yet, it wound through the troopy like it owned the space.
She flipped a page in her notebook, pen tapping thoughtfully, not looking at him as she spoke. ‘Are you always this quiet, or is it just when you’re cornered?’
‘Nope,’ he grunted. ‘Just tolerating the company… barely.’ He shot her a sideways glance. ‘Figured the quicker I got rid of you, the quicker I could breathe again.’
‘You offered to drive me.’
‘Yeah, well, I was raised right. Unfortunately.’ Why did he have to be the good guy? Especially with the enemy.
She hummed under her breath. Some smug little sound that slid under his skin like a thorn.
‘You know,’ she said, flicking through that notebook, ‘for someone so allergic to being questioned, you’re not half bad at dancing around the answers.’
‘Must be all that time behind bars. Real educational.’
It was no secret he’d done time, but it shut her up.
For about three seconds.
‘Are you going to throw that at me every time I ask a question?’
‘Only if you keep pretending like you don’t already know the answers to your questions.’
That earned him a look, one that shouldn’t have made his chest tighten.
But it did.
Did he dare dig for details? Get under her skin and see what made her crack?
Challenge accepted.
‘Have you ever worked out bush before?’ he asked, with just enough weight in his voice to sound interested. Just enough bait to test the waters.
She glanced out the passenger window to the stockyards, nestled on the other side of the railway line. ‘Plenty of times. On my grandfather’s wheat belt farm.’
‘Wheat belts aren’t anywhere near the Territory.’
‘No, but it taught me where to stand when a crush of sheep come barrelling through a gate.’
‘Bet you stayed neat and tidy, and got no dirt on you. Scar-free.’
‘Is that why you’re so heavily tattooed?’ Her voice, and that stare, were cold enough to frost the inside of the cab. ‘To hide your scars?’
Everyone had a story behind their tatts. That was a given. Only one person knew his story.
‘Careful,’ he said, low and dangerous. ‘You keep digging like that. You might not like what you find.’
‘That’s the thing about audits… They uncover everything.’
Oof—she was good. She’d taken his little game of digging, and somehow she’d turned the spade and shoved it straight through his armour.
His jaw locked, a muscle twitching as his hands tightened on the wheel. He should’ve kept his mouth shut and made her walk to chase her silly receipts.
And she sure as hell shouldn’t be wearing skirts like that.
Not with those long, toned legs, smooth in all the wrong ways, where the image was now lodged in his brain like a burr under a saddle.
Especially after she’d hitched that tight little pencil skirt up just enough to climb into his troopy.
Only to sit beside him like a devil’s trap full of temptation, all sharp tongue and stubborn pride, with her scent curling through the cab.
Of all the women to send into his world, it had to be this one. Smart. Cold. Gorgeous. Built like trouble, dressed like sin, and carrying a government lanyard instead of her badge. Same rank, sure—but she outranked him in every damn way that mattered.
The silence hung heavy in the air. He was used to the silence, but few liked it.
All the while that damned scent of hers still lingered.
Thankfully he pulled up out front of the feed store, the gravel popping beneath the tyres as he shoved the troopy into park.
He kept his hand on the gearstick. ‘Next time, wear jeans and boots.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘If you want people to talk to you, dress like the locals. You’ll blend in better. Why would anyone want to talk to you when you look like a tax auditor in that skirt and heels?’
Her brows lifted. ‘And you look like a bad attitude in boots.’
That pulled the corner of his mouth. Just a twitch. Not a smile.
Definitely not.
‘Careful, some people might bite, if you keep sassing like that.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Taryn reached for the door, then hitched her skirt just enough to climb out.
Dammit. He tried to keep his eyes on the wheel.
Tried.
Then she looked back at him over her shoulder and smiled.
Here it comes. She was one of those women—one who had to have the last word. Just like the ex-wife.
‘If they bite,’ she said with a sinful smile, ‘I’ll just bite back… harder.’
The door slammed.
He didn’t breathe for a full second.
Bloody hell.
He stared at the dash, the muscle in his jaw ticking so hard it hurt, as her heels clicked on the gravel. He didn’t watch her go. But he sure as hell felt every step like a hot iron pressed into his chest.
She was trouble. The kind that was already slicing too close to the things he’d buried deep.
He threw the vehicle into gear and rolled away without looking back.
He needed to stay the hell away from her.
Only problem was… he didn’t want to.