Chapter 7
Seven
Taryn tugged the cuffs of her new jeans down over her stiff new boots—which had nothing to do with that smug, square-jawed prick and his whole ditch the heels comment.
She was here to audit a rural squad, not walk a fashion house’s runway. It wasn’t like she was about to throw on a flannel shirt and fake a nasally Aussie drawl. That was for childhood farm days, when her hair never saw a straightener and dirt under the nails was just a part of lunch.
Her new wardrobe selection was just a strategy. Camouflage. A smart move to blend in, to win trust, and gather intel.
It most certainly wasn’t his idea. Absolutely not.
And if she kept telling herself that enough times, she might start believing it.
She wiped down her auditor’s shirt with crisp precision, checked her hair was still neatly pinned, make-up on point. Still her. Still in control.
Yet Finn still took up unnecessary space in her head. The way he looked at her. The way he didn’t. And the way his jaw had clenched when she’d tossed that line about biting back.
Finn Wilde was everything she couldn’t stand. Cocky. Closed-off. Infuriatingly hot in that sun-scorched, inked-up, ex-con kind of way.
Bringing down his squad was what she’d been ordered to do, and she’d do it cleanly, professionally, and by the book.
The hostility she was getting wasn’t new either. She was used to being considered the enemy, usually because those she dealt with were villains themselves. And the angrier they got, the more they treated her like the enemy, the clearer it was that she was doing her job right.
But this time… the job felt different. Less like justice, and somehow more like she was betraying the good guys. But her boss wouldn’t send her here if there wasn’t an issue, and it was her job to push past the niceties for their secrets.
In between shopping for new clothes, she’d picked up a few tips thanks to the pub’s yardie, Billy, and the Outback Mafia—four card-playing retirees who hung out at the hardware store and handed out gossip like currency.
One of them warned her about her next interviewee.
Another offered her a tango lesson, complete with a wink and tips on how to handle the town’s wandering water buffalo.
They were the ones who told her to wear boots and jeans—not Finn—pointing her toward the feed store that was part of the hardware store, which sold clothes, hats, and animal feed, with farmers driving through, filling the back of their utes with bags of chicken feed, and large slabs of dog food.
While she was in the change room trying on jeans, Speedy—the fast-talking cashier with a softball glove strapped to her hand—was out front yakking nonstop.
Something about her softball team, the Stock Squad, and a dozen people Taryn had never heard of, all while tracking down her missing receipts. But the gossip was good.
So, after that visit with the locals, and a few strategic purchases, she was better prepared to tackle her time at Elsie Creek.
She started the morning off by carrying a bunch of chrysanthemums to greet Cecil. It really was the sweetest thing hand feeding a buffalo, with the manners of a labrador.
She’d then slid a catnip growing kit onto Tanisha’s desk for her feisty felines. The label promised Happy Cats, Happy Humans, so it was worth the gamble. Hoping her strategy, was enough of a bribery-type gift to raise eyebrows the right way, in what Taryn liked to call diplomacy.
And now she was ready to interview the next member of the Stock Squad.
Stone Kipp.
Who was ten minutes late.
When he finally showed up, there was no apology. No excuse. Just a gust of hot air, filled with pure ego, as Stone Kipp strolled into the interview room, with the swagger of someone who thought he was the Stock Squad’s rock star.
‘Alright, what do I call you?’ He dropped into the chair opposite her. ‘Hayes? Fed? Destroyer of Dreams?’
Taryn looked up from her notes. ‘I respond to ma’am if you’re scared.’
Stone grinned. ‘Nah. Scared is not in my vocabulary.’
‘That explains the job of hugging it out with crocodiles.’
‘And the helicopter. And the beer deliveries. And the time I accidentally airlifted a goat.’
‘Is that in the records?’
‘If it gets me a pay rise, sure.’
She clicked her pen and flipped to his file—or rather, the thin collection of invoices and loose paperwork that passed for it. ‘You weren’t officially interviewed for this position.’
‘That’s because I wasn’t officially hired. Finn tapped me on the shoulder and shouted me a beer at the pub and asked if I liked chaos. I said, only if it comes with altitude.’ He leaned forward and tapped on the table. ‘That’s al-titude, not at-titude.’
‘Shame,’ she said, not looking up from her notes. ‘You seem overqualified for one and tragically burdened by the other.’
Stone let out a low whistle. ‘Well, hell, don’t you have some claws? I like that. Romy will love that, too.’
‘Romy has my sympathy.’
‘She doesn’t need it. She gets to fly with me.’
‘So, she’s your co-pilot and therapist?’
‘Romy is my everything and all the above.’ Stone grinned widely, like he was winning a game she didn’t even know she was playing.
‘So, you weren’t officially interviewed for this position, and you’re not on the payroll either?’ She glanced down at the receipts. ‘Yet you carry a federal badge, as a consultant who invoices for airtime and fuel?’
‘Correct. And I make damn sure those invoices are inflated.’ Another wink.
She went to press further—
But he cut her off, eyes sharpening just slightly, his tone serious.
‘I also log heat signatures, irregular flight paths, road train activity, and land access patterns across fifty square k’s, every time I’m in the bird.
’ But then he leaned back, tapped on the table wearing that cocky grin again.
‘You know, when I’m not playing part-time crocodile wrangler and full-time sweetheart, wrestling crocodiles, or delivering beer. ’
‘Is that what you do for fun?’
‘That’s what I do for love, lady. Crocodile conservation. Protecting land, stock, and the odd people rescue or two. Oh, and I moonlight as a tour guide for my lady—Romy’s filming a documentary. We’re inseparable.’
‘A documentary about you and your helicopter?’
‘Nah. The crocs.’
Taryn paused, her pen hovering over her notes. ‘Right. Because nothing says romance like a cold-blooded predator with better skin than you.’
‘Don’t be jealous. She’s got great teeth, too.’
Who was he talking about now? ‘Did Finn hire you for the comedic comebacks?’
Stone grinned wider. ‘Finn knows talent when he sees it.’
‘So you’d know what he does for fun, too?’
Stone didn’t miss a beat. ‘Polishes his handcuffs and stares off into the outback horizon. It’s very broody. You’d love it.’
She chuckled. ‘Shall we add that to the file notes: Sergeant Wilde also enjoys long walks on the crime scene and emotionally repressing things.’
Stone laughed as he slapped the tabletop like he was applauding her. ‘I heard you were sharp. And yet you got done by Mickey—which means we share the same enemy.’
‘Who?’
Stone crossed his arms and rested them against the table. ‘Mickey, the master of all things mechanical. The airport mechanic who runs the town’s airstrip like its Area 51.’
‘Grey hair, grey overalls, has that Popeye squint.’
‘The one with the God complex. Smells like WD-40 and old grudges. I heard he made you walk the long way around the airport.’
She gave a sharp snort. ‘What did Mickey do to you?’
‘Won’t let me land my chopper on his airstrip.’ Stone pointed to the back wall in the direction of the airport. ‘That old fart said there’s only one heliport, and that’s for hospital emergencies only.’
‘Did you ignore him?’ Because Stone seemed the type.
Stone tried not to grin. ‘I may have attempted a stealth landing on the tarmac once.’
‘Let me guess, Mickey blocked you with that big golf buggy of his.’
‘Worse. That grumpy prick towed my chopper away. Towed it!’
‘I’d believe it. I’m just surprised he didn’t weigh it down with a dozen chains padlocked to his tall radio tower.’
‘Don’t give him any ideas.’
‘So, where do you park your chopper now?’
‘Behind the pub.’
‘Ah, right. Hence the beer runs.’ That made sense, but she wasn’t going to ask about the goat. However, they were momentarily united in mutual Mickey-induced trauma.
This could work.
Before she could steer him back on topic for answers, Stone cut in—
‘Let me guess, you want to know about Bastion. The tech?’
She kept her cool, taking notes, letting Stone do the talking. ‘The tech…’
‘Big Daddy says I was cleared of that death.’
‘Who?’
‘The Commissioner. Finn’s boss.’
‘Big Daddy?’ Taryn tried not to laugh. After having met the Commissioner a few times, she doubted someone like Drew Bannon would appreciate the nickname.
Stone winked at her, but the cheeky shine wasn’t there.
‘I have to thank Romy and her drone footage. It proved it wasn’t my fault in cinematic clarity.
Bastion didn’t off himself over a sad story—he was terrified.
’ Stone sighed, scratching beneath his chin.
‘No surprise, really. Dane Carter died in prison. And then that Renzo had that little accident down south not long after we cracked the Rough Stock case. So when we started digging during the Cold Stock case, Bastion panicked and took a swim with the salties… Like I’ve said before, and I’ll keep saying it, all roads lead back to Everlight Energy Solutions. ’
Her pen froze mid-scratch.
Everlight.
The name she’d been waiting to hear.
But before she could pounce, Stone smiled innocently and leaned back in his chair. ‘Anyway, Finn knows what can and can’t be said on the record. He doesn’t need Izzy to lawyer-up. The man practically wrote the confidentiality clause himself.’
‘So now you’re stonewalling?’
‘I prefer evasive excellence. Sounds sexier.’
‘How did you get involved with the squad again?’
‘Told you already, front bar at the pub.’
‘That’s not how recruitment works. There should have been a tender for the use of your helicopter.’
‘Not where Finn’s concerned. He doesn’t give a damn about resumes or red tape. He hires by gut instinct. He looks for loyalty, and people who won’t flinch when it hits the fan. Lucky for you, we’ve got all that in spades. And we play to win.’
That made her sit back, because it was true. Every member so far had been extremely effective and fiercely loyal to Finn, even though the hiring methods had been wildly unconventional.
Still, there was one anomaly with Stone.
‘So why are all your invoices from this air service company? Are you employed by them? Like Amara is tied to the South Australia Police.’
Stone’s grin widened as he leaned in, resting his elbows on the table. ‘Because I own it. I’m the CEO.’
‘You’re… what?’
‘Self-funded, self-employed, semi-retired, whatever. I could live in Bali and drink cocktails all day, if I wanted. Instead, I get to fly with my lady at my side, while protecting my patch of paradise, keeping one foot in the fight.’
‘This isn’t a job for you.’
‘Nope. It’s a calling.’ He even sighed at the ceiling, like he was expecting applause—or some sort of divine intervention from the patron saint of BS.
She studied him for a moment. Sure, he was ruggedly handsome, but under all the swagger, the winks, and the cheekiness, there was something serious about Stone Kipp.
And for the first time, Taryn saw the pattern not just in the people, but in the purpose.
Finn hadn’t just built a squad. He’d somehow built a cause.
But she still didn’t trust him.