Chapter 9
Nine
The door slam echoed like gunfire through the station. Followed by Tanisha and Porter’s laughter.
Bloody Fed, making friends with Tanisha and Porter like she belonged here.
Marcus casually glanced up from his desk, mug in hand. ‘Did that door offend you, Wilde?’
‘It was open.’
‘Mm. So was the front gate last week. We didn’t slam that.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘You here to hide, throw a tantrum, or talk stock routes?’
Finn dropped into the visitor’s chair with a grunt. ‘What do you know about the Spinifex Highway?’
Marcus straightened slightly, his police uniform barely containing the bulky mass of muscle that came from brutal, disciplined effort—the kind that’d make even the hardest of prisoners, the ones who’d hog the barbells in the yard, nod with respect. ‘Just that it’s a little red vein of hell. Why?’
‘Young Brodie was sent a video of cattle loading at Tinderflats Station.’ Finn played the footage on his phone. ‘That road train, supposedly carrying the same load of cattle, turns up at the stockyards with a different load of breathing assets. They’d been swapped out somewhere under the radar.’
‘And you think they’re doing it along the Spinifex Highway?’
Finn nodded, pulling the map from his pocket and spreading it over Marcus’s cluttered desk.
‘It’s happening somewhere in this region…
’ He tapped on the map. ‘It’s central to half a dozen western stations, with plenty of space for two trucks to swap out a trailer load of fats.
It also wouldn’t be too hard to stash a stockyard somewhere in the scrub, to draft out the prime stock in that area either. ’
‘Any idea which stations are involved? Or stockmen?’
‘That’s the problem. Station owners might be double dipping, but I’m betting its contractors.’ Finn started folding up his map. ‘SW Rural Contracting. Ever heard of them?’
Marcus shook his head. ‘A lot of stations hire contractors these days. Mustering crews, fencing, transport teams—it’s cheaper than staffing full time.’
‘Makes the paper trail messier. And I’m guessing some of the stockmen might be complicit.’
‘Or they’re being leaned on, hoping to cover their debts. A lot of cattle stations these days are fighting a mortgage, sky-rocketing diesel costs, and the risk of a corporate takeover.’
‘And if they’re corporate-owned stations, who’s to say their staff aren’t turning a blind eye?’ Finn slid the map back into his back pocket. ‘But Spinifex does have a long, unbroken stretch of red dirt and no cattle fences.’ The perfect cover.
‘And you think it links to the smuggling ring?’
‘Yeah.’ Finn leaned back in the chair, grinding his teeth.
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because Red is the one signing off on the paperwork. And only the locals know the Spinifex Highway exists. It’s not on any GPS or any other official stock route planner. But it’s how they’re sneaking cattle across without going near a weighing station or a stock inspector.’
Marcus gave a low whistle. ‘So, they’re running stolen stock down a ghost road, backed by real paperwork.’
‘Exactly. It looks legit, because on the books, it is. But the genetics don’t match because the prime stock is being swapped out before they hit the yards.’
Marcus glanced up at the ceiling for a moment, as if letting all this news settle. ‘Red may be smart, but he’d need someone bankrolling his operation. Someone who’d put in the collateral.’
‘I agree. You heard Sawyer telling us someone is pulling the strings. Red’s a local mover, he knows where to send a truckload of beef, maybe grease a few palms at the yards.
But cryogenic stock for DNA cloning? Crocodile eggs and hatchlings.
Banteng and polo horses. That’s way above Red’s pay grade.
We’re talking about someone who knows how to ship shadows across international borders without leaving prints.
’ Creating an enormous threat to the entire industry.
‘Are you going to tell the Fed?’
Finn’s jaw ticked.
‘Thought not.’ Marcus shuffled some files across his desk. ‘Audits are common.’
‘But this isn’t your common audit.’ Finn moved towards the door, only to pause like it might bite him. He didn’t want to find her sitting out there, winning over Tanisha and Porter, sipping their coffee like she’d always belonged.
‘We’re here if you need us. Just tell me what you want.’
‘Thanks.’ He gave Marcus a nod. ‘I’m planning a sting soon and will be running surveillance all week out at Spinifex.’
Marcus leaned back in his chair behind that desk drowning in paperwork. ‘And this has nothing to do with the auditor sitting beside my station’s kitchen bench?’
Finn didn’t answer.
‘Uh-huh.’ Marcus smirked. ‘FYI, I overheard Porter talking to your auditor about the Hellhound, something about fuel invoices. She knows he’s NT Police, and your local backup. Not Stock Squad, but he’s close enough when you need another badge to make your arrests official.’
Porter was more help than Finn cared to admit. Between the Hellhound, his tracking skills, local knowledge and outback cop experience that came with an NT Police badge, Porter filled the gaps Finn couldn’t always cover.
Only Amara and Finn had the authority to make arrests and file the paperwork—at least until Stone finished his courses. Izzy was doing a great job of pushing her husband, Craig, into doing his as well—even if the cowboy kept feigning that paperwork gave him hives.
On the other side of the door, he heard Tanisha’s laugh, loud and unbothered, like it was just another cocktail party with friends, filled with juicy gossip.
And then Taryn’s laugh that was so much lighter.
It shouldn’t have made the hairs on his neck stand up. But it did.
Bloody Fed.
Not because she was in his way.
But because she was already under his skin.