Chapter 17 #2
‘Same thing, isn’t it? You want intel, context, motive. You want the why behind the paperwork? And that lives here.’ He tapped his temple. ‘Not in some notebook.’
Taryn shoved back her chair and stood, holding up the file like a weapon. ‘You think I’m just here for the paperwork?’
‘Aren’t you?’ he snapped.
‘God, you really don’t get it.’ She threw the file onto the chair. ‘You hand me a jigsaw with missing pieces, then bite when I try to see the bigger picture.’
‘You weren’t meant to see any of it.’ When he’d meant to control the flow of information.
‘Too late.’
She stepped in. So did he. Not that he remembered getting to his feet, it happened that fast.
‘You don’t get to control this, Finn.’
‘Neither do you.’
Their breath tangled. Fury. Frustration. The kind that scorches deeper than either of them wanted to admit.
‘You drive me insane.’ Her voice cut like a razor’s edge.
‘Good. Means we’re even.’
And then it happened—
He didn’t mean to move.
And there was no plan. No permission. Just heat and hunger.
Where suddenly, this wasn’t a stake-out anymore. It was the start of something a whole lot messier.
One second, she was glaring at him like she wanted to gut him with her pen, the next—
He was right there.
Over the line.
Finn had crossed it without thinking. Without planning to. And without permission.
And in the next breath his mouth was on hers, hard and hot, in a kiss that told her there was nothing careful about it.
It wasn’t even polite.
It was the kind of kiss that shoved everything else aside, like swiping a tabletop clear of paperwork, while ignoring the reasons why they weren’t supposed to want this.
Why they were bouncing heat off each other with enough sparks to start a bushfire.
Matching words and wits, making him want her in ways he should never want someone again.
But she didn’t pull away. Hell, she dragged him closer, her fingers curling into his shirt like she’d tear through the fabric to get to his bare chest.
Their kiss… It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet.
Just two stubborn forces smashing together, trying to crush whatever the hell this tension was building between them since the first time she’d challenged him.
The glares, the snaps, the snarls, and slammed doors, to keep them circling, only to clash with lips and tongues thirsting for that taste.
To hell with it, he kissed her until she whimpered, until his pulse pounded through his veins.
In a kiss where clothes were suddenly too tight, too hot, with the need for her nails to scratch across his skin.
And that scent, that crazy combination of outback sunset and her was driving him off that ledge.
He was one step away from dragging her to his swag, while bunching her shirt in one fist and stripping down those jeans to make her moan his name. All in the name of control that had long left the building.
God, he wanted to watch her fall apart. Wanted to feel it. Own it. Growl through it.
His body hardened, dragging her closer.
And then—
They broke apart.
Breathing hard, she stared at him. ‘Was that supposed to shut me up?’
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Did it?’
She scoffed. Picked up her pen from the dirt. ‘Not even close.’
But he was close enough to feel the heat off her skin, and to see the pulse kick at her throat.
They didn’t speak.
Only the sounds of their breaths slowly settling, as the sting of that kiss lay raw on his lips, with her taste on his tongue, that he’d never forget.
Then the radio crackled.
‘Hey, Bossman?’ Stone’s voice cut through, with the sound of a helicopter in the background. ‘Romy and I are on our way.’
Finn moved to the troopy and reached for the handset like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just nearly devoured the federal investigator in front of him.
‘Switch to the secure channel, Stone.’ Finn changed channels. Waited a beat, then said: ‘Go ahead, Stone.’
‘Romy and I are inbound. We’re going to set up on the western ridge, like you suggested. Do you want me to run a flyover on the way through, or go wide?’
‘Wide. Don’t want to spook them. What’s Romy doing?’
‘Calibrating her drone for night vision. While I’m in charge of snacks and hillside setting. Almost sounds romantic for a stake-out, huh.’
Hmph.
Taryn wiped a hand over her mouth, gulped down her coffee and dragged her chair closer to the paperwork as if redrawing that line in the dirt, as if distance might cool their blood.
‘Copy that. Radio if you have news, and stick to the secure channel from here on out.’ He set the radio back down on the troopy’s dashboard with a click, grabbing the handheld radio.
Scooping up his binoculars, he turned to the east and spotted Porter’s police ute towing the trailer that held the Hellhound.
‘Good. Amara and Porter are inbound. Craig will come in at four in the morning, because he’s not leaving Izzy alone.
’ He tossed a glare at Taryn, tucking her back into the mindset of the enemy, never mind that he’d just kissed her.
Taryn ignored him, flicking through the pages like she hadn’t just returned that kiss like a woman full of fire, now behaving colder than steel as she sorted out his life’s work with surgical precision.
Finn keyed the radio, needing to get his head back in the game, too.
‘Listen up, you lot. Keep your lights off before settling into position, and that includes torches. Out here, beams travel like Min Min lights. And forget starting a campfire, or you’ll have every stockman within a hundred k’s watching the ridge for bushfires.
’ He glanced at the dry scrub, brittle as old bones.
A tinderbox full of fuel. ‘Keep your eyes on the road. Report anything out of the ordinary.’
Amara and Romy responded, as their partners were either flying or driving them into position for the night.
At the back of his troopy, Finn dug around in his kit and pulled out the spare headlamp, flicking it on to the red filter.
He handed it to Taryn, who was busy with her outback office set-up with rocks for paperweights, and red dust for carpet.
Good thing he had no markers, or she’d use the side of the troopy as her whiteboard.
She took the torch with a nod. Flicked it on, and adjusted the headband, and went right back to reading like nothing had happened.
He grabbed his radio, binoculars, his mug of killer coffee, and set his chair a few paces away—close enough to keep her in reach, but far enough to keep the line clear.
Looking down at the road below, he scanned the area. Stone and Romy were covering the west. Amara and Porter had the east. Craig would swing in from the north. Finn had the south.
Four points of a compass, where all roads led to one place—Billycan Corner, the heart of the Spinifex Highway, and the black marketeers’ backyard.
It was going to be a long night.