Chapter 18 #2
‘Copy that, Bossman.’ Stone replied for both him and Romy as the sound of a helicopter came to life in the background. ‘Birds are in the air.’
‘Amara and Stone have been teaching Romy to monitor the truckie’s airwaves,’ Finn explained with his eyes on the screen. ‘If the driver gets spooked and calls it in, we’ll hear it.’
‘Can we jam it? Short-range, just enough to stop him raising an alarm?’
Finn nodded. ‘Briefly. Stone rigged a signal disruptor onto Romy’s drone.
It’s got limited range, but it should buy us enough time if it goes sideways.
Romy’s been putting in some serious time on her skills.
She can record a baby croc hatching from fifty metres and still catch the wind in the grass.
Sound tech is becoming another one of her superpowers, that really helps this team. ’
Taryn gave a short nod. ‘You forgot the part where Izzy says video and audio are the best kind of evidence.’ So did the courts.
Finn’s mouth twitched as if to stop the smile as he keyed the mic again. ‘Craig? Park that horse truck near the north bend, inbound to Elsie Creek Stockyards. But keep the engine running and that shortcut in your sights.’
‘Righto,’ Craig replied.
‘Porter, take the Hellhound east. If he bolts, he’ll head toward that ridgeline. Box him in, but don’t engage unless I say.’
‘Copy that.’
‘Amara, sit quiet in the police ute on the west. If this goes sideways, you light him up.’
‘You want me to spook him or cut him off, sir?’
‘No lights and sirens, just make the police ute visible as if Porter’s doing one of his usual patrols.’
The radio clicked off.
Taryn watched as the dust started billowing out from behind the tyres of the two trucks, announcing the trailer swap was completed.
No way… Her eyes widened at the screen, at that thing that wasn’t just a truck. It was a beastly metal serpent three trailers long, loaded with cattle and momentum. No wonder they called it a road train… that was what—120 tonnes?
Even empty, those things could chew up a patrol vehicle without flinching.
It’d be like bringing a knife to a gunfight.
And here she was, tucked into the passenger seat, as Finn stealthily drove them closer to Billycan Corner, preparing to take on a road-born behemoth.
The radio hissed, then Romy’s voice cut in: ‘We’ve got comms. Triple trailer is checking in—Clean swap, ETA forty to the stockyards, his words. No questions asked. First truck says he’s homebound. Just running late.’
‘Which means they’re used to this routine,’ Finn muttered, as he started down the hill. ‘Swap, split, and no one blinks.’
Taryn watched it unfold on the tablet feed…
The drone filmed the long road train gaining speed like it knew the road well.
Ahead, the red dirt road stretched wide, but the five-way intersection narrowed into the perfect choke point.
They were close enough to hear the truck lower its gears as it approached the intersection.
From the south end, Finn was sneaking up on the thing, using the road train’s thick dust cloud for cover, that was like a rolling, red wall that swallowed them whole.
Visibility: zero.
Control: definitely not hers.
She reached for the hail-Mary bar on the dash, fingers locking tight, the other braced on the grab handle above the door—because clearly, this troopy came fitted for trauma.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t panic.
Just let Finn drive blind at highway speed, through thick walls of churning red dust and God-knows-what, like he did it between breakfast and his first strong black.
Lord help her, she might actually be enjoying this, as the adrenaline flooded her system like a drug.
‘So,’ she called over the roar of the engine, ‘is this the part where I’m meant to scream, or sign a liability waiver?’
Finn didn’t take his eyes off the road—if there even was one. ‘Just hang on and don’t start preaching like some back-seat driver.’
‘Preaching? Trust me, if I was preaching, you’d be getting a whole PowerPoint presentation, including footnotes!’
He snorted. ‘Always gotta have the last word, don’t you?’
‘Occupational hazard.’
Alert the fun-police, Finn Wilde was grinning now. Gone was the usual grim set to his jaw, instead something wild and alive shifted the corners of his mouth. He loved this part, she could feel it in the way he drove. Controlled chaos, weaponised with loads of confidence. It was hot.
And… yeah. She loved it too. Not him.
No, pfft.
The rush. The maddening pace of running in blind behind a massive beast of metal, churning up the countryside.
What did that say about her?
Probably nothing good.
Except maybe… she’d just met her match in the ink-covered muscular male with a bad attitude, who was absolutely nothing like she’d wished for—yet somehow, was exactly what she needed.
Not that she would ever admit that to herself.
The truck was massive up close. A steel leviathan on wheels, belching heat and rolling thunder like drums of war, as blinding swirls of dust spiralled in its wake. Her eyes were glued to the tablet’s screen, just to see where they were going.
But Finn pushed the troopy, building speed until they burst through the thick wall of red dust—and finally, the back trailer came into view. That’s when he pulled out to overtake, the engine roaring as stones and grit kicked up like the troopy was stuck in a hailstorm.
‘Got a plan for this Sunday drive?’ she called over the engine.
‘The driver will either ignore us… or he already knows.’ Finn’s jaw flexed, his grip tightening on the wheel as the troopy, which didn’t even look like a cop car, tore through the dust with its headlights on.
But they were closing in on Billycan Corner.
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ Taryn shot back, like she was in charge now.
‘Bugger it.’ Finn slapped a blue light onto the roof.
‘He knows now,’ Taryn muttered, lips curling into a grin.
He flicked the siren on.
And just for a moment, he glanced at her, dust in his hair, adrenaline in his veins. Their eyes met.
‘Game on.’ Finn then hit the radio. ‘GO!’ he barked out to his team.
The radio crackled, followed by a harsh male voice, loaded with panic. ‘I’ve got company—cop lights at Billycan Corner.’
What made it worse was the truck revved louder as if changing into higher gears.
‘He’s not stopping.’
‘Romy?’ Finn snapped out over the radio, ‘you jamming?’
‘The UHF band, but for only a kilometre,’ she said. ‘They’ll think it’s a drop-out or a dead zone. But we can’t hold it long.’
The land around Billycan Corner opened up with sirens wailing. Amara hit the lights on the police wagon right at the intersection just as the road train bore down.
The shock enough for the truck to jerk hard—too fast.
Finn punched the accelerator, and the troopy launched forward. ‘Porter, cut east!’
‘Already on it!’ The roar came as the Hellhound launched over the ridge with dirt flying, engine snarling, blue lights blazing from the roll bar sitting above his gun rack, looking like something out of a Mad Max fever dream.
Taryn blinked at the small tablet screen. That was a cop car?
Porter, in full NT Police uniform, was behind the wheel, calm as anything, like flanking a runaway road train on a bush highway was just another Tuesday patrol.
He didn’t even try to stop the truck—just distract and redirect, drawing its attention with the subtlety of a battering ram—effectively cutting off the truck.
Outback policing, apparently. Taryn shook her head, half in disbelief, half in admiration. She’d never underestimate an NT cop again, especially one who’d worn out three patrol wagons as part of his day job.
But the truck fishtailed. Just for a moment, as if trying to make a choice on which track to take.
They’d blocked off three roads at Billycan Corner. All that was left was one tiny gap of a wallaby track and the road that Craig had blocked with his horse truck.
The road train hit the wallaby track.
‘Come on.’ Finn gunned it, and the troopy roared in response with pure steel and stubbornness on wheels.
The road train hogged the entire wallaby track with its massive tyres chewing the dirt.
That left Finn with only one option…
Off-road.
Taryn gritted her teeth, and held on tight, as the troopy ploughed through the scrub, as the bull bar smashed through saplings like they were matchsticks. A cloud of powdery red exploded as they obliterated a termite mound, with the impact rattling up her spine.
Yet Finn kept the truck pinned to their left, shadowing it through choppy ditches and pig ruts.
The wheel juddered in his grip. The chassis groaned and the V8 engine howled with every jolt. But Finn looked like he was born for this. Focused. Fierce.
She wasn’t sure if this was bravery or madness—but either way, she was into it. Right seat. Right team. Wrong terrain. And loving every second of it.
The drone’s footage showed the Hellhound was doing the same on the other side of the truck, with Amara in the police ute closing in from the rear.
‘Amara, Porter,’ barked out Finn on the radio, ‘keep the pressure on. Craig, you know what to do, take that shortcut now. And we’ll let the driver think he’s choosing the paddock over prison.
’ Finn pushed the troopy to roar down the sides of the road train, a double-decker wall of cattle so close, Taryn could reach out and touch it.
Ahead, from nowhere, Craig’s horse truck suddenly appeared like a wall of steel—parked sideways near the curve, effectively narrowing the path.
The driver saw it.
He braked.
The rig skidded.
One of its trailer’s jack-knifed dangerously close to wiping out the troopy, as dust exploded from beneath it.
The entire metal beast groaned—a deep, grinding scream of torque and steel—as the cattle bawled, with panic rippling through its trailers.
When, finally, it shuddered to a stop.
Finn brought the troopy to a halt, dust swirling around them in hot, blinding clouds.
Taryn shoved the door open, badge and gun already out, adrenaline surging, as she raced for the truck driver’s door. ‘DRIVER, OUT OF THE TRUCK NOW! HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!’
For a second, nothing happened as the dust fell like a curtain to reveal the sky.
Then the cab door cracked open.
A sweaty male in his early forties lifted his hands. ‘What’s going on, officer? I’m just making a delivery.’
‘You’re under arrest for livestock theft, dangerous driving, and endangering livestock. And that’s just the start of our list of charges.’ Taryn’s tone was as cool as stone.
‘What are you gonna do?’ Finn’s voice was gruff as he climbed out of the troopy—all six-foot-something and bad attitude with a badge. ‘Play cowboy? Or play nice for the lady?’
Ooh. He called her a lady now.
The driver shoved his hands into the air.
With cuffs in hand, the way Finn slammed the troopy door practically shouted: Try something. I dare you.
Still, she kept her aim steady while he cuffed the driver, neither of them needing to speak. They had it covered, like they’d done this a hundred times.
The only difference was, this time… they weren’t just covering each other’s backs. They were playing to win. Together.
The driver glanced between them, frowning. ‘She with you?’
Finn didn’t miss a beat. ‘Yeah,’ he said, tightening the flexi-cuffs. ‘She’s with me.’
A simple answer. Just three words: She’s with me—were loaded as hell, like a sucker punch to her heart.
With him. Not under him. Not against him. But with him.
Taryn arched a brow, holstering her weapon. ‘Careful, sergeant. You keep saying it like that and people might get the wrong idea.’
‘You saying it’s wrong?’ he muttered, while still patting the guy down.
She held his gaze for a heartbeat too long. ‘I’m saying I still want the last word.’
‘Wouldn’t expect anything less.’ He gave her a sly wink.
Her pulse gave the briefest traitorous kick.
She ignored it.
Well, she tried to… Not react and just play the Fed, like a good little professional.
Down the road, Craig pulled in beside Porter’s beastly buggy, as Romy’s drone did a wide sweep overhead. That thin, high-pitched buzz cut through the air like a mozzie, recording everything.
‘In a few days, once the dust settles from this bust, we might have to buy the Fed a beer and tell tall stories,’ Stone’s voice drawled over comms.
Porter’s voice chimed in next, over the speakers: ‘Long as she’s buying the second round.’
Taryn smirked, shaking her head as Finn handed her the driver’s wallet. Their fingers brushed, just for a second, but it lingered.
‘Good work,’ he muttered.
It was tough to not smile at him.
Then he dragged the driver towards the police ute, his tone all tough-guy-official again.
‘Amara and Porter, check over the truck and trailers. Craig, do a headcount on the cattle. Check their condition to see if we need a vet.’ He then keyed the radio, glancing up at the drone buzzing overhead.
‘Stone, Romy, you know what to do, play ghost.’
Finn paused, holding the driver like a ragdoll, halfway to the police ute, and glanced back at Taryn. ‘Fed, the truck cab is yours. Paperwork. Keys, phone, radio logs. I want it all.’
And just like that, she was in.