Chapter 33
Thirty-three
Maps, files, scribbled notes, including a satellite photo of the quarry, were spread across Brodie’s hospital tray like a lost section of a war room. Finn crouched over them, eyes flicking from his phone screen to the mess of maps in front of him, then back to his phone’s screen:
Taryn Hayes
Her name stared back at him, his finger hovering over the dial button.
He wanted to call her. Hell, he needed to.
Not just for her report. She was the only one who could read his notes and make him see what he’d missed.
He had the ground tools, and had laid the foundation, while Taryn had the knack of filling in the gaps and giving it a polish for the bigger picture.
It was like he’d start the sentence, and she’d finish it as they both worked to finish the same job.
But he didn’t hit that call button.
Instead, he ran his hand through his hair and let the biro clatter to the floor.
He scooped it up, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth at the memory of Taryn casually mentioning that her childhood babysitters had taught her how to take down a teddy bear with a ballpoint pen.
A pen.
Of course she’d weaponise her office supplies.
Damn, he missed her.
He sniffed to get back to work in the hospital room that smelled of antiseptic. His blood encrusted shirt only added to the aroma. But he didn’t want to leave, so he wore his police vest to disguise it.
The radio chatter had silenced now, only highlighting Brodie’s shallow breathing.
Then it came…
A deep, echoing roar, that was low and fast.
Finn stiffened.
Jet.
It wasn’t a sound you often heard in Elsie Creek—not unless someone important was landing. He crossed to the window, parting the vertical blinds with two fingers.
The sky was salmon-pink with the kind of outback dawn that made you feel like the world held its breath between heat and dark. And there, in the distance, a sleek shape tore across the horizon heading north in the wakening blue.
He stared for a moment, gut tightening. Could it be…Her?
Taryn?
Nah.
He shook it off.
Turning from the window, Finn moved to where his laptop sat open, among his maps, and manila folders with scrawled notes. On the floor his open duffel bag held more rolls of maps and files.
A plan was forming. One he hoped to execute at first light, when he was calling a meeting with the squad.
They’d strike the quarry.
But he couldn’t leave Brodie yet. He’d made a promise to watch over the kid, to keep him safe. And Finn needed to be here when the boy woke up.
He glanced back at the bed.
Brodie shifted with a rustle of sheets. A breath hitching, shallow and uncertain, then came the confused panic.
Finn was beside him in seconds. ‘You’re alright, mate. You’re safe.’
Brodie blinked blearily with his brow furrowed. ‘Lydia?’
‘Still fighting,’ Finn said gently. ‘Same as you.’
The kid’s eyes darted around the room like he wasn’t sure if any of it was real.
Finn pushed open the door, and hollered into the corridor, ‘Oi! He’s awake in here!’
A nurse called back, ‘Be there in a sec!’
Finn returned to Brodie’s bedside. ‘You need water?’
Brodie gave a slow, shaky nod as he tried to sit up, only to wince, as if remembering he’d hurt his shoulder.
‘Whoa up there, mate. These things come loaded.’ Finn hit the button to raise the mechanical bed. He wasn’t about to fluff any pillows, but he’d make sure the kid didn’t fall out of bed.
Finn reached for the cup and straw sitting on the ledge. He held it steady while Brodie drank, like he hadn’t had a drop of water in days.
‘There we go,’ Finn murmured. ‘Doc will be here soon.’ He then leaned in and whispered, ‘I’ll smuggle in a stash of iced coffees and lollies later.’
That earned him the faintest flicker of a smile as the kid sagged back against the pillows, jaw clenched like he was fighting the pain.
He then checked out the room, which held nothing, not even a TV, not that they got television reception out here. The frown forming across his deeply tanned forehead said it all. Being stuck staring at four walls was going to drive a kid like Brodie nuts.
Finn reached into the duffel bag and pulled out the puzzle book that was dog-eared and sun-faded, like it had been through a dozen dry seasons.
‘I found this shoved in the bottom of my bag. Forgot it was there, to be honest. Figured it’d help, as it kept me sane when I was stuck in hospital once—well, as sane as I can get. ’
Brodie lifted his chin with curiosity. Hopefully, it’d take his mind off his worries for a moment or two. And the boy was also learning to read and write, so it wouldn’t hurt to do something fun with letters.
‘I was your age when I copped a horn to the ribs on a muster. Thought I’d go mad staring at the ceiling.
’ He hesitated, surprised at how it had caught him off guard, even after all this time, when he mentioned the name, ‘Drew was the town’s cop where I was, and he dropped off a book just like this.
Said it was good for the brain. Strategic thinking, pattern recognition, that kind of thing. ’
Finn cleared his throat. ‘Didn’t believe him, of course. Thought he was just trying to keep me quiet. But it turned out, he wasn’t wrong.’
He flipped to one of the half-finished pages and ran a finger along the jagged trail of circled letters.
‘You start seeing how things link. Words hidden backwards, sideways, diagonal. Patterns you’d miss if you weren’t looking.
And once you get the hang of it, I reckon your brain stops feeling like a busted fence post for a bit. ’
Brodie gave him a sidelong glance as if Finn was some ancient dinosaur, handing a teenager a paper and pen, when they were all about handheld phones and video games.
But Brodie wasn’t your ordinary teenager.
‘And if you get bored, you can find all the rude words.’
Brodie gave a quick flicker of a grin, a spark in his old eyes where the worry was heavy.
Finn leaned back against the wall beside his bed. ‘Look, don’t stress about all the rest. Besides, that’s not how the law works. You protected Lydia. You did what no one else could.’
‘Yeah, but—’
‘But don’t say anything to Marcus or anyone in the NT Police, not unless I’m with you.
Look, we haven’t found Red, so as far we know Red isn’t dead.
And forget saying you stole Red’s ute. Yeah?
’ Finn waited for the kid to nod, it was small, even if his old eyes weren’t so sure.
‘And don’t worry about the licence thing.
I’ll spin it a bit. Worst case, we’ll say the bull was driving. ’
That got the faintest huff of a grin from Brodie, which he took as a good sign. That’s if Red was still alive. If not, then they’d have a whole gun-barrel of trouble to deal with then.
‘I’ve already told Izzy to come and back you up.’ Finn then added, straight-faced, ‘Heard you’ve got a crush on her.’
Didn’t the kid go redder than a road train’s tail-light, dragging the hospital sheet up to his chin like it could hide the burn. ‘Isobel Callahan is the best criminal lawyer in the Territory,’ he muttered, all stiff and defensive.
Finn bit back a grin. ‘That she is. Scary when she wants to be. Might even bill you extra if you keep blushing like that.’
Brodie groaned and hid his face behind his palm.
‘Yeah,’ Finn said, smirking, ‘you’re gonna be just fine, mate.’
The door creaked.
Finn turned as a doctor, with tablet in hand and a stethoscope looped casually around his neck, entered the room, looking like he’d just walked off a magazine cover and into a bush clinic.
Dr Stewart Mannen.
The Hot Doc, according to Tanisha. Who’d nearly tripped over her own cactus slippers when she’d realised this doctor was on shift. She’d wanted to volunteer and stay all night.
Pfft.
‘How’s Lydia?’ Finn knew Brodie would want to know the same.
‘She’s stable. Still critical, I’m afraid.’ Dr Mannen checked the IV, then adjusted something on the monitor.
‘Can I see her?’ Brodie’s voice was hoarse, barely more than a rasp.
‘Let me check on you first, before we decide.’ The doctor checked Brodie’s head wound, peeling back the dressing with practised care.
The jagged line of eight black stitches ran just below Brodie’s hairline, swollen and angry looking, but clean. No infection.
The doctor checked Brodie’s shoulder full of angry purple and blue bruising.
Brodie winced, eyes flicking shut for a second. ‘Hurts less than it did last night,’ he muttered. And for a kid who used to endure torture from his parents, that said more than any pain scale ever could.
Finn’s jaw tightened, with his hands curling into fists at his sides. The kind of tension that came from knowing—really knowing—what it meant when a kid downplayed pain like that. ‘His pain?’
‘You’ll feel that for a while,’ the doctor said, gently pressing along Brodie’s collarbone.
‘Luckily no broken bones. But your ligaments are going to scream at you for a week. Your neck muscles, too, due to a slight whiplash from the vehicle rollover.’ He then flicked a pen light to check Brodie’s eyes.
‘You have a moderate concussion, but you’re coherent, responsive, and no swelling, which are always good signs. ’
‘Can you give Brodie something for the pain, to take the edge off it.’ Because the kid might be playing tough, but he was hurting. ‘Just nothing addictive…’ It’s how his mother got hooked.
Brodie nodded.
Finn also knew Brodie’s parents were addicts too, so the kid steered clear of anything to do with drugs, scared he’d end up like them.
Dr Mannen jotted down some notes as he spoke. ‘We’ll keep Brodie on light painkillers—nothing that’ll fuzz him out. He needs to rest. And to drink plenty of water.’
Brodie adjusted his legs under the sheets, trying to get comfortable. Moving slower than usual, but still moving.
‘What I need is to pee. And I’m starving.’
Finn smirked. ‘I’ll take that as a good sign.’
Dr Mannen chuckled. ‘Once you’ve eaten and had a shower, Brodie, I’ll tell the nurse to take you to see Lydia. But I will warn you, she’s still critical, and it might be confronting. That said… I think she’d like knowing you’re close.’
Finn gave a sharp nod. ‘Thanks, Doc. Call me if there’s any change, yeah?’
‘Will do. And maybe you can go home and change, too.’ The doc nodded at Finn’s shirt, splattered with blood.
‘Just wanted to make sure…’ Finn rubbed the back of his neck, not wanting to say that he’d been watching over Brodie’s bed, without sounding like he was babysitting the boy who was practically a man.
‘Are you taking over Brodie’s care?’ the doctor asked quietly.
‘I am. Until Lydia wakes up and tells us what to do.’ Finn didn’t look at Brodie when he said it. But he meant it.
Brodie, already pale, clenched the edge of the sheet.
That was the thing about this kid, he’d already learned not to ask for anything from anyone. He’d sadly learned a hard lesson, that being wanted came with terms and conditions that weren’t always favourable.
But now…
Someone else was also choosing him, too. His small circle was growing.
Brodie didn’t say a word—just reached out and grabbed the word puzzle book. His fingers curled tight around it like it was the only thing anchoring him. That if someone like Finn was willing to give Brodie a go, he might give Finn’s book a go, too.
Finn didn’t call attention to it. He just pulled a pen from his police vest and passed it over.
Brodie took it.
And then the radio crackled to life.
It was Tanisha: ‘All units, be advised: public disturbance escalating at the Elsie Creek Hotel. Requesting immediate response. Locals are gathered—agitated and aggressive.’ Then it was like she’d leaned into the microphone and said, ‘Listen, guys, the stockmen are calling for Red’s head.’
Dr Mannen’s brows lifted. ‘I didn’t think the pub opened this early.’
Finn looked back at Brodie. The stockmen adored Lydia. And they hated cattle thieves.
‘No one’s opened the stockyards today.’ Brodie’s voice cracked. ‘Not since…’
Dammit. It was a lynch mob about to tear this town apart.