Chapter 38
Thirty-eight
If this went right—if they bagged Drew on this incoming jet—Finn was calling for deck chairs and a barbecue out back of the police station, just to watch Taryn scrub down Cecil.
That water buffalo would love it. And something with a lot of bubbles.
Tanisha would be all over that, whipping up cocktails loaded with edible glitter, and ordering Porter to play DJ for the day.
Come on, they needed something good to come out of this. Something to laugh about, for once.
But first, they had to finish it.
The wind stirred up the dust across the clearing as the jet roared overhead—sleek, low, and moving faster than anything that should’ve been landing in the outback.
The stolen Warraga truck spilled shade across the edge of the pad. Red was slumped against the bull bar, while Bob paced like a caged dog, clutching that duffel bag like it held the keys to salvation.
Finn crouched behind the scrub, comms clipped tight to his mouth. ‘Stone, where’s the pilot going to load?’
Stone’s voice crackled back, low, ‘The jet will taxi to them. That’s why Red’s out of the cab, best place for the handoff.’
‘Will the pilot kill the engine?’
‘Has to. For that type of jet, the strip’s too short for a hot load-out. The pilot will shut down to secure the cargo and save fuel, considering this is an outpost.’
‘Making them sitting ducks.’ Finn nodded to himself.
‘Copy that. We wait for the engine to cut and for the pilot to step out and help load. That’s our window…
We box them in. Taryn and I will storm the jet.
Porter, you’re the fastest, hit the stairs from the left.
Amara and Craig take Red and Bob at the truck and watch for runners. You see movement, shut it down.’
He glanced skyward. ‘Romy, you’re our eyes. Call out anything we miss. Use the drone to track escape paths, and don’t let anyone disappear into the scrub.’
‘Copy that,’ replied Romy as a low thud of rotor blades kicked off and rolled through the comms.
‘Stone, you come in behind the jet, but make sure you’re under the radar so he can’t spot you and take off. Your mission is to block their path. Make sure no one leaves on that airstrip.’ Finn peered across the clearing. They were ready.
The jet hit the makeshift runway with a hard bounce and kept rolling, dust blooming in its wake.
Taryn crouched low beside him. ‘We should move in closer now that the plane’s on the ground. That long grass will cover us.’
Finn nodded as he spoke over the comms. ‘Team, use the scrub for cover. Stay low. And wait for the pilot to get out. Stone, that’ll be your call.’
And with that, the squad inched forward like ghosts, with hearts pounding under the sun.
The jet taxied, then came to a slow stop. A few moments later, the door hissed open. Steps unfolded and a heavy-set male, wearing sunglasses too big for his face, stepped out to wave Red and Bob forward.
‘Hey, Clancy, glad you could make it.’ Bob called out.
That raised Finn’s eyebrows. So, the only other two who knew about the quarry, was the pilot on that jet—and Drew.
Finn remembered the day the squad first got their badges, waiting for Drew to climb off another similar jet, where heat waves washed over the tarmac. That day, Finn had been so damned proud of his team, because they’d earned it.
And Drew had stood there in his tailored suit, shaking hands, patting backs—while his assistant hauled those boxes full of stolen genetic material behind him.
Heading for Singapore for some BS conference, Drew had said.
Couldn’t stay long, he’d said. Even though Amara had done morning tea, bought Stone a new shirt, and polished the cutlery like she was meeting the king.
Singapore, my arse.
That bastard was already shipping product, using their squad send-off as bloody cover.
Even with the rage now coiling like a tight fist, back then Finn hadn’t thought twice—because he’d trusted the bastard, who’d been poisoning the whole system.
So no, that smug prick wasn’t out on the dirt. Drew would be sitting pretty inside that jet, with feet up, laptop open, and probably smiling at how well the plan was going while getting ready to tear strips off Red for causing this mess as soon as they climbed onboard that jet.
Finn’s jaw locked tight enough to ache, as if to hold back the fire roaring up his throat.
Not yet.
He’d waited this long.
He could wait one more minute.
They’d wait for the pilot. Then he’d drag Drew off that jet and choke him with the same polished rope the mongrel once called a pardon.
‘I look better than you lot.’ Clancy, the big guy, trotted down the stairs to unclip one of the jet’s cargo hatches. ‘Where’s the stash?’
‘In the back of the truck,’ said Bob.
‘Give us a hand. Red, you can’t get on board bleeding like that, mate. Drew’ll spit at the cleaning bill.’
‘Don’t give a shit.’ Red pushed off the truck and started limping. ‘While I’m at it, I’ll give that mongrel a mouthful.’
‘They’re loading…’ Finn itched to move, anger driving him now.
‘We wait for the pilot.’ Taryn gripped his wrist. ‘You said it’s Stone’s call. He’ll know when it’s time.’
She was close. Too close. The press of her shoulder against his, the heat of her breath in the still air that filled with the enticing scent he’d missed. She was the only thing keeping him steady, preventing his rage from ripping through everything.
But then in the meekest, softest voice he’d ever heard her use, she whispered, ‘I’m sorry. I’m such a chicken, but in case this goes sideways… you should know—’ She swallowed. ‘I’m pregnant.’
It didn’t hit like a bomb. It hit like silence.
A deafening slap right across his jawbone.
Finn spun to face her, to see if she was joking.
She wasn’t.
Pregnant?!
The word echoed through him like bootsteps stomping down an empty hallway.
And all he could do was stare at her.
Then Stone’s voice sliced through the comms: ‘Engines down… Pilot’s out. Go!’
Taryn sprinted. Fast. Handgun up, badge glinting. Breaking cover first—without him!
It only took a moment before Finn chased after her. Snapping back into the mission. And away from the thing he suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about. Pregnant?
Craig peeled down the passenger side of the truck, rifle up.
Amara swept left, flanking the truck. ‘Federal Police!’ she shouted with her handgun perfectly poised. ‘Hands where I can see them!’
Red groaned. Bleeding, his shirt soaked in sweat, he dropped to his knees.
Bob dropped his bag and bolted straight for the jet.
‘Bob’s heading for the plane!’ Romy’s voice snapped through comms as the helicopter roared overhead.
Bob reached the stairs. Hand out on the rail to climb for the plane.
When Porter’s warning cracked like thunder, as he pressed the gun’s barrel into the back of Bob’s head. ‘One more step and you’ll be eating through a tube for the rest of your life, if you’re lucky.’
Bob’s hands flew up. ‘Don’t shoot!’
Porter pushed Bob hard against the stairwell, cuffed him, then dragged him back to kneel beside Red at the front of the truck.
Finn got a bead on the guy they called Clancy, who’d ducked out from the plane’s cargo hatch.
Big and calm, Clancy carried himself like he already knew who he was supposed to kill and where to bury them. His jacket bulged just enough to confirm he wasn’t carrying a boarding pass—he was packing.
Finn didn’t hesitate, his gun raised, ready to roll. ‘Drop the weapon. Now.’
Clancy gave Finn a slow once-over. Sizing him up like this was round one of a fight he’d already counted on himself to win.
Finn didn’t flinch. He never flinched. Not in prison. Not in the yards. Not when guards ran betting pools on how many rounds he’d last without making a sound.
And not now.
Taryn shifted left, her gun’s sights locked. ‘Don’t test us.’
Still nothing.
Then, behind the goon, a second figure stepped out from the jet’s underbelly. Older. Wiry. Hands already up.
‘Pilot!’ he prattled like a panicked teen. ‘I’m just the pilot! I’m not part of this, I swear!’
That tiny beat of distraction? It’s all Finn needed.
He surged forward, catching Clancy’s wrist mid-draw—just as that weapon cleared the jacket’s fabric—and twisted.
A tight, brutal move he didn’t need to think about because he’d done it a hundred times before, sometimes for justice, and sometimes just to breathe another night, inhaling concrete and cold steel bars.
Finn slammed Clancy’s back into the side of the plane. Then let loose a crack to his ribs followed by a clock to the mouth.
The gun hit the tarmac with a heavy clatter.
Finn barely registered it.
Not when he was dancing along that edge now, barely one breath away from making it personal and letting all that fury free.
He could’ve hit Clancy again. Oh, he wanted to. All that frustrated rage inside needed an out. ‘Do you wanna dance with the devil?’ He said with an evil edge to his voice and a sneer that promised he’d dance to their deaths if he had to.
Clancy raised his arms, fingers wide, with his wrist swollen and lip bleeding, but the whites of his eyes showed his fear. ‘I surrender, okay. Take it easy, okay.’
But Finn wanted to hit him again.
Hell yeah, he wanted to.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he shoved the guy down, slapped the cuffs on hard, and forced his breathing to level out. In. Out.
Don’t lose it now.
And when he looked up—
Taryn was there, covering him. Her eyes steady, gun still raised, legs braced like she’d hold the whole damn plane back if she had to.
She’d seen him almost let his rage bleed through his self-control.
But what got him the most was she wasn’t scared of him, knowing full well what he was capable of. She just gave him the smallest nod, like she understood the war still going on behind his ribs and still stood beside him. Again, proving she was tougher than he’d given her credit for.
When Stone’s chopper swept low behind them, blades roaring like a warning from the gods, and effectively blocked the jet.