Chapter 18 #3
‘I train, live and breathe them,’ Hayden replied, then he hesitated. ‘If they’re using horses for gain, they’re not just gambling, the bastards are abusing the animals to guarantee outcomes. It’s more than crime, it’s cruelty.’
‘I totally agree, Hayden.’
They both scanned the area again. Logan pulled out a small digital camera from his pocket. ‘Let’s document everything. No movement for now, just intel.’
As Logan clicked a few quiet shots, Hayden walked the perimeter, eyes sharp for any sign they weren’t alone. Then something caught his eye. Tyre tracks. Faint, but fresh. Leading off deeper into the cane.
‘Logan,’ he called softly. ‘It looks like we’re not the only ones who’ve been out here this morning.’
Logan joined him, squinting at the dirt. ‘Whoever it was didn’t leave their vehicle here. Probably used another entry point. You mentioned a western access track?’
Hayden nodded, kneeling to inspect the marks. ‘Yeah. It loops around from the back of town. Not many use it these days unless they know exactly where they’re going. Which tells me whoever came out here had a purpose.’
‘I totally agree with that.’ Logan looked at him. ‘You ready to play this carefully?’
‘Been doing it since this started,’ Hayden replied. ‘But yeah. Let’s see how deep the rot goes.’
* * *
The highway shimmered ahead in the late-afternoon haze, framed by cane fields and heat-warped fences.
Brianna rolled down the window another inch, letting the warm North Queensland breeze swirl in.
Her shirt clung damply to her back and a sick sensation roiled in her belly.
She’d been in the Hilux for over an hour, on and off, and the day hadn’t exactly been light on drama.
Pregnancy checks, a stubborn foaling, and an injured heifer that needed more stitches than she’d had lunch breaks that week.
She glanced over to where Sherlock sat in the passenger seat, tongue lolling, nose twitching at every scent the wind brought in. He hadn’t barked or shifted much since they’d left the last property. Just stayed quiet. Alert. A calming presence. Thank god for him, always at her side.
Her hands were cramping slightly from holding the steering wheel so tightly.
Noting she was white-knuckled, she flexed her fingers, then let out a breath she hadn’t noticed she was holding.
Somewhere out yonder, Hayden and her dad were still investigating, likely chasing down one of Jack’s old haunts, looking for someone who might have owed him a favour or remembered something useful, and all very subtly.
She appreciated both that her dad knew exactly what he was doing, and that Hayden would be doing his very best to unravel this mess alongside her father.
Both men were very capable, very brave and very wise.
She’d tried not to worry about them, but she’d been checking her phone more than she’d like to admit.
She was looking forward to getting back to the cottage and hopefully seeing her dad’s face, maybe making dinner with him.
Something ordinary to balance out the mess.
And poor Molly.
How was she still opening her bookshop café every morning like nothing was happening?
Smiling at tourists and locals alike, pouring lattes, serving up delicious sweets, like her whole world hadn’t tilted sideways.
Maybe that was her friend’s way of coping – keep moving, keep working, don’t give the dark time to settle.
Much like she was doing herself, really.
But it was catching up to her now.
The road blurred for a second. She blinked hard.
Enough was enough. She needed to allow herself a break.
She flicked the indicator and eased the Hilux onto the gravel shoulder, with dust blooming behind her.
As she turned off the engine, the sudden stillness felt like a weight, lifting and landing at the same time.
Sherlock shifted to face her, then rested his chin on her thigh.
Her hand going to his fur, she leant back in the seat, eyes closed, sweat slick on her neck and temples.
The silence was echoing all around her, with everything unsaid.
She wasn’t grieving Jack. She hadn’t known him.
But she was sick of the tension, the whispers, the anonymous messages that wormed into her gut and stayed there.
Sick of Molly being threatened. Sick of being threatened, too.
She was tired of the uncertainty. Of watching the people that she cared about carry venomous fear in their bones.
Groaning, she turned her face towards the window.
The breeze smelled of hot earth, tropical fruit blossoms, cattle and cut cane.
Familiar. Solid. And yet, unsettling.
Sherlock whined as he gently pawed her arm.
‘I’m okay, buddy,’ she whispered.
Sherlock thumped his tail once, softly.
Not okay, exactly. But close enough to keep going, she thought, as she scratched behind his ears. Then, after a few more minutes, she started the Hilux and pulled back onto the road.
Home wasn’t far now.
And maybe, if she was lucky, neither were the answers they needed to make this all stop.