Chapter 16
Sixteen
Amara wanted to be on the road searching with Craig, or in the air with Stone, scouring the skies. But no, she had to drive Finn back to the police station to begin the paperwork trail. Stuff she normally lived for and did without complaint.
For once, the deafening silence didn’t bother her, too consumed by her own rage. Until the smell hit her. That sour tang of booze. Steeped into skin and breath, sweating out through Finn’s pores.
Oh, no.
Finn’s scruffy jaw hadn’t seen a razor in days. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses. It was all the signs she knew far too well. And didn’t want to recognise.
Not in him. Not in Detective Sergeant Finn Wilde.
She’d worked with Finn for well over a year—on the road, in roadhouses and outback pubs across the country. He’d never once crossed that line, while continuously teaching her, and with it came truckloads of respect and loyalty for the man.
So, what the hell had changed?
What trauma was he carrying that she hadn’t seen coming?
What’s worse, she’d seen the look Porter gave her boss earlier. That flash of disgust. And disappointment.
Sadly, she felt it, too.
Because right now, when she needed her boss at his best, he was…
She shifted her grip on the steering wheel, her eyes on the road, and her voice as casual as possible. ‘Want some water? Or food before we head in?’
She spotted the foil sheet of painkillers she’d left for Finn in the middle console, noting they were half gone already.
She tried to remember if she had more in her bag, or if there were some left in her desk drawer that she’d put out for him in the mornings.
Maybe she could give him some of those fizzy vitamin tablets he never touched.
He also didn’t answer her question.
And maybe that said enough.
‘When did you find the horse’s brand had been tampered with?’ Finn asked.
‘Last night. I went back to the office, and was planning to troll through the branding register, but Porter emailed my images to someone else.’
‘I hope he emailed them to Bree. She’ll tell you if it’s been tampered with. And if I know that woman, she’ll know exactly who the brand belongs to, if it’s from the NT—if not, she’ll be able to find out.’
She glanced at her boss with hope. ‘Really?’
Finn nodded. ‘We’ll find it. But if that brand shows…’
‘Yeah, I know. I’ll give it back.’ She was already preparing for it, when she should have never taken a chance on it in the first place. ‘I just hope Lot 728 is okay.’
‘You did name it, Amara.’
She looked at him with wide eyes. ‘Sir?’ He’d said her name.
‘No one’s here.’ He exhaled heavily, to roughly scrub his hand over his face as if waking up from the nightmare of a day, or in his case—weeks.
The front of the Elsie Creek Station was full of cars as she drove past and parked out the back. Finn preferred the rear entrance—and in his state, it was probably for the best.
‘What did you call the horse?’ he asked.
‘Tempest.’ The name stung. She didn’t want to feel the hurt, the worry, the raw ache clawing up from her past, hating that she’d been here before, giving her every reason to cuff the neck of a bottle like one of the old shearers, and drown it all.
But she hadn’t. Not then. Not now.
And maybe that’s why this hit harder.
Because she respected Finn. Blindly and totally trusted him to hold the line, no matter what came at them.
And now, the one person she thought would never falter… was struggling and she didn’t know how to help him, without crossing the line.
‘Good name,’ Finn mumbled. ‘What was the name of your first horse that got stolen?’
Of course, he’d know of her past. Finn would’ve dug deep to find her motivation, her drive to do this job. He was very careful about who he chose to be a part of his team.
‘Three were stolen, sir. Vortex Fire, Tex was his stable name. Calypso’s Catapult, Callie for short.
Then Brigadier’s Pride.’ Her favourite. Dear-to-me, she’d call him.
After all those hours in the stables, the practising yards, the paddock, losing Brigadier’s Pride had felt like her best friend had been taken from her.
‘Fancy names. Aren’t racing horses the only ones with the fancy names?’
‘Pedigree polo horses have them, too, sir.’
‘Was Tempest a polo horse?’
‘I’m willing to bet my badge on it, sir. Lot 728 was—is a pedigree.’
‘Well, let’s get inside and find out where he came from.’ Finn closed the passenger door behind him, his long legs eating up the asphalt at the rear entrance to the police station.
Amara scrambled after him. ‘But sir—’
‘Porter’s here already.’ Finn nodded at the police van. ‘Leave him to do the legwork. If his boss is right, Porter would’ve started vehicle searches already. We need to roll with the forensic findings and other searches.’
Amara followed Finn inside, the familiar scent of stale coffee, dust, and printing ink wrapped around her as they stepped into the Stock Squad’s large office.
She opened the fridge, grabbed two bottles of water, and set one on Finn’s desk, dropping a packet of painkillers beside it.
Without the sunglasses, it was all there—bloodshot eyes, pale skin, and that flat, haunted look she knew too well.
But she couldn’t say a word.
She dropped her bag, though the weight still clung to her shoulders, and slid behind her desk. Powered up her PC. Ready to roll.
She was not going to give up—she had a job to do.
She was trained for this. She knew the cold logic of an investigation.
But to steal it from a known policeman’s house… a horse with a tampered brand—maybe they were onto something bigger than she’d imagined.