Chapter 38
Thirty-eight
The sterile scent of antiseptic still clung to her sunburnt skin as Amara slid gingerly into the chair behind her desk.
She’d traded hospital gauze and a tattered ballgown for a set of borrowed Northern Territory Police coveralls.
They may have been too big in the shoulders and rolled at the ankles—but they did the job, because Amara had work to do.
Her hair was pulled back into its regulation bun, minus the tiara. A bandage ran along one inner arm, with an assortment of bruises blooming across her skin, along with some scorching sunburn, and a heavily bandaged ankle that didn’t fit into her boot.
But she had a set of crutches and was mobile enough to work, to make up for the damage she’d caused. And she would not let Porter take the fall for her foolishness, either.
Amara popped the cap on the pills she’d bought for Finn’s hangovers and swallowed them down with more water. She just couldn’t get enough water, even if it meant she’d be racing to the loo more times than she cared to. She guzzled down the water as her mind went into action.
Finn might have been chasing ghosts in the field, but Amara knew him—knew how he read a map and how he triangulated terrain and tactics in his head.
She’d watched him, listened and learned how Finn would use his many maps to create a plan with the precision of a master chess player shifting pieces across the board for the ultimate checkmate.
In this case, the manhunt for Sawyer Dixby.
She carted her trusty tablet to the Stock Squad’s main table and shuffled through Finn’s vast map collection.
She dragged over her case files, terrain maps, brought up the drone feeds onto the wide screen, set notices for satellite pings for satphones and vehicle locations of key players.
Within minutes, the table where they’d shared morning tea with Bree looked like a war room—organised, prioritised, colour-coded, and strategic.
This was her battlefield.
And she was about to remind Detective Sergeant Finn Wilde why she should remain a member of his Stock Squad.
Porter was already on the job, trying to catch the man who’d tried to kill them.
He was still out there, wounded, sunburnt, but determined to chase Sawyer down in the Hellhound along with Cowboy Craig, the best tracker she’d ever seen.
If you were ever to run a manhunt, who better to team up with Craig than Porter, who was well skilled at hunting.
But she needed to do more.
Her eyes flicked around the office, catching on the notice for the missing horse, Lot 728. He was safe now at Craig’s quarantine station, getting checked out by the vet, while being watched over by Izzy.
More importantly, Bree and her husband, Ryder Riggs, were out at Dustfire helping Izzy, with Bree offering to send in the rest of the Riggs brothers to help.
Amara knew Finn, Craig and Porter trusted Bree, like she was part of their team.
And Porter was all about teamwork.
He’d told her they were in a unique situation, working on a land mass bigger than the city of Sydney, with none of the resources—so trust and teamwork meant survival.
They had to use what they had, and that meant relying on others.
And right now, she could use those resources, which meant leaning on the locals.
Amara swallowed hard. Porter hadn’t just said it—he lived it.
He’d fought for her. Cared for her. Led her through the outback on horseback like she was royalty, while he went on foot.
Even when she’d been drowning under the weight of her own past, that man had carried her through the sun and dust to make sure she’d survive.
And now, it was her turn to repay the favour, somehow, from behind a desk.
‘Anything I can help with, sweetie?’ It was Tanisha, pulling down the headphones she normally wore when plugged into her switchboard area at the front counter.
Amara hesitated, straightening up her own shabby, wrinkled attire, which was way worse than Porter’s messy uniform. But it didn’t matter, not when she had a job to do, and swore to never turn her nose up at Porter’s uniform again.
‘Go on. Say it. No need to be shy. It’s just you and me in this office, hon. And I want in.’ Tanisha leaned over, her voice low and gritty. ‘I want this bastard who dared to hurt you and Porter.’ Everyone knew Tanisha doted over Porter.
Amara hobbled to her feet, making sure to keep the weight off her ankle as she dragged out her map. ‘We need to establish roadblocks across cattle grids, access roads, and any stock routes that Sawyer might use, here and here.’
‘I can do that on the radio. We’ve got two ACPO crews coming in from the outer communities. You can have them run the boundary.’
‘Good.’ She then pointed to the side window that faced the fire station. ‘Can we use the firies for roadblocks? And do you know a local pilot?’ That same window view also gave a glimpse of the small-town airport that sat behind this police station.
‘Yes, to all that.’ Tanisha waved her long neon fingernail like a glow stick in a nightclub—bright, bold, and impossible to ignore. ‘I’ll call the fire chief. He’ll set up his crew to work on roadblocks. They’ve done it before.’
‘But firies don’t normally get involved with police business.’
‘Sweetie, out here, we’re a community, and we all work together. I’ll call the fire chief first. You tell me where you want ‘em. Then I’ll call Monet.’
‘Who?’
‘The Wicked Witch of the Westerly Winds.’ Tanisha’s grin was pure power, with her white teeth flashing against her dark skin.
‘Monet runs the outback mail plane for this region. She’s worked with Marcus plenty of times and will be in the air in no time.
Leave it to me, sweetie…’ While Tanisha went back to the front desk to man the radio, Amara moved through the rest like a woman possessed.
She needed to get back on the job—to save her job—and more importantly, to help the team do theirs, in the first coordinated manhunt between the Federal Stock Squad and Elsie Creek Police. The lines were well and truly blurred now.
Amara raised assorted seizure orders for the banteng, horses, and cattle found at Dixby Downs. Logged the required statements, filed the paperwork and started the warrants for attempted murder, with her statement ready for Finn’s inspection.
Then she dug into SW Rural Contracting, cross-referencing shell companies and transport contracts, but it only led to a post office box in Western Australia.
The red Ram Sawyer drove was registered to SW Rural Contracting. The same initials used on the stock sheets for her stolen horse presented to the livestock auction.
Even if she was building the case, answering the questions Finn would ask, she still ached to be out there. But her ankle throbbed with every movement.
But it wasn’t the injury that made her feel as if she’d been benched from the game. It was the space where Porter should’ve been.
She missed him.
And she couldn’t help but feel like she’d wasted her chance when they were alone in the outback to tell him how much he meant to her.
She’d been a fool to not say anything sooner. Like when he’d called her beautiful at the waterhole. She should have kissed him then. Or flung her arms around his neck to say goodbye before they were separated, even while he was facing off the two bosses as he covered for her.
She should have done more.
Turning her focus back to her job, she dialled a number.
‘Elsie Creek Livestock Office.’ The middle-aged woman sounded hoarse, but alert.
‘Lydia, it’s Amara—’ Surprisingly, she didn’t say Constable Montrose, like normal.
‘Are you okay, luv?’ I heard you and Porter were in trouble out at Dixby Downs.’
That secret didn’t last long.
‘We found the horse, Lot 728, and I’d like your help in working out the logistics of getting him back to his owners.’
‘Maybe they’ll let you—’
‘Lot 728 is worth a lot of money. I don’t think his owner will sell him to me for what I paid at the auction.’ As much as she wanted to, she knew she couldn’t keep the horse.
‘I’m sorry, luv, I truly am. I saw how happy you were when you bought him.
’ Lydia sighed, paper rustling in the background.
‘Just so you know, Red is already sorting out a refund—reckons it’s only fair, considering.
But don’t you worry none, luv. I’ll be digging through his paperwork myself.
Something about this one’s not sitting right with me. ’
Amara stared at the image of the horse on her report. ‘If you do find anything, talk to Finn. Or he’ll find you.’ Afterall, she wasn’t sure she’d still be on the team—not after this.
And the thought of facing Finn again?
God help her.
‘But I’ll keep an eye out if anything nice comes through the yard, huh?’
‘Thank you, Lydia, that’s very kind of you. But I’m in no hurry for another horse.’ Not when the heartache was just too much.
‘When Finn comes in, we’ll work out a good time to talk.’
‘Um…’ Lydia hesitated.
‘Do you still want to talk to Finn about what you found in the paperwork?’
On the other end of the line, a bell tinkled in the background. It was the bell for the door to the clerk’s office.
‘Red!’ Lydia sounded both surprised and strained. ‘I’m just on the phone…’ Her voice was muffled, as if she’d covered the speaker.
‘Make up a name, Lydia. Anything,’ called out Amara. ‘I’ll talk to you later.’
‘Yes, thank you for your query, Mr Templeton. I look forward to your return call to set a time for the stock inspectors to meet.’
Amara swallowed. ‘Okay, be safe, Lydia. I’ll call you soon.’
She hung up, filling with worry for Lydia. Even though he was likely out of range, she sent a text to Finn for advice on how best to approach Lydia, especially as it involved Red.
Right now, she had to keep moving.