Chapter 13 Bush
The range of emotions that crosses Fred’s expression tells a story. Defiance shifts to panic. Panic morphs into regret. Regret settles into defeat. “It was a stupid move, but at the time, I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“You didn’t think it would come back to bite you in the ass?” I say.
He shakes his head. “No. I figured once they were in jail, they’d stay there. Or at least stay there long enough that by the time they got out, they’d have forgotten about us. I counted on time covering my actions. Do you think they figured out what I did?”
I look at Mode to answer.
“Depends on whether they have someone like me working for them. I know how to access banking data, but not everyone can. They likely know the money is gone. They could just think the authorities grabbed it. I’m surprised the authorities didn’t trace it to you.”
“So, what happens now? I don’t have the money, but I can pay them something. I didn’t keep it for myself,” he says quickly. “Not the way you think.”
“Then enlighten us,” I snap.
He nods once. “Do you think I started the movement to stand up to the Bushriders only to save my store? I saw what they were doing to my community. People were losing their livelihood. They hurt families. When you told me to take Zara and run, I did. However, on our way to New Zealand, I realized that if the authorities arrested the Bushrangers, they’d seize the money.
We’d never see any of it, and that was unacceptable. ”
Chrome’s eyes narrow. “So you played hero?”
“I made a decision to help the people they hurt the most,” Fred says firmly. “Anonymous payments. Medical bills. Rebuilding costs. School fees for kids who lost their homes. I gave them back their money.”
I bark out a humorless laugh. “But you kept some, too?”
“I did,” he says quietly. “Some of that money was mine.”
The room goes still.
“What about the rest?” Mode asks.
Fred hesitates. “I used some to purchase my new store and to pay for Zara’s tuition. She deserved a chance at something better.”
At the sound of her name, something shifts in my chest. Sharp. Protective.
“And the charities?” Chrome prompts.
Fred nods. “Donations in Adelaide. And here in Arrowtown. Women’s shelters. Youth programs. I wanted the money to do some good.”
Chrome steps closer to the desk. “And you never considered the consequences?”
Fred’s gaze hardens. “It was blood money.”
I hold up a hand to stop the brewing argument. “The problem isn’t what you did with it,” I say. “It’s the fact that the Bushrangers are here, and they seem to be after Zara. They either figured out you stole the money or they’re after her for a different reason.”
Fred’s expression shifts for the first time—real concern breaking through. “What do you mean?”
“I confronted the Bushrangers last night,” Chrome explains. “When I asked why they were in town, they said they came to collect something owed to them.”
Fred goes pale. “Owed?”
“We don’t know if the Bushrangers know you took the money,” I explain. “For all we know, they think the authorities seized the money. But they’re after Zara.”
Fred’s fingers tighten around the edge of his desk. “Why?”
“They were going to hurt her,” I say bluntly. “Before everything went down in Australia. She slipped through their grasp when I told you to take her and run.”
Fred closes his eyes as if someone punched him. “I never told her the full extent,” he whispers. “I thought if we moved, if we built something new…”
“Past doesn’t stay buried,” Mode mutters.
Fred opens his eyes again, resolve snapping back into place. “How much?” he asks.
“That’s not the point,” I say.
“If they want the money,” he presses, “I’ll pay it back. Every cent. I’ve done well with the store. I can liquidate assets. Take loans.”
“And if they don’t just want money?” Chrome asks quietly.
Fred swallows.
“I can make Zara come home,” he says. “I’ll tell her it’s not safe. I’ll pull her out of Fashion Week. She’ll listen.”
“No,” I say immediately.
All three men look at me.
“She’s worked too hard for this,” I continue. “She’s earned her place. Fashion Week is her shot. We’re not ripping that away because ghosts decided to rattle chains.”
Fred’s eyes search mine. “You can’t guarantee her safety.”
“No,” I admit. “But neither can you by locking her in a house. If the Bushrangers want her, they’ll find her in Arrowtown as easily as they found her here in Chicago.”
Silence settles heavily.
“We have a plan,” I say. “We have security in place, and we are adding more. We’ll have eyes on her at all times.”
Chrome nods once. “We can also get eyes on the Bushrangers.”
Fred studies us, weighing. “And if they demand repayment?”
“Then you need to be ready,” I tell him. “Gather whatever funds you can. Quietly. Don’t move anything yet. Just be prepared in case we need to negotiate.”
The word tastes bitter.
Fred nods slowly. “I never meant for my choices to endanger her.”
“I know,” I say, surprising myself with the honesty in it. “But what’s done is done.”
He looks tired now. Not defeated. Just aware.
“Protect her,” he says. It’s not a request. It’s a plea.
“With everything we’ve got,” Chrome replies.
I meet Fred’s gaze through the screen. “She doesn’t lose her future because of the past.”
Fred gives a single nod. “Keep me informed.”
“We will,” Mode says, before severing the feed. The screen goes dark.
The office feels smaller without his face there.
Chrome exhales slowly. “This just got complicated.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, staring at the blank screen. “It did.”
But one thing is clear.
No one touches Zara. Not for money. Not for revenge.
Not while I’m breathing.
“What have you uncovered about the Bushrangers?” Chrome asks Mode. “We know where they’re staying, right? But how did they get into the country?”
Mode nods. “I verified that they’re registered at that motel you followed them to. I’ve got all the names and the cards that they’re using. I put a trace on them, so if anything changes, I’ll get an alert. If they check out or move locations, I’ll know.”
“Good. That’s something. How many of them?” I ask.
“Six. They’re all using fake IDs; that’s how they got into the country. I did some backtracking and put names to faces. These are them.”
He pulls up six images on the screen so Chrome and I can see them. Six Australian ID photos stare back at us. Different names are listed under each. Different addresses in different cities.
“All fake IDs,” Mode says. “They’re good.”
I step closer.
The first face I recognize immediately.
“Menace,” I growl.
Even in a grainy digital photo, I’d know him anywhere. Crooked nose from a fight I started fifteen years ago. Pale eyes like chipped ice. His hair’s thinner now, more gray at the temples. Prison carved lines into his face, hollowed out his cheeks. He looks older than he should. Harder. Meaner.
Mode nods. “Real name: Callum Reade. Out on parole eighteen months ago. Served eight years for the shit in Adelaide.”
Mode clicks to the next image. “Dax ‘Razor’ Mallory. Real name checks out. Then there’s Trent Holloway, aka ‘Hound.’ Stefan Ilic—goes by ‘Vandal.’ Marcus Reed—‘Clutch.’ And last but not least, Owen Price. Street name ‘Jinx.’”
Six faces. Six ghosts from a life I thought buried.
They all look the same in one way—aged beyond their years. Prison pallor. Bad prison ink crawling up necks and disappearing under collars. Eyes that have seen too many concrete walls and too little sunlight.
Chrome’s jaw tightens. “How did they get here?”
Mode taps a few keys, pulling up a map. “They flew into Toronto three days ago. Commercial flight. All under those fake IDs.”
“Canada?” Chrome asks.
“Less scrutiny,” Mode replies. “From there, they rented bikes. They drove east and crossed the border into Michigan at Port Huron.”
I stare at the red line tracing their route. “Why Michigan?”
“Smaller crossing,” Mode says. “They received less attention than they would in Detroit. They kept their heads down.”
“Until now,” Chrome mutters.
I fold my arms over my chest, studying Menace’s face again. Memories surface whether I want them or not—him laughing while he raped a club girl, the way he looked at Zara in her father’s store.
Predatory. Calculating.
“He was the one,” I say quietly.
Chrome glances at me. He knows what I mean.
Mode’s expression darkens. “Yeah. I figured.”
I drag a hand down my mouth. “They are using their kuttes, so they’re not afraid of drawing attention.”
“Sloppy,” Chrome says.
“Or confident,” I counter.
Mode leans back in his chair. “They tracked Zara to the hotel, so they knew her travel itinerary. I’ve patched into the hotel feed to keep an eye out for them.
They were outside the hotel when Arson and Piston picked up Zara’s friend Tony.
They didn’t follow our guys. I don’t think they know Zara’s schedule. ”
“Yet,” Chrome repeats.
The word hangs heavy.
I step closer to the screen, bracing a hand on the desk. “They’re here for a reason. Zara is the key. It would be nice if they just wanted money, but I think it’s more sadistic than that.”
“We need more eyes on her,” Chrome says.
“When are Chill and the others due?”
Chrome glances at his watch. “They’ll be here in four hours.”
“We just need to keep her safe until then.”
Chrome’s phone rings, and my chest hollows out when I see the display. ‘Arson,’
“What’s happening?” Chrome barks.
“We’ve got a situation. Six Bushrangers just arrived at the coffee shop. They’ve spotted Zara. Not sure if we can take them all.”
“We’re on our way.”