Date: 2000-01-01 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Contemporary Romance; Mystery; Romance; Contemporary; Westerns; Romantic Suspense; Adult
Description: I stared out at the majestic vista before me and thought, if God lived anywhere, it'd be here. And then I looked down at the dead body at my feet. Murder. Mystery. Quirky townspeople? There’s something strange about Twizel. Maggie Blackmore didn’t come to this sleepy hollow for a mystery, but she sure as heck found one. Being an Aucklander in the South Island doesn’t help either. If they’re not calling her a JAFA (Just Another F**king Aucklander) then they’re telling her to slow down. Twizel Time is real and Maggie has to learn to roll with it. As if that’s not enough, then there’s the farmers

Southern Sunset

Book One of 44 South

Nicola Claire

Contents

About the Author

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Also by Nicola Claire

Description

1.
No Gumboots

2.
She Smiled

3.
Twizel Time

4.
You Shut Up

5.
Twizel, A Hotbed For Scandal

6.
What Aren’t You Telling Me?

7.
Thought You’d Never Ask

8.
Bloody Hell, Shoot Me Now

9.
Last Night

10.
Sometimes Life Was Fucking Hard

11.
What Did Southern Farmers Find Sexy, Anyway?

12.
Didn’t Breathe For Long Seconds

13.
I Was In So Much Trouble

14.
And I Still Craved To Make That Smile Mine

15.
No Pet Names

16.
Depends

17.
Tough Love

18.
Murder Was A Flash In The Pan Compared To All Of That

19.
Tonight

20.
Everyone In Twizel’s Got A History

21.
And Art Is To Be Shared

22.
Step Back, Please

23.
That Explained A Lot

24.
Fuck!

25.
I Had A Very Bad Feeling About All Of This

26.
Bad Fucking Timing

27.
I’m Here For Matt Drake

28.
Maggie Was Magnificent When Riled

29.
This Was Twizel

30.
Could My Life Get Anymore Complicated?

31.
This Time, It Was Full Of Meaning

32.
It All Matters In The End

33.
Damn, But The Man Did Have A Point

34.
You Can’t Possibly Miss It

35.
I’ve Got You

36.
I Didn’t Have An Adequate Answer

37.
Bloody JAFAs

38.
We Just Didn’t Have A Name

39.
And The Ghost Of Missy Drake

40.
It’s Maggie

41.
That’s When I Started Panicking

42.
What Aren’t You Telling Me?

43.
Slightly Bonkers And Growing On Me

44.
How Do You Know?

45.
Words Failed Me

46.
I’ve Seen This

47.
And Red Tussock Utes

48.
We’ll Do That

49.
Do You Really Want To Toy With Me Again?

50.
Who Else Would I Contact?

51.
Thanks

52.
Copy

53.
We’re Here If You Need Us

54.
What’s Wrong?

55.
Not Yet

56.
I Needed My Heart To Stop Bleeding

57.
Just The Beating Of My Heart Inside My Chest

58.
But Matt Wasn’t Far Behind

59.
Just Don’t Die, Maggie

60.
Son Of A Bitch

61.
Yes It Does

62.
We Were So Fucking Screwed

63.
For A Second There Was Silence

64.
How Much?

Epilogue

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Copyright © 2016, Nicola Claire

All Rights Reserved

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.

All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

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About the Author

Nicola Claire lives in beautiful Taupo, New Zealand with her husband and two young boys.

She's tried her hand at being a paramedic, bank teller and medical sales representative, (not all necessarily in that order), but her love of writing keeps calling her back.

She has a passion for all things suspenseful, spiced up with a good dollop of romance, as long as they include strong characters - alpha males and capable females - and worlds which although make-believe are really quite believable in the end.

There's nothing better than getting caught up in a compelling, intriguing and romantic book.

When she's not writing or reading, she's out on her family boat at Lake Taupo, teaching her young boys to fish, showing them the beauty that surrounds them in nature and catching some delicious trout for dinner.

Creating rich worlds with dynamic characters and unexpected twists that shock and awe has been pure bliss for this author. And just as well, because there's a lot more story yet to tell...

For more information:

- @NicolaClaireNZ

- 168567699926093

www.nicolaclairebooks.com
nicolaclaire@hotmail.com

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Also by Nicola Claire

Kindred Series

Kindred

Blood Life Seeker

Forbidden Drink

Giver of Light

Dancing Dragon

Shadow's Light

Entwined With The Dark

Kiss Of The Dragon

Dreaming Of A Blood Red Christmas (Novella)

Mixed Blessing Mystery Series

Mixed Blessing

Dark Shadow (Coming Soon)

Sweet Seduction Series

Sweet Seduction Sacrifice

Sweet Seduction Serenade

Sweet Seduction Shadow

Sweet Seduction Surrender

Sweet Seduction Shield

Sweet Seduction Sabotage

Sweet Seduction Stripped

Sweet Seduction Secrets

Sweet Seduction Sayonara

Elemental Awakening Series

The Tempting Touch Of Fire

The Soothing Scent Of Earth

The Chilling Change Of Air

The Tantalising Taste Of Water (Coming Soon)

H.E.A.T. Series

A Flare Of Heat

A Touch Of Heat

A Twist Of Heat (Novella)

A Lick Of Heat (Coming Soon)

Citizen Saga

Elite

Cardinal

Citizen

Masked (Novella)

Wiped

Scarlet Suffragette Series

Fearless

Breathless (Coming Soon)

Blood Enchanted Series

Blood Enchanted

Blood Entwined (Coming Soon)

44 South Series

Southern Sunset

Southern Storm (Coming Soon)

***

Lost Time Series

Losing Time (Coming Soon)

Description

I stared out at the majestic vista before me and thought, if God lived anywhere, it'd be here. And then I looked down at the dead body at my feet.

Murder.

Mystery.

Quirky townspeople?

There’s something strange about Twizel. Maggie Blackmore didn’t come to this sleepy hollow for a mystery, but she sure as heck found one. Being an Aucklander in the South Island doesn’t help either. If they’re not calling her a JAFA (Just Another F**king Aucklander) then they’re telling her to slow down. Twizel Time is real and Maggie has to learn to roll with it.

As if that’s not enough, then there’s the farmers.

Rugged.

Demanding.

Got a thing for pony tails?

Just what the hell Luke Drake is up to is anyone’s guess. But when the station manager of Red Tussock takes an interest in the new girl in town, there’s no stopping him. And Maggie’s not sure that she wants to. But rules are rules and murder complicates matters. Being the only cop in town who can investigate the growing number of crimes puts Maggie in an even deeper quagmire.

And that’s not even considering the past that comes back to haunt her.

This sleepy hollow has just woken up and Twizel doesn’t care if you were born here or born to live here. Sooner or later your secrets will come out.

***This is the first book in the 44 South Series: 44° South of the Equator where things can get a little strange.***

For:

My cousins, some of whose names I have borrowed on occasion in my stories.

Chapter 1

No Gumboots

Maggie

I stared out at the majestic vista before me and thought, if God lived anywhere, it'd be here. And then I looked down at the dead body at my feet.

“Not a local,” Mac said from beside me. His hands shoved deep into his uniform pockets, huffs of frosty air puffing before his lips. His jaw cracked as he chewed his nicotine gum.

I crouched down and took a closer look at the victim.

“What makes you say that?” I asked, still trying to work the senior constable out. He didn’t have his shadow today. I wasn’t sure if that was intentional or just damn good luck on the recruit’s part.

“He’s wearing town shoes,” Mac said with a grunt.

I flicked my eyes down to the polished, but slightly mud stained, leather shoes and then glanced at the work boots Mac was wearing. Not standard New Zealand Police issue. But there appeared to be very little standard about Twizel.

“Maybe he kept gumboots in his car,” I offered, looking out over the brown pasture toward the state highway and the band of trees which had hidden the body from passersby.

“Maybe,” Mac said dismissively.

I suppressed the sigh that wanted out and used a pen to lift up the victim’s jacket. He wore a decent enough outer layer; it wouldn’t have kept him warm at this time of year, but was good enough for quick trips out of a vehicle when needed.

What was he doing this far from the township? And where was his bloody car?

“Don’t have to do that,” Mac said.

“What?” I queried, checking the vic’s trouser pockets in much the same way.

“No forensics here, Sergeant. This ain’t TV.”

I gritted my teeth and stared up at him.

“And what about compromising evidence?” I demanded.

He just shrugged his shoulders. “You’ll find Twizel’s a bit different from the big smoke.”

I couldn't argue with him there. So far Twizel had been nothing but a mystery. Just as well I was good at solving them.

“Well, Senior Constable,” I said, using my best don’t-fuck-with-me voice, “we’re not going to compromise the evidence at this scene. Grab some gloves and check for signs of a battle.”

Mac crouched down opposite me and lifted up the victim’s arm, examining the fingernails in the bright sunlight. He was wearing mirrored shades over his eyes. A slight improvement on seeing the hard stare he subjected everyone to; especially his probationary constable. But he was not wearing gloves.

“Do you even have gloves?” I asked.

“Don’t need ‘em.”

“Here,” I growled, fishing out a spare pair from my pocket. “Put these on.”

He stared at my hand as it hung over the body; I could just imagine the look in his eyes as he digested my order. But all I saw was the blue disposable gloves reflected in his sunglasses.

“Constable?” I pressed.

He snatched the offending articles up and struggled to shove his thick fingers into the first one. Clearly gloves weren’t standard issue either in Twizel.

I returned my attention to the victim. Male. Late forties, at a guess. No obvious cause of death, but we hadn’t yet rolled him. I fished my cell phone out of my jacket pocket and started taking photographs. Even I knew there was no crime scene team to call in Twizel.

“No scratches,” Mac advised, fishing around in the back pocket of the vic’s trousers. “No wallet either.”

“So, Joe Bloggs, then,” I said with a sigh. “He’s got callouses on his hands,” I observed. “Not just a pretty town boy.”

“Plenty of townies own a hammer,” Mac declared.

“But not gumboots?”

He smiled. Mac could almost look handsome when he smiled. He was a big man. Imposing. Wore a chip the size of Canterbury on his shoulders. Hated Aucklanders with a vengeance. Hell, if you didn’t come from the South Island you might as well fuck off, as far as he went.

Of course, it didn’t help that he’d failed his sergeant’s test and was subsequently overlooked when the last one retired.

And was replaced by an Aucklander.

I stared at his face for a moment longer; assessing his level of disgruntlement right now. He wasn’t going to like my next suggestion.

“Give Doc Harding a call, will you? Let’s see what he has to say about this.”

“Doc won’t come out here,” Mac immediately replied.

“He is the on-call medical examiner, isn’t he?”

“He’ll be up at the Drake homestead.”

“The Senior Sergeant’s place? That can’t be too far from here, can it?” I glanced around, but having only been in Twizel for a short time, I hadn’t got my bearings completely. I knew town was south-east of here. Lake Pukaki north-east and Lake Ohau west. That would make us…

“Shit, this is Red Tussock Station land, isn’t it?”

Mac huffed out an amused breath. “Of course it is. Red Tussock owns this side of Twizel.”

Fuck. I ran a hand through my hair and took a step back from the body. Staring down at it, I began to see things a little differently. This wasn’t just a dead body on the side of a public road. This wasn’t even a dead body on some nondescript person’s land.

This was a dead body on the senior sergeant of Twizel Police Station’s farm. On my new boss’s property. Shit just got complicated.

“All right,” I said, straightening myself up. “Call in Doc Harding. Get him out here any way you can.”

Mac sighed. As if dealing with a dead body was so damn inconvenient. Or maybe it was dealing with the town’s drunk GP that irked him.

“I’ll probably have to go fetch him, then,” he said.

“Do that,” I agreed, swiping my own phone and entering the number for Senior Sergeant Drake. “I’ll let the boss know.”

A meaty hand came down on top of mine, preventing me from connecting the call.

“Not a good idea, Sergeant,” Mac drawled.

I frowned up at him. “How can it not be a good idea? This is a dead body.” I indicated the male at our feet. “On his land.” I nodded to the pastures behind us that went on for miles and miles and miles. “And he’s Senior Sergeant of Twizel Police.”

“His little brother is getting married today.” Crap, I’d completely forgotten. “Red Tussock will be bursting at the seams with guests. He ain’t gonna thank you for interrupting the proceedings. Give it ’til this evening, when it’ll all be over and the whisky will be flowing. I’ll get Doc Harding out of there without raising the alarm. We’ll tidy this up and then let the boss know, OK?”

Sometimes Mac surprised me. In the short amount of time I’d known him, I found that rather amusing. Outward appearances were deceptive. First impressions not entirely favourable. The man was a bristly son-of-a-bitch who didn’t take kindly to outsiders.

But more than once now, he’d shown me he had a brain behind those hard eyes.

“OK,” I acquiesced. “Get the Doc.”

Mac nodded his head but didn’t add anything further, turning and walking back to where we’d left our cars. It rankled that I’d had to back down. It showed weakness that I was certain he’d take advantage of in the future. But nothing had been straight forward since I got here.

Not the town.

Not the people.

And certainly not the Twizel Police Station staff.

I sighed and crouched down beside the deceased. I wasn’t sure why I kept wanting to call him a victim. Maybe the fact that there was no parked car nearby from which he could have stumbled out of. If his death was caused by a medical event, such as a heart attack or low blood sugar, then shouldn’t he have come from somewhere?

I glanced back toward the pasture, then along the line of trees that bordered the field we were on. There were no signs to indicate it was Red Tussock land, but also no reason for the man to be here.

Whatever had happened to lead up to this man’s death, the mere absence of a vehicle spoke volumes.

He’d been placed here.

I stood up and started surveying the ground. Mac had been called here first. His boot prints in the frosted grass hindered my investigation. I was going to have to retrain the entire station staff. This lack of respect for a crime scene was irritating. Had SS Drake really let things go this far?

There was a second set of prints, smaller in size, next to those of a dog’s. The early morning commuter who’d let his dog out of his car so it could go poop in the small band of trees bordering the road. The dog had found more than just a tree to pee against.

So, now I had more footprints than I could count and with a sense of chagrin I realised mine, too, were added to the mess.

Christ Almighty, I was regressing and I’d only been here for three weeks. Imagine how far back I’d go in my training if I stayed my intended twelve month stint?

I shook my head and covered the body with a blanket from my car, then started walking along the tree line, staring at the ground for further evidence. Praying our ineptitude hadn’t stuffed things up completely.

Rural copping was a damn sight different from city work. If the terrain didn’t get you, nature would. How such a beautiful part of the country could be such a challenge, I did not know.

I came to a stop at the edge of the band of trees and stared off down the long road unable to see anything stand out against the wire fencing. Turning around, I marched back towards the body and headed off in the other direction.

Twenty minutes later I had nothing. And Mac still hadn’t returned with the doc.

I made my way back to the body and crouched down, lifting the cover off and trying to see the victim with new eyes.

“What brought you here?” I said, feeling the heated breath from my words coat my eyelashes.

The dead talk. At least, they usually talk to me. But this guy was silent.

Male. Forties. Greying hair. Trim. Well dressed. No gumboots. I huffed out a silent laugh.

No identification.

No car.

No signs of injury.

On Red Tussock Station land.

Location might be coincidental, but it did mean that Drake couldn’t head this investigation up. It was going to be all on me. And I was an outsider. An Aucklander in the South Island.

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed.

Then just about peed my pants when a hard voice said, from out of fucking nowhere, “What the hell are you doing on my land?”

Chapter 2

She Smiled

Luke

The woman spun around; a startled possum, wide-eyed look on her face. A face I knew I’d seen somewhere before, but for the life of me, couldn’t place. She composed herself immediately; a trait I was sure said a lot about the person behind the smile.

It was fake. That smile. I couldn’t see it in her eyes. Cool blue stared back at me assessing. Wary. I’d thrown her off guard. Intentional, of course.

She ran a hand through the fringe of her hair; the long blonde stands tied back in a tight ponytail. It accentuated her high cheekbones and the healthy flush of blood to her pale skin. My eyes inadvertently swept down the side of her neck, spotting the telltale signs of a thundering heartbeat.

But to look at her now, you wouldn’t know she’d been startled.

“You sound like your brother,” she said. “Look a bit like him, too.”

“Which one?”

A delicate eyebrow lifted infinitesimally. Her smile widened. This time it reached her eyes.

“Matt Drake,” she offered. “Senior Sergeant of Twizel Police Station.”

I stared at her a moment longer and then swore softly. Of course, the new police officer. That’s why she seemed familiar.

“You’re not in uniform,” I observed. “You’re also trespassing.”

“Early morning call out, Mr Drake,” she announced, all business.

And suddenly she became intriguing.

She turned away, placing her back and well defined arse toward me - I’d always loved a woman in figure-hugging jeans - then stopped by a blanket covering something on the ground a few feet away.

It’s strange what you hear when blood rushes through your temples. The thud-thud-thud of your pulse and the echo of all other absent sound. I took a step towards her. Towards what I assumed was a body. My mouth dry. My mind whirring.

I didn’t let an ounce of discomfort show.

“Who is it?” I demanded.

She looked up at me from under pale eyelashes; assessing again. “You said this is your land?” she asked. “You mean Red Tussock Station land?”

“Yes,” I clipped, trying to identify the body by the cut of the trouser leg and the style of the shoe poking out from beneath the blanket. “Drake family land,” I added.

“Anybody missing from your staff, Mr Drake?”

“My staff?” I repeated, more shaken than I’d like to admit.

“Yes. Your staff. Anyone not show for work this morning?”

My eyes finally snapped back to her face, disconnecting me from the morbid scene in the grass.

“Red Tussock Station is 50,000 hectares in size,” I pointed out. “It employs over one hundred people. I can hardly be aware of every single person at this hour of the morning.”

She held my stare, not backing down. Her body was rigid, but her hands were relaxed at her sides. I could feel my jaw tensing, but the woman before me simply smiled.

Despite the situation, I found myself captivated by that fake smile.

“Would you recognise a member of your staff, Mr Drake?” she asked pleasantly.

I didn’t trust her tone, though, one little bit.

“Possibly,” I admitted. There were parts of our enterprise overseen by others. I would have liked to think I knew all our employees, but shearers were seasonal and transient, and the new vineyard to the west was Justin’s baby, not mine.

“All right, then,” she announced and suddenly pulled back the blanket without warning.

I blinked down at the man who lay at our feet and thought, bizarrely, that he looked like he was sleeping. I almost voiced the observation aloud. I took a step closer, aware the woman was watching me most attentively, and then sucked in a breath of air through my nose.

“You know him,” she said; not a question. I schooled my features and stepped back from the scene.

“I recognise him,” I admitted. “He’s not an employee.”

“Who is he?”

“A stock agent. James Whiting. He works for iLivestock.”

“iLivestock?” she asked, incredulously. I smiled. It was a ridiculous name. I completely agreed.

“New kid on the block,” I said dryly.

“I get that,” she quipped, making me wonder whether her introduction to Mackenzie Country had been smooth sailing or not.

I guessed having to deal with a dead body couldn’t exactly be called smooth in anyone’s book.

“Why is he on your land, Mr Drake?” she asked all of a sudden, ruining any calm I’d managed to reclaim. “Has he visited with you or your staff recently?”

I didn’t like where this was going.

“It’s big land,” I said a little too defensively. “And the road is right there.” I nodded towards the state highway. “I’d hardly conclude that his presence here is a connection to Red Tussock Holdings.”

“Did you meet with him, Mr Drake?” she asked sweetly.

I wanted to wipe that fake smile off her face. Replace it with something real. Wrap my hand around that perky little pony tail and tug hard.

Jesus, what was I? Twelve?

Only twelve year olds didn’t carry on the pony-tail-tugging thought to where my mind was currently going.

“Yes,” I said coldly. “As has every station within a five hundred kilometre radius, at a guess.”

“Guesses are good like that,” she said. I frowned. She smiled. My eyes quite inappropriately homed in on her mouth and my imagination took me to further places it shouldn’t. “Vague,” she clarified.

My body stilled. My mind cleared. I was granite when I spoke again.

“I have a station to run, Ms…?” I couldn’t remember her name.

“Sergeant Blackmore,” she said, pulling a card out of the rear pocket of her jeans and handing it to me. It was warm to touch. My thumb swiped over her name on the cardstock absently. “I’m sure I’ll be in touch,” she added.

“We’ve a wedding today,” I advised. “Perhaps tomorrow would be better.”

And why was I making this easy for her? She’d clearly jumped to conclusions. And I’d clearly lost my mind.

Because I wanted to see her again. I wanted to test that smile. Reshape it. Mould it. Own it.

“Congratulations,” she said.

“I’m not getting married,” I replied with a shudder… and she laughed.

It didn’t matter where we were. What lay discarded at our side. It didn’t matter that she was investigating a suspicious death on my family’s land. Or that I’d only just met her.

When she laughed nothing else mattered.

But her.

I took an involuntary step toward her. Completely unintentional. A warped desire to get closer to that effervescent sound. That chameleon smile.

She stepped back, hand on her hip, above a holstered weapon.

Fucking hell, she was armed.

“New Zealand Police don’t carry firearms,” I pointed out.

“Some do,” she said, steadily.

From what Matt had said, only detectives, Armed Offenders Squad members, and certain highly trained swing staff; those police officers who carried out secondary roles, such as hostage negotiators or undercover cops.

Which one was she?

I forced myself to relax, to show I meant no threat. It took a long time for her hand to move off the butt of her gun.

“I’m afraid,” she said, “I will have to speak to your staff.”

“Tomorrow,” I repeated. No one was going to interrupt Finn’s wedding.

She shook her head, her fringe flying into her eyes. She brushed at it absently.

“And your guests,” she announced.

“Like bloody hell you are,” I snapped.

She damn well smiled.

And I was across the distance between us in the next heartbeat.

In a pulse thundering, head pounding, ridiculously racing heartbeat.

My eyes darted to her pony tail.

Her hand went for her gun.

Chapter 3

Twizel Time

Maggie

What the hell was he doing? I stepped back, reached for my gun, when he shouted out, “Wait!”

I stilled. He stilled. Mere inches apart. Both of us were breathing rapidly.

“My apologies,” he growled. He didn’t mean it. He was trying to salvage the situation. Back peddle out of the quagmire he’d just stepped into.

“Step away,” I ordered. “Now, Mr Drake.”

He raised his hands and took a slow step backwards. Somehow my gun had made it into my palm and was pointed right at him.

When was the last time I’d drawn my gun?

“What the hell was that?” I demanded.

He frowned, but didn’t reply.

“What did you think you’d accomplish?” I asked.

He let out a slow breath of air and visibly relaxed. He’d done that before. Willed his body into submission. Made a show of appearing calm. This man was controlled. It was written all over his demeanour. In charge of his body and everything around him.

And yet, he’d just acted out of hand.

“It was not my intention to frighten you,” he said, and I could almost believe it was contrite.

“I wasn’t frightened.”

“Alarm then.”

“I wasn’t alarmed.”

“Come on, Sergeant,” he drawled. “You’re aiming a firearm at my head.”

I lowered the weapon and scowled at him. His lips twitched, eyes shining brightly.

“There,” he said. “That’s better. At least it’s not the fake smile.”

I glared at him, but returned my gun to its holster. He was right, before. New Zealand Police generally don’t carry firearms. If they do, they’re locked up in the boot of their car more often than not. But there was something about Twizel that had made me wear my Glock more than I’d have liked.

This place was extraordinarily beautiful.

And downright peculiar. Even the farmers acted strange.

“I’m not sure what you’re playing at, Mr Drake,” I said calmly. Relieved I was sounding calm at all.

He unsettled me, this man. Quite aside from the fact I was investigating a dead body on his property. There was something about him that drew the eye. Something… intriguing. Something unexpected.

“I’m not playing at anything, Sergeant.”

I wasn’t convinced. This just became more complicated.

“What time is the ceremony?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest and watching as his eyes followed the movement almost hungrily.

His gaze snapped back up to my face. I saw no self-deprecation in the deep brown hue. He knew I’d spotted his interest and he was owning it.

“You’re not on the guest list,” he said steadily.

“Of course not,” I agreed. “When will the festivities end?”

He sighed. “I’m not going to get rid of you, am I?”

I smiled. He blinked.

“You don’t want to get rid of me, Mr Drake,” I declared.

“I don’t?”

I shook my head. “Pretty soon, I’m going to be your best friend.”

He huffed out a laugh. “I seriously doubt that.”

I dropped the grin and looked him firmly in the eyes.

“A body has been found on your land, Drake. No immediate explanation as to how it got there is apparent. You know the dead man. You’ve met with him. If you want to clear Red Tussock from the investigation, you’ll open the Station’s doors and welcome me in.”

“How the hell does Matt put up with you?” he demanded.

This time my smile was humourless. Senior Sergeant Matt Drake had been a fleeting part of my daily life here in Twizel so far. There one minute, gone the rest of the day. Just another mystery to add to the shit pile that was accumulating around me since I arrived in this place.

“What time should I call by?” I said, instead of admitting any of that.

Drake assessed me evenly; no sign of anger or discomfort on his impassive face. Dark eyes stared into mine. A frisson of something inexplicable raced down my arms. I rubbed them absently and caught the slight lift to the corner of his lips.

That was it. The extent of his reaction. Mr calm and controlled was back.

“I might have to start calling you Mr Hyde,” I muttered.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Dr Jekyll?” I suggested.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

I smiled. “Nothing, Mr Drake.”

“Luke,” he offered. “Call me Luke.” I blinked up at him. “If I’m opening my doors to you, Sergeant, we might as well be on a first name basis.”

And then he turned on his heel and walked away.

I watched him. I couldn’t not watch him. I was still watching him when Mac turned up with Doc Harding.

“Damn strange business this,” the doctor announced upon seeing the body uncovered.

“Any idea how he died, Doc?” I asked.

“Well now,” he said, “that’s gonna take some doing.”

I raised my eyebrows at Mac. He shrugged his shoulders and stuffed another piece of gum into his mouth. His probationary constable stood quietly beside him. At first glance, you’d think she was out of place. But that was Annmarie. I’d never met anyone who could assess a situation faster. I was sure she’d taken one look at Senior Constable Andrew McQueen eighteen months ago and immediately known he was a jackass.

She stood on the fringes only because she knew it was the safest place to be.

“What do you need to find a cause of death?” I asked the doctor.

“Get him back to the surgery and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Nothing immediately stands out?” I pressed. “No wounds? No evidence of poisoning? No external indicators of foul play?”

“Where do you think you are, Sergeant?” the doctor demanded. “This isn’t Auckland City, you know.”

I smiled, well aware - now - that it would look fake.

“Just find me a cause of death, doctor.” Do your fucking job, more like. “And we can shut the case.”

“Not everything has to be done in a nanosecond, Sergeant,” the doctor complained, pushing to his feet and heading towards the police car.

“Where’s he going now?” I asked no one.

“Won’t do no good to rush him, Sergeant,” Mac advised, smacking his gums loudly. “Brilliance takes its time, it does.”

“Brilliance, my lily white butt,” I muttered, striding off after the doctor.

Annmarie slipped into step beside me, chuckling.

“You get used to it,” she said.

“Used to what?” I queried.

“Twizel Time,” she explained with a shrug of her shoulders. “Everything happens when it happens in Twizel. And not a moment too soon.”

I sighed, noting the doctor was in fact grabbing a body bag from the rear of Mac’s ute.

“You weren’t originally from around here, were you, Constable?” I said.

“No, ma’am. I’m a Timaru girl. Born and bred.”

“Bigger than Twizel,” I offered, watching the doctor and Mac position the body, the black bag flapping in the wind and twisting in on itself. There was a lot of swearing.

“But not as big as Auckland,” she murmured.

“No,” I said. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

It’s why I came down here, wasn’t it? To get away. But Death has a talent for finding you. No matter where you run to or try to hide. It found me in Auckland.

It had found me down here.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever get away.

Chapter 4

You Shut Up

Luke

The house was in chaos, but the type of chaos I was used to as a child. Mum yelled for something from the kitchen. Justin shouted down from the attic about colour perspectives or light levels, or fuck knows what. Dad sat on the back deck and smoked a cigar.

“Care to join me, son?” he asked, his voice gravelly from years of hard work out in the elements and the occasional celebratory cigar.

“Is Finn about?” I asked, shaking my head.

“Took Momo for a ride on the north ridge.”

Bugger. Just when you need a lawyer, he ups and becomes a rancher instead.

“What’s on your mind, Luke?” Dad asked, not missing a beat. He stared off over the back garden, towards the foothills. Calmly looking into the distance as if his patience alone could make the mountains bend to his will.

I wondered if he missed it.

Of course he did. Red Tussock had been his life.

I took the spare seat beside him.

“You know that agent that came ‘round a couple days ago?” I said.

“iLivestock’s new man?”

Dad might be retired from farming, but he sure as hell wasn’t out of the loop yet.

“Yeah, that’s the one. James Whiting.”

“What about him?” Dad had stopped smoking, the cigar lying forgotten between his thumb and forefinger.

Too astute by far.

“His body was found out in section three. South-east corner. Down by the highway.”

“Ah, damn.” He stubbed out the cigar and stared off at the mountains. “How’d it happen?”

“Don’t know. No signs of foul play, but the cops, cop - that new sergeant Matt hired? - she’s questioning how he got there. No car,” I explained.

“Matt know about it?”

I shrugged my shoulder. “He wasn’t there. Just the new cop.”

“He says she’s good,” Dad said.

“He’d better be right, because she’s not liking us for the location.”

“Well, bugger me.” Then he sighed. “Matt’s not gonna like that.”

“What does Matt like, lately?”

“Easy, son. He’s got his reasons. We all do.” He stared at the mountains again, lost in thought. Lost in memories.

It was still too raw. For all of us. But for Matt, it was eating him alive. From the inside out.

The sound of horses’ hooves on gravel reached us out on the deck. The stables were out around the front, off to the side, a good hundred metres away from the house. But knowing Finn, he’d want to drop his fiancée off at the homestead, not make her traipse all the way up from the shed in the cold.

Who gets married at this time of year?

I followed Dad’s gaze towards the snow covered mountains, the sun striking at just the right angle to make them seem covered in diamonds or multicoloured, sparkling gems.

That’s why. A white wedding. What a backdrop.

I watched as my youngest brother helped his petite fiancée down off Meg, our most gentle mare, his hands wrapped around her tiny waist, his eyes devouring her. She laughed. Light and carefree. Like a wind chime tinkling in a gentle breeze. She fell against his chest and he wrapped his arms about her, swinging her ‘round in a circle as they both smiled a mile wide.

No fake grins here.

“They’re back,” Dad said, as if he’d only just become aware of their presence. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as Finn and Momo approached the deck.

“Luke! Where’d you head off to this morning?” Finn called out as he walked Momo towards us.

“Some of us actually put the hours in to make a living,” I replied drily.

Finn snorted, clearly not impressed.

“Some of us use our brains to make a living,” he offered, receiving an elbow in the gut from Momo. “Hey!”

“Ignore him,” she said. “He’s just grumpy because Papa and Mama arrive soon.”

“It’s not your parents I’m worried about.”

“Koki won’t cause a stir,” Momo insisted.

“Your brother does not know how to behave in civilised company.”

My turn to snort. “Then he’s come to the right place.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Finn said, sounding serious. I cocked my head, taking in my brother’s grim demeanour.

“Can’t be that bad, runt,” I offered. He glared.

“Don’t you have a sheep to shag?” he growled.

“Don’t you have a criminal to defend?” I shot back.

“Cut it out, you two,” Dad rumbled. “A lady’s present.” He shuffled to his feet. “Momo, sweetheart. Help an old man into the den, would you? It’s getting a bit too nippy out here.”

“Of course,” she said, smiling shyly. I was certain there was nothing shy about the Japanese woman who had lured my relationship-challenged kid brother back into marriage.

“Finn, you tend to those horses,” Dad ordered. Then shot me a significant look. “You help him, Luke.”

“I don’t need help,” Finn argued. “I haven’t forgotten how to stall a horse, Dad.”

“Some things have been shifted. You might not find them,” he grumbled, and let Momo lead him away.

I pushed up from my seat and clomped down the stairs off the deck.

“You don’t need to help, you know,” Finn grumbled. Sometimes it was hard to tell the man was nearly forty.

“It’s not the horses he’s worried about,” I explained, grabbing the reins on Meg and starting to lead her toward the stables.

“Oh?” Finn fell into step beside me.

“Body found on our land this morning,” I advised. “Livestock agent I met with two days ago.”

Finn whistled. “That where you went off to in such a hurry this morning?”

“Yeah. Sam spotted movement down on the border in section three. Found myself Matt’s new sergeant and a dead body.”

“Where was Matt?”

“Where is he usually?”

Finn grunted, staring at the ground beneath his horse’s feet.

Silence wrapped around us, drifting down from the mountains as if called. Blanketing us in failed comfort. It’d be a while before we felt comfortable about Matt.

“Should I be worried?” I finally asked.

“Did you kill the guy?” Finn asked. He sounded serious. Sometimes it boggled the mind that he chose law. And then he’d go and be all lawyerly.

“Of course not,” I said on a sigh.

“Know anything about his death?”

“Not a fucking thing,” I ground out.

“Hindered the investigation at all?”

I grimaced. Not going there. Not with my kid brother.

“No.”

“Then you’ll be fine. Just…” He hesitated. “Just don’t go pissing this new sergeant off. From what Matt said, she’s crazy good at what she does.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“He head hunted her, you know,” he added. How was it that Matt had discussed the woman with everyone but me? “She only signed on for a year,” Finn was saying. “But Matt’s got other plans.”

“Has he now?”

“Yep. Dad’s hoping she’ll snap him out of his funk.”

I hauled back on Meg’s reins and stared at him.

“What?” he said, completely innocent and unaware. “What did I say?”

“It’s too soon,” I growled. Finn narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t use your Dom voice on me.”

“I don’t have a Dom voice, you idiot.”

“No? It’s the one where you puff up like a peacock and lower your tone several octaves and stare the fuck out of anyone who gets in your way.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

Jesus. We were both twelve year olds again.

Chapter 5

Twizel, A Hotbed For Scandal

Maggie

Main Street, Twizel was busy. The Four Square carpark was practically full. A tractor rolled through the intersection in front of my vehicle’s bumper, bits of hay falling off its oversized tyres. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel and pretended that this was all normal. Perfectly normal.

A sheep bleated somewhere nearby.

Yeah, normal… for Twizel. And now for me.

Twelve months.

I let out a sigh and pulled into the police station parking area. It wasn’t a big building. Just four rooms, a reception area, one holding cell and a bathroom. Oh, and it did have a double car garage out in the drive. I think it might have been a house at one stage, but NZ Police converted it.

Size didn’t bother me. Central Police Station in Auckland was over ten stories tall. No one greeted you when you walked through those doors. Here it was different.

“Maggie! Heard you got a scolding on Red Tussock land. You naughty girl, you!”

I shouldered my way through the front doors and took in Sheila’s outfit today. It was orange. And shocking pink. And could have substituted for a very flamboyant and large tent. I smiled.

“Just getting to know the locals, Sheila.”

“Ooh, but Luke Drake? Yum yum.”

“I guess the senior sergeant’s not in, then?”

She smirked. “No one is. Just little old me.” She licked her lips. “Was it murder?”

“Don’t know yet,” I said cheerfully, checking my cubbyhole for notes.

“Was it gruesome?”

“Sheila.”

“Oh, you’re no fun! Mac always tells me the nitty-gritty details.”

“Mac has a warped sense of humour and likes to watch you get into trouble when you gossip.”

“Oh, please! I don’t gossip.”

I arched my brow at the woman. Sheila Cooper was the most notorious tittle-tattle out there.

“What’s happening across the road?” I asked innocently.

Sheila shifted forward in her seat, her abundant bosom bulging over the top of the reception desk.

“He’s hired someone new. Kid from Pukaki. Wouldn’t know a wrench from a hammer. But then Marinkovich isn’t much better. Did you know he ogled Carla Hendrick’s legs for five whole minutes the other day. I thought the woman was going to throw a meat cleaver at the pervert.”

I smothered a laugh.

“Do you know where Mac is?” I asked.

“Hasn’t called in since heading over to Doc Harding’s place.” She licked her lips again. “Did he make Annmarie touch the body?”

“Sheila, we’re cops. We have to touch dead bodies all the time.”

“Not in Twizel,” she said in a huff.

And that about covers it really. Twizel. Perfectly normal. Got it.

“Is the boss answering his phone?” I asked, purposefully avoiding eye contact. Sheila was very protective of our Senior Sergeant.

“He’ll be up at the homestead, getting ready for the wedding.”

“What time is it starting, anyway?” Still not making eye contact.

“Four. They want sunset over Mount Glenmary. Beautiful,” she added on a sigh.

“Get a bit cold by then, won’t it?” I flicked my gaze towards her.

“Have you ever seen sunset on the mountains, Sergeant?” she asked.

“Ah, yeah?”

“On Glenmary?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t see Mount Glenmary from my rental.

“From Red Tussock it looks like… what do you call those yellow gems?”

“Citrine?”

“No, brighter. Lighter.”

“Golden sapphire.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Nothing beats sunset at Red Tussock Station. Nothing. You can keep your Sky Tower and grand Harbour Bridge. Southern sunsets are the real deal. Just like our southern men.”

“Hey! Our men aren’t too bad, either.”

She stared at me for a long moment, head cocked slightly to the side.

“Then why are you here, honey?” she finally said.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “I’m on to you, Sheila Cooper. I am not telling you my romantic history.”

She batted her eyelashes innocently. “Just a smidgeon? Like, did he look pretty on the outside but all ugly and twisted within?”

“You have a too vivid imagination.”

“I have to live vicariously through you young ones.”

I snorted. “Not so young here, you know.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure it matters. Luke Drake’s forty-six.” She watched me through shrewd eyes, but all I could do was blink. Drake had looked bloody good for forty-six. Too much fresh air and hard work. He’d been rugged up, but that hadn’t stopped me noticing his broad shoulders and corded arms. I huffed out a breath of air in disgust. He was a potential suspect.

At least, he was the owner of the property the body had been found on.

“I didn’t notice,” I said, walking towards the lockers out the back.

“Please!” Sheila called after me. “How could you not?”

I laughed and made my way to the changing rooms. I always kept a spare uniform on station for days when I got caught out. This morning had been one of them. I’d not been home when the call had come in. Even in Twizel a cop has to keep fit somehow and so far running around the golf course before the crack of dawn was all I’d come up with.

At least I’d had a spare pair of jeans in the car. Facing Luke Drake in my skimpy running shorts was a bit too risqué even for me.

After a quick shower, I was presentable - and officially dressed - to face the day. The wedding was set for four this afternoon. It had just gone ten. A visit to Red Tussock was in order.

Sheila was up at the front window, staring out across the street when I swung by reception. I walked up behind her, not making a sound, and peered over her shoulder.

“What’s so interesting?” I asked right beside her ear, making her jump about a foot off the ground.

“Jesus Christ, Maggie! You scared the shit outta me.”

I smirked. She scowled. But it didn’t last long. Sheila wasn’t one to hold a grudge.

“Marinkovich,” she said, turning back to the window.

“Anyone would think you’ve got a thing for the man,” I pointed out.

“Ew, please. Have you seen his teeth?”

I shook my head, bemused.

“Clearly they didn’t have dental care over in Croatia.”

“I’m sure their health cover is sufficient.”

She shook her head adamantly.

“He’s been in NZ for years. Back when he left Croatia, it was probably in the middle of that war they had. No dental care.” She said it as if the onset of war explained everything.

“Yugoslavia was a very normal country before the war,” I said softly. “The people there, like you and me. War has a tendency to change things drastically. What was once taken for granted one day, could be snatched away from you the next.”

She looked over her shoulder at me, soft brown eyes assessing my face.

“Have you been in a war, Sergeant?” she asked quietly.

I smiled. It was tight. “No. But my brother has.” In a manner of speaking.

“Oh,” she said, just as my eyes caught movement across the street.

Marinkovich was unloading something from the back of his oversized black ute, the obligatory cigarette hanging from his lips, muscles bulging under wicked tattoos. Seen one mechanic, seen ‘em all. I almost looked away. Snooping on the local grease-monkey wasn’t on my to-do list today. But I stopped. Whatever it was, it looked suspiciously like a dead body.

“See?” Sheila said softly. “He does that all the time. Definitely ex-military. Maybe ex-spy. I bet he’s a sleeper cell.”

I stared at the woman, having lost interest in the decidedly not body bag. What mechanic would haul dead bodies out of the back of his truck directly across the road from the cops?

“Sleeper cell?” I pressed. “In Twizel?”

She straightened her back and lifted her chin, staring me in the eyes.

“It could happen,” she announced. “We once had a bomb go off in the self-help section at the library. You should ask Helen Cameron about it. Matt managed to trace it back to the French.”

I snorted. “When was this?” I hadn’t read anything about any bomb explosions when looking up Twizel on the Net.

“1985,” she replied. “‘Round about the time they blew up the Rainbow Warrior.”

“OK,” I said, humouring her. “The French DGSE blow up a Greenpeace vessel in Auckland and then haul arse down to Canterbury and accidentally let an explosion go off at the local library while reading up on how to improve their lives? In Twizel?”

“No, silly!” she scolded. “They accidentally blew up our library while reading up on bomb making techniques in the self-help aisle before heading to Auckland to blow up that ship. Twizels’ a hotbed for scandal, you know.”

She stomped off to the reception desk, leaving me with my jaw hanging open. My eyes caught Marinkovich moving across the road a second later. I reluctantly allowed my attention to shift back to him again. He was shutting up the rear of the truck. I narrowed my gaze. Was that a meat cleaver in his hand?

I shook my head and laughed at that.

Twizel, a hotbed for scandal. Yeah, right.

Chapter 6

What Aren’t You Telling Me?

Luke

There was a cop car rolling up the driveway. I could see it, even though it was still close to a mile away. This late in winter, there wasn’t any dust to blow up around it. It stood out against the wheat-gold grass of the pastures on either side of it like a shining beacon. In fact, I was pretty sure it was shining.

As in, clean.

Who the hell would drive a clean car around Mackenzie Country? It sure as hell wouldn’t be Matt. Who was still missing. I glanced across the front porch to Rachel and Dani. My heart aching as they played dress-up with their Monster High dolls on the swing seat.

The house was too crowded for any six year old. But six year olds who had stopped communicating? It was a nightmare. Mum had given them a reprieve and allowed them to play out on the porch, waiting on their daddy.

I was on baby sitting duty.

I crossed my arms over my chest and watched the cop car get closer.

Not Matt. I smiled. Tenacious, that’s what the new cop was. Tenacious and unable to respect social boundaries. Wedding or no wedding, she was determined to visit.

The girls had stopped playing. Dolls forgotten in their laps. Big doe eyes staring at the cop car as if it held their salvation.

Or brought the end of their world.

“It’s OK,” I said softly. “She’s expected.”

They hesitated, but I guess the call of Monster High fashion demands was too strong. They lowered their tawny heads and returned their attention to dressing up their dolls.

I let out a slow breath of air and watched as Sergeant Blackmore parked the car behind Justin’s Ranger. The ticking of the cop car’s engine sounded loud as the twins played in utter silence. Even the swing didn’t squeak.

Maggie Blackmore climbed out of her ute and squinted into the sunlight, shielding her eyes with a raised arm. She spotted me and smiled. From this distance, it was hard to tell if it was the fake one. My gut told me it probably was. I didn’t smile back.

“Mr Drake,” she said as she approached. Dressed in uniform at last. Crisp blue pants that hugged her very fine legs and a stab vest over her police issue jersey. She’d freeze her arse off if she had to go back country.

“I thought we’d settled on a first name basis?” I drawled.

Her smile tightened.

“I think not,” she replied steadily.

“Well then, Sergeant. What can I do for you?”

She arched her pale brow, an unamused look to her features. She had an expressive face, but only when she wanted it to be. I bet she was good at poker. She certainly threw me off my game.

“Now’s not the best of times, Sergeant Blackmore,” I said crisply.

“The wedding doesn’t start ’til four, I believe,” she advised, not surprising me in the slightest that she’d figured that out. “And you’re just standing out here doing nothing, so…”

“Not nothing. Baby sitting.”

She frowned slightly and then spotted the girls. For a split second she looked chagrined. And then perturbed. In the next, her face was wiped clean of emotions altogether.

“Hello,” she said brightly to the twins.

They blinked owlishly back at her.

“What’re your names?”

It’s such a simple thing. Engaging the kids when you first meet them. Within minutes, seconds really, they’ll be all but forgotten. Pushed aside as too hard.

“Ah,” Blackmore said sagely. “The silent types. I get it. Keep ‘em keen, girls. Don’t give too much away.” She winked and turned back to me.

There must have been something on my face; I’m not sure what I was thinking other than a kernel of hope, I guess. Hope that Maggie Blackmore would be different. Would have already figured it out without me having to say anything. And that she’d not dismiss the twins anti-social behaviour, but accept it.

Her eyes darted back to the kids. They watched her silently. She watched them back. Something shifted on her face. It was hard to tell. She was good at this. This non-emotional reaction. A true cop. Matt could do it. Hell, he’d been doing it really fucking well for six months.

“My name’s Maggie,” she said. “I have a brother just like you.”

The girls’ mouths dropped open.

“Just saying,” she said, and shrugged her shoulder. “Is there somewhere we could go to talk, Mr Drake?” she said then to me.

I turned my head away from the twins, who were watching Maggie as if she was the most interesting thing to enter their lives, and just stared.

“Or we could just chat here,” she offered, her tone understanding.

“They’re Matt’s,” I suddenly said. Fuck knows why.

Maggie smiled at the girls. “I work with your daddy.” If she was surprised to realise Matt had mute twins, she didn’t show it. Maybe she already knew. She struck me as the kind of cop who would do her homework. Drill the locals, if need be. Hell, she was here to drill me.

I shifted on my feet and checked the girls out. They were as about as engaged as they’d ever be.

“Just gonna be over here, ‘K?” I said to them, indicating the other end of the porch.

They nodded. I stilled.

Fuck, my aching chest. I rubbed at it absently and led the way toward the matching swing seat on the opposite side of the front doors. I tipped my head toward the seat for Maggie to take and leaned back against the railing. She was looking back toward the twins, who still hadn’t stopped looking at her. Something haunted flashed across her face. I was getting better at catching the minute reactions. Micro reactions, really.

When she looked up at me, they were gone.

“I’ll stand,” she said, taking the railing to the side of me and staring out over the front pastures.

“Can’t place yourself in a weaker position, Sergeant?”

“Would sitting while you stand make me look weak?” she queried.

I looked away from those probing blue eyes.

“Not many cops can handle looking up to a man the size of me.”

“Don’t get too cocky, Drake. You’re not that big.”

I smiled. “Sometimes it’s not just about the size.”

She glanced away. I watched her profile. She had soft looking skin. A long, slender neck. A thundering pulse that called to me.

Maggie cleared her throat. “When did you meet with Mr Whiting?” she asked.

“Two days ago.” She still wasn’t looking at me. I wanted to reach out and grip her chin, tug her face towards me. Wrap my hand around her neck, feel her heartbeat beneath my fingertips.

“What was the meeting about?” she asked, staring at a notepad she’d pulled from her front pocket.

“Are you wearing your gun today?” I countered.

She blinked and lifted her eyes to mine. Finally.

“Do I need it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Would it make you feel safe?”

“I’m not scared.”

“Your heart’s beating a mile a minute.”

She stepped back. Maggie steps back when she’s taken by surprise, I realised. It’s her only obvious tell.

“And why would you be studying my pulse rate, Mr Drake?”

“Can’t miss it,” I said with a shrug. “You have a very alluring neck.”

She blinked.

“I’m not sure what signals you think you’ve received from me,” she said, “but I’m here on official business only.”

“And if we were to meet again? Unofficially?”

She shook her head.

“Answer the question, Mr Drake.”

I’d play it her way. For now.

“He wanted my business. All of my business.”

“That would be a lot of business,” she hedged.

“We’ve got over 30,000 merinos on our land at any given time. Yeah, it’s a lot of business.”

“And did you come to an agreement?”

“You could say that.”

“And what was that agreement?”

I smiled. I was sure it showed a lot of teeth.

“That I was happy with my current service provider.”

“How did Mr Whiting take it?”

I shrugged. “I think he was used to rejection.”

Her eyes sharpened.

“And what makes you say that?”

“His fees are too high.”

She studied me for a moment and then closed her notebook. For a while, she just stared out over the land. I wondered what a city girl like her saw. To me it was freedom. Open air and wide plains. Big blue skies to get lost in.

Home.

Could she call this part of the country home?

Would she?

“What aren’t you telling me?” she finally whispered.

I studied her profile. Knew I was about to make a shit storm for myself. But being honest with this woman seemed intuitive.

Or she was just damn good at her job.

“I had a run in with him at the pub the next day.”

Chapter 7

Thought You’d Never Ask

Maggie

“Yesterday?” I asked, reaching for my notebook again.

“Yes.” His voice was clipped. His eyes were not. They studied me. Looked into me. Almost as though he was willing me to see something that just wasn’t there.

“The name of the pub?”

“Smokey’s.”

“Smokey’s?” I queried. “I haven’t heard of that one.”

“Tourists call it The Smoking Salmon. Locals, Smokey’s.”

“Ah,” I said. “Guess I’m still a tourist.”

“Three weeks.” He knew how long I’d been here. For a moment, it threw me. But then I reminded myself this was small-town New Zealand. My arrival would have been noted, talked about, and dissected. Completely.

“Yes, three weeks,” I agreed. “What did you argue about?”

“I didn’t say we argued.”

I lifted my eyes to his. Was he playing with me? Yes. But not about this. I had the distinct impression Luke Drake had me in his sights.

“Are you a hunter, Mr Drake?”

He blinked. “I’m a farmer. Of course I can hunt.”

“I didn’t say can you hunt,” I countered, using his turn of phrase back on him. “Are you a hunter?”

“I prefer to fish. The prey is more of a challenge.”

Just what was he trying to hook me with?

“And the run in?” I pressed. “What was it about?”

“He was spreading rumours.”

“About?” He was closing down. Making me drag the information out of him now. Most interviewees start off at a rapid pace, if they’ve nothing much to hide. They tend to lose momentum, though, when the topic shifts to something a bit closer to home. Even innocent suspects fall into that category.

Just because Luke Drake was starting to hedge, didn’t mean he was guilty of killing a man.

But causing a fight?

“He was telling anyone who’d listen that we had dirty wool.”

“Your wool is dirty? Doesn’t it just get washed when it’s been sheared?”

He burst out laughing. A sudden throaty explosion of mirth. His head tipped back, his cheeks stretched wide in a grin, and he chuckled deep inside. A full body shake. The sound almost sinful in its ability to make me blush.

“Showing my ‘tourist’ again?” I asked, trying not to let the ground open up and swallow me.

“A bit. But it’s cute.” He shook his head, flicked his eyes over to the silent girls, and then looked back down at me. “Dirty wool is poached wool. Stolen sheep. We fence most of our rangeland. All of it, if we can. But that’s a fair bit of fencing on 50,000 hectares. Some of our land butts up against national parks. Some of it our neighbours’ stations. And then there’s the mountains. Any number of ways for stock to intermingle.”

“So, you’re saying you do have sheep on your land that is not your own.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then why don’t we cut to the chase, Mr Drake. Did Mr Whiting hit a nerve?”

“Yes, he hit a nerve. He hit several. Not just mine.” He looked out towards the pastures in front of the homestead. His eyes distant, his face hard. “Do you know how long my family have owned Red Tussock?”

I looked down at my notebook. “One hundred and twenty years.”

He didn’t seem surprised that I’d check up on him. Them. That I’d checked up on them.

“One hundred and twenty years,” he confirmed. “The McIntyres to the west have been here about as long. The Fallons, eighty or so. We don’t poach. But we do keep track. If stock wanders onto our land and gets mixed up with ours, we look after them. And we sort out the difference at the end of the season.”

He looked back down at me, his face solemn.

“We help each other out here in Mackenzie Country, Sergeant. In this part of the world, you can’t go it alone.”

“So, what happened? At Smokey’s.”

“We had words. He backed down. I left.”

I stared at him for a moment. I didn’t get the impression he was lying, but I’m also not a probationary constable. Haven’t been for years.

“And that’s it? The extent of your run in?”

He shrugged his shoulders. It was a fluid, relaxed movement. I wasn’t sure whether to trust it. Trust him.

“I can’t say what might have happened after I left.”

“Who was there? In the pub?”

“Couldn’t tell you, for sure. It was packed. Friday night happy hour.” He didn’t look like a happy hour kind of bloke. Too rugged. Too uninterested in the price of his beer. Luke Drake had bigger things on his mind.

Like a 50,000 hectare station to run. Or a reputation to keep.

“He annoyed you. Spread rumours about your business. And you just left?”

His jaw flexed. His eyes hardened.

“Yes, I just left.”

This man was so controlled. Every action tightly contained. I couldn’t imagine him losing his temper in a bar fight. Besides, James Whiting didn’t have any obvious bruises on his torso or face. I glanced down at Drake’s knuckles as they wrapped around the porch railing. No scrapes. No marks.

I didn’t peg this man for killing Whiting.

Then why did he make my heart race?

“Anything else you can tell me, Mr Drake?”

He flicked a glance toward me and smiled.

“You’re like a pit bull. Tenacious.”

“I was a detective in Auckland,” I suddenly said. As if his words needed to be addressed. My actions justified.

“That makes sense.”

“It does?”

“Matt wouldn’t have hired you otherwise.”

“The position wasn’t for a detective,” I pointed out.

“Who says he still doesn’t need one?”

Strange reply. I think I needed to do a bit more research on Senior Sergeant Matt Drake. The fact he had two mute daughters was a complete surprise. Sheila had kept that one close to her well endowed chest.

I looked back down at my notes. At this stage, the case wasn’t even classified as a homicide. Just a misplaced dead body. Someone knew something. But I was thinking Luke Drake didn’t.

“Where were you this morning, Mr Drake?”

“Ah, now we’re getting to it. The alibi.”

“Well?” I said, looking him in the eyes. He stared right back at me.

“In bed until five.”

I didn’t have a time of death yet, but I’d hazard a guess five was doable.

“Anyone able to corroborate that?”

“Are you asking me if I’m seeing someone, Sergeant Blackmore?”

“Of course not!”

He smiled.

“My mother was in the kitchen when I came down the stairs. My father was in the guest bedroom beside mine and is a light sleeper. Both should have heard me showering; my mother spoke to me and served me a cooked breakfast. She’s excited,” he explained. “The wedding.”

“I see.”

“I left the house at six and checked on the section four flock with Charlie Davis, my head foreman. We went our separate ways at around seven. Sam, my cousin who also works for Red Tussock, approached me as I returned to the house. Informing me he’d seen unauthorised movement in section three, down by the state highway.

“That was you, by the way,” he said drily. “I went straight there to investigate.”

He was clean. The relief was astounding. I’d have to check the alibis, but my gut told me he wouldn’t bother misdirecting at this late stage. Luke Drake had been nowhere near James Whiting this morning. The body hadn’t been there for hours. No rigor mortis. The window of opportunity was too narrow.

He was clean.

“Good,” I said. He chuckled. Nice of him to find this all amusing. Or was it me that amused? “May I speak with your parents?” I said steadily.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he quipped. “Mum will be so ecstatic.”

I frowned at his back as he moved toward the girls’ side of the porch.

He looked over his shoulder and winked. “Haven’t brought a woman home to meet the olds in years.”

“This is an investigation, Mr Drake,” I said on a sigh.

“Tell yourself that, Maggie,” he shot back, using my first name, no doubt, to throw me off balance. “But we both know otherwise.”

Infuriating man.

Chapter 8

Bloody Hell, Shoot Me Now

Luke

The girls ran pell-mell into the kitchen, knocking over a vase overfull of brightly coloured blooms as they passed. Momo’s at a guess. I reached out to grab the thing before it hit the hardwood floor and shattered, my hand smacking against Maggie’s as she leaned forward with lightning fast reflexes to do the same.

We both settled the flowers, a little worse for wear, back on the sideboard. She wouldn’t meet my eyes, a delightful blush creeping up her cheeks. The pulse at the base of her neck fluttering.

“Do I make you nervous, Sergeant?” I whispered in her ear. “Does touching me send tingles down your arm?”

“Directly to my service weapon,” she ground out and stepped into the kitchen before me.

I threw my head back and laughed. I hadn’t had this much fun in years.

The clatter and low hum of conversation in the room quietened, several pairs of surprised eyes turning to stare incredulously at me. I couldn’t suppress the smile on my lips if I tried.

Mum was at the stove, the oven door hanging open, a tray of biscuits half in and half out in her suspended hand. Dad was sitting at the table beside Momo and Finn, and Momo’s parents, folding napkins. Justin was taking photographs of the proceedings, his camera lens still to his eye. He lifted it, and aimed it at me.

The shutter clicked in rapid fire succession. My smile died.

“For posterity,” he quipped, turning his gaze to Maggie. “Well, hello there,” he drawled exaggeratedly into the ensuing silence. “I can see why my grumpy brother is finally happy.” He offered Maggie his signature sinful smile; the one that made all the girls hang off him down at the local.

My teeth ground together, my jaw clenched tight.

“Hello,” Maggie replied, a soft smile gracing her own lips. “I’m Sergeant Blackmore. I work with Matt.”

“That’s gotta be a challenge,” Justin said, still flirting. “One I’m sure you are more than capable of rising to, Sergeant.”

“Can it,” I growled, throwing him a scathing look. “Maggie just wants to ask Mum and Dad a few questions.”

“Us?” Mum exclaimed, dusting her hands off on her apron. “Why?”

I flicked a glance at Dad, who shook his head minutely. He hadn’t told her about James Whiting.

Maggie beat me to a reply. “Just some simple time oriented questions, Mrs Drake. We’re establishing a timeline for an incident that happened earlier this morning.”

“What incident?” Mum asked, never one to go blindly into anything.

“Nothing to worry about, love,” Dad said from across the table. “I’ll talk to the sergeant.” He hauled himself up from the table and made his way toward us, shooting me a hard stare as he approached. I scrubbed a hand over my jaw and winced. Dad pissed off was a thing to witness. Dad pissed off because you’ve upset Mum was World War III.

“Joshua Mitchell Drake!” Mum said sternly. “Don’t you give me the brush off.”

Now Dad winced.

“What is going on? Today of all days. Tell me!”

“Mum,” Drew said carefully from beside a wide eyed Momoko. “Let Dad handle it.”

“Finn Drake, you might be getting married today, but you do not get to boss me around. I am still your mother.”

“Congratulations, by the way,” Maggie said pleasantly. “It’s a beautiful time of the year for a wedding. I promise this won’t take long.” She turned back to Mum. “Really, Mrs Drake. I am so sorry for interrupting your preparations.” Then, “What is that glorious smell? Is it rosewater?”

“Oh,” Mum exclaimed, placing a hand to her chest. “You can tell?” She turned around and opened up the scullery door, letting a few more delicious scents waft out. “It’s a dark chocolate chiffon cake with fluffy rosewater frosting.” She held up her masterpiece on its cake stand toward Maggie.

“Oh, my!” Maggie exclaimed. “My absolute favourite.”

My head was swinging back and forth between them and I noticed everyone else’s faces were doing the same thing around the room. Mouths open, eyes wide, totally absorbed in the proceedings.

“Oh, a girl after my own heart,” Mum enthused. “Rosewater is so under appreciated.”

“Isn’t it though?” Maggie agreed in utter seriousness. My lips started twitching.

“Do you bake?” Mum asked.

“I rarely find the time, I’m afraid,” Maggie complained sweetly.

“I imagine you wouldn’t,” Mum sympathised. “Such a busy job.”

“I manage,” Maggie said with a beaming smile. It surprised me that it wasn’t fake. “Did you bake that this morning?” She nodded toward the cake now sitting on the kitchen bench.

“First thing.”

Maggie peered into the scullery at the rest of Mum’s preparations. “Wow! You have been busy. When did you get up?”

Sweet Jesus, she was interrogating my mother.

“Oh, about four-thirty, I think.”

“And no one helped you?” Maggie asked innocently.

“Oh, no. Well, Luke did come down and keep me company at about half past five. But all he wanted was his bacon and eggs.”

Maggie shot me a scolding look: I had to cover my laughter with a cough.

“But he didn’t help?” she pressed.

“No, farming is a demanding job, Sergeant Blackmore. He was out the door at six, off with Charlie, our foreman, to check on stock. I wouldn’t expect him to help me bake, anyway.”

“Can’t cook to save himself, then, eh?” Maggie said with a knowing smile.

“I make a mean salmon chowder, Sergeant,” I said, interrupting this farce. “Maybe, if you ask nicely, I’ll cook it for you one day.”

“Maybe,” she said, playing along.

Mum’s whole demeanour perked up on that small exchange.

“You should come along this afternoon, Sergeant,” she said in a rush of breathless wonder.

“Pardon?” Maggie croaked, caught off guard, at a guess.

“To the dinner.”

“Oh, no. That’s a family affair.”

“Nonsense!” Mum exclaimed. “You don’t mind, do you, Momoko?”

“Not at all,” Finn’s future wife said with a wide grin.

“Neither do I, if you’re asking,” Finn added. “The more the merrier.”

“And anyone who can make Luke laugh,” Justin offered, “has to be worth having on the dance floor.”

“There’ll be a dance floor?” Maggie asked, recovering quite nicely and holding her own with my interfering family.

“Absolutely!” Mum said. “Then it’s settled. Luke, make sure Sergeant Blackmore knows when to be here. In fact, why don’t you pick her up? Then she can have a celebratory drink.”

“What about my celebratory drink?” I said affronted.

“Bro,” Justin quipped. “Don’t you know the effects of alcohol can mess with your libi…”

“All right,” I said loudly, gripping Maggie’s shoulders and steering her towards the door. “I think we’re done here.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Maggie drawled, allowing me to steer her out of the kitchen as she offered a small farewell wave to her entirely too enthralled audience. “I’m only just getting started.”

“Sweetheart,” I said leaning down and whispering into her ear. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“What? Not my gun?”

I started chuckling. “You are far more dangerous than a pistol.”

“Oh, aren’t they so sweet together,” my mother announced from back in the kitchen.

Bloody hell, shoot me now. Family!

Chapter 9

Last Night

Maggie

The Smoking Salmon Tavern opened at eleven each day. It was half past now and I didn’t expect it to be busy. But as Doc Harding wasn’t answering his phone and Sheila had advised that Mac and Annmarie were at a traffic incident, I decided to jump ahead in the investigation and see what I could find out about last night.

James Whiting had been here at some point. According to Luke, he’d left the establishment and Whiting at nine-thirty. Early to bed for farmers, he’d enjoyed telling me. His father hadn’t been much better. Confirming he’d heard his son get in at ten, and then rise in the morning, showering at just after five. He’d also gone on to say that Luke had come home alone. Emphasis on the ‘alone’ part of the statement.

I suddenly had a large dose of empathy for Luke Drake if his family were that forward in trying to set up his dates for him.

It was with a small amused smile on my face that I pushed open the front door to Smokey’s.

Fishing paraphernalia dotted the walls, along with mounted stag heads. The smell of hops and malt filled the air. Speights beer signs strategically lit up dark corners. The furniture was dark and pitted, well worn and comfortable. A jukebox sat to one side of the long wooden bar. A Crowded House song playing.

My boots made hollow thudding sounds as I crossed the floor approaching the lone barman wiping down the counter with his left hand. An old man sat down one end of it, leaning over his whisky. Three couples sat at various tables throughout the room enjoying the local brew or a plate of greasy food for brunch.

It was a typical rural New Zealand pub. I liked it. Nothing pretentious. Exactly what you’d expect to see in a place like Twizel.

Except for the pirate-like hook for a hand on the guy behind the bar.

“You the new sergeant?” he said in way of greeting. His hook shone brightly under the overhead lights as it rested between him and me across the counter.

“You the owner of Smokey’s?” I answered.

He grunted and started wiping the surface again. I noticed his movements were slightly jerky. He was clearly naturally right handed. I stared at the hook and wondered how he poured a beer.

“What’ya want to drink?” he asked after a moment’s silence.

“I’ll have a Coke,” I replied, taking a seat on one of the high stools before him. I’m embarrassed to admit, I only suggested a drink to see how he would manage.

He pulled a glass out with his left hand, dunked it in the ice bucket, and plonked it down behind the bar on the drainer, then lifted the nozzle on the soda dispenser and poured the drink. All one handed. It was anticlimactic, to say the least.

I smiled as he pushed it over the counter. No coaster needed.

“You heard about James Whiting?” I asked him after I’d taken a sip of my drink.

“Yep. Word travels fast in Twizel.”

“He was here last night. Were you working?”

“Yep. Hard to find good helpers.”

“What time did he leave?”

He shrugged his shoulder. “Busy night, Fridays. Lots of people here.” He rubbed the edge of the hook across his chin, making me want to cringe. That thing looked wicked sharp. “P’haps ten.”

“No later?”

“Hard to say. Wasn’t watching him closely.”

“Even when he had a fight with Luke Drake?”

He stopped wiping the counter for a second, and then resumed his spot cleaning again.

“Didn’t see no fight between Drake and him.”

“Well, it was more of a run in,” I explained. “About dirty wool.”

“Didn’t see no run in, neither.”

I smiled tightly into my Coke.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got security cameras around here?” I asked pleasantly. It was taking a little more effort than normal to remain pleasant. This guy was stalling and I was sure it was just a case of local loyalty wins.

“Nope. Only place got cameras is the souvenir shop across the street.”

“The gift shop? Why would it have cameras?”

“Don’t you have shoplifting back in the city?”

I grimaced. “Yeah, we do.”

“Twizel’s not much different,” he said, succinctly.

I glanced at his hook and silently disagreed.

“Anything else you can tell me about Mr Whiting?” I asked. “Anything stand out as unusual or simply just catch your eye?”

“Nope. Busy night. ‘Nother Jaffa don’t make much of anything unusual. You lot been coming down here for years. Can’t keep you away.”

Jaffa. As in, JAFA. Just Another Fucking Aucklander. Nice.

“Yeah, well,” I said. “That particular JAFA won’t be bothering you anymore.”

His eyes met mine and I forced myself to hold his eerie gaze. I could have sworn his right eye was made of glass. All he needed was a patch over that puppy and he’d have a role in the next Peter Pan movie. If he was lucky, it’d be directed by Peter Jackson, then he wouldn’t have to deal with any upstart JAFAs telling him what to do.

“Thanks for your time and the drink,” I said, pulling out my wallet and fishing out a five dollar note.

“On the house,” he said, pushing the bill back towards me. “Welcome to Twizel, Sergeant.” Then he turned away and clomped loudly down the other end of the bar to the old man holding up his empty whisky glass for a refill.

I stared down at the barman’s shoes, but he didn’t have a peg leg. Strangely, I was slightly disappointed.

Pulling on my sunglasses as I emerged from the dim light in the Tavern, I stared across the street toward the souvenir shop. I spotted the external cameras immediately. They weren’t hidden. And they were copious in number. Puzzled, I did a slow walk by and then swept down the side street and came in from the rear.

More cameras. Angled toward the delivery door, the back door, and in both directions down the alley. Also, if I wasn’t mistaken, across the fence into the backyard of… I took a step back and peered up at the sign on the side of the building butting onto the yard in question. The Twizel Pharmacy.

I arched my brow. Just what did the gift shop think was happening in the back garden of the local Chemist’s?

I walked back around the front of the store and pushed open the door, making the chimes above it ding loudly.

“Sergeant Blackmore,” a woman with a cultured British accent greeted from behind a very cluttered display in the centre of the shop.

“Hello?” I called, squeezing past a rack of postcards on one side and a stand displaying plush kiwis and merino sheep, and the odd stuffed salmon.

The woman was standing behind the counter in a flowing patterned dress that hugged her slim waist, accentuated her flaring hips, and dipped down in the front to reveal a daring cleavage. Her make-up was impeccable, her hair coifed to perfection. Blonde. Blue eyed. Completely out of place in Twizel.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” I said, holding out my hand for her to clasp. Her handshake was firm, but not overpowering. “I’m afraid I haven’t made my way around all of the business owners yet and learned names.”

“No,” she replied pleasantly. “You’ve been kept busy at the station. No doubt, learning the ropes.”

It was a simple statement. You could almost believe it was a guess. But for the way she said it. Outright. Sure of her knowledge. Confident.

I glanced to the side of the behind counter area and spotted a dozen small TV screens, showing various views from around the outside of the store.

“Quite a set up you have there,” I said nodding towards them.

“Oh, yes,” she agreed, swinging back to stare at the screens avidly. “One can never be too sure of one’s safety.”

“Even in Twizel,” I said with a smile.

She turned back and looked directly at me. “Especially in Twizel, Sergeant.”

OK. Got it. Perfectly normal.

“I’m Alicia Parsons, by the way,” she said perkily.

“Pleased to meet you.”

“And you would like to know about last night.”

I blinked. “What makes you say that, Ms Parsons?”

She sighed. Then turned back to the TV screens and started pushing buttons. In seconds, she pulled up footage of across the street towards Smokey’s. She started playing the recording back. It was state of the art. Crystal clear, even though the street lights in Twizel aren’t particularly illuminating. The Auckland City CCTV system wasn’t as high quality as this.

“Last night,” she said triumphantly, as I watched James Whiting emerge from the tavern and start to walk down the street.

He stumbled slightly. Pressed his hand to the wall of a cafe. Then proceeded to vomit into the gutter.

“Charming,” Alicia hissed. I was more concerned for Whiting’s state of health. Had he been drugged inside Smokey’s? His drink doctored? Or was this something else? Internal trauma? Simple alcohol poisoning?

No one had mentioned he was intoxicated. And even if it had been busy in the pub, old Hook would have been aware of an inebriated customer. Barmen made it their business to be aware of such things, or suffered the legal consequences.

Whiting pulled himself together on the screen and then started to walk off again. At the edge of the camera’s range, he stopped. The headlights of a vehicle came into view, but not the car itself. Whiting said something. Someone off screen must have replied. Then he took a step out of shot, the door to the car opening enough to be seen, showing a dark colour; brown or black or navy. Then the headlights moved on.

And an oversized ute came into focus. Black. Dirty. A Ford emblem turning lazily on the inside of the matching black alloy wheels.

I’d seen a car just like that before. This morning, in fact. I knew there were possibly hundreds throughout the country like it. But when the vehicle turned at the end of the street and the souvenir shop owner’s state of the art security cameras zoomed in, the first three letters of its license plate came into view.

RED.

Motherfucker. Red Tussock Holdings.

I spun on my heel and flew out the door.

Chapter 10

Sometimes Life Was Fucking Hard

Luke

Matt was drunk. Already. The bottle of whisky three quarters full. An empty one lying on its side next to it. He hadn’t shaved for a couple days by the looks of it and I doubted he’d showered in as many, too. He looked up blearily at me from his semi recline on the faded armchair. A loaded rifle leaned against the side of his boot as it swung over the armrest of his seat.

For a second, I just stood there. Any number of scenarios flashing through my head. I rubbed my face, feeling a headache coming on, and then crossed the space between us and picked up the gun. In a split second, I had the casings ejected, and had moved the rifle across the shed and placed it on a high shelf out of immediate reach.

Ridiculous. Even pissed Matt could simply stand up, stumble across the dirt packed floor, and reach the fucking thing.

“Damn it, Matt,” I said, my voice rough with pent up anger. “How could you do this?”

“Not doin’ anythin’, big brother,” he slurred, “‘cept drinkin’.” He raised the whisky bottle to his lips and took a deep pull.

“It’s Finn’s wedding day,” I pointed out.

“Lucky him.” There was absolutely no mistaking the bitter tone to his words.

I stretched my jaw, trying to ease the ache that had started there, and moved across from him to take the spare seat. We stared at each other, but how much Matt was seeing was debatable.

“So, you’re gonna miss it?” I asked. “Stand him up?”

“He’s got three other brothers.”

“One of which is overseas fighting for his country.”

“Two then.”

“He asked you to be a groomsman and you said yes.”

“That was before.”

I stared at my hands as they hung between my legs, my elbows to my spread knees. The shed smelled of motor oil and fertiliser. I was sure I could hear a rodent scuttling in the rafters. I was probably sitting in mouse droppings. Matt looked like he’d slept here.

“Rachel and Dani miss you,” I tried.

The bottle of whisky flew through the air and crashed against the metal siding. It didn’t break, just dented the fucking thing. Then thumped to the floor. Amber liquid spilled out making a muddy puddle in the corner.

“Fuck!” Matt swore loudly. “Look what you made me do!” He pushed up from his seat, his eyes unfocused but a determined set to his lips as he stared off towards the tragic sight of his spirituous lifeline slowly dwindling.

He took a step towards it, obviously intending to salvage as much of the whisky as he could, and promptly fell flat on his face in the dirt.

He just lay there, as if getting back up was too hard. Impossible even.

I stared at my brother, my once upright, caring, loyal, fun-loving brother, and felt my chest ache. Felt my eyes sting with unshed tears.

Damn it. Damn it all to fucking hell.

“I met the new sergeant,” I said into the silence.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the cobweb covered ceiling.

“Does she even own a winter jacket?” I asked.

“It’s on order,” Matt mumbled.

“Fucking loan her yours if you’re not using it” I growled.

“She’s a big girl, she’ll be fine.”

“She’s a townie. She doesn’t understand how cold it can get out here. What if she gets a call out up the back of Lake Ohau? Or gets stuck on Mount Cook Road?”

He rolled his head to the side and watched me. “Why do you care?”

I stared at him. “Why don’t you?” I said softly.

“You know why.”

“I know it’s been six months and you’re still drowning your fucking sorrows at the bottom of a whisky bottle.”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you, too!”

I sat back in the chair and stared off into the corner of the shed. An old fishing rod sat broken and neglected. A chipped table tennis bat on the floor beside it. A pair of gumboots sprouting something vaguely green out of the top of one of them finished the forlorn tableau.

“This place needs a clean up,” I said quietly.

“I’ll get right on it.”

“Matt,” I said on a sigh.

“It’s not your problem.”

“Fuck you, it is. You’re my brother.”

“I’m no one,” I thought I heard him say.

That’s it. That is so fucking it.

I stood up, reached down, grasped the corner of his shirt and hauled him to his unstable feet.

“You’re getting a wash down.”

“Fuck off!” he spluttered as I dragged him out of the shed and around to the side.

I had to hold him upright. If I’d let go, he would have tumbled to the ground. And I wanted him to face this. Not cower. Matt Drake never cowered.

Damn that fucking bitch.

I turned the hose on in rough movements, jerking Matt around as I swore under my breath. In the next instant he was cussing and shouting and trying to throw a punch. And utterly soaking wet.

I held the water on him for a good few minutes, until I was sure he was awake enough to stand on his own two feet.

“You’re welcome!” I shouted, as I tossed the hose to the ground.

“Fuck you!” he shouted back and just breathed.

We glared at each other. The sounds of the station slowly crept back into the space between us. He sighed.

“Have they said anything?” he asked, his voice damn near broken.

“No,” I replied. “But they nodded their heads when I asked them a question.”

“The fuck they did,” he said on a small smile.

“That new sergeant.”

“What about her?”

I rubbed the back of my neck and stared out across the pastures that led to the main homestead.

“Somehow she reached them. I don’t know how. All she did was talk as though they had every right not to. She understood.”

“Huh,” he said.

“Have you actually had much to do with her?” I asked, genuinely interested to know how Maggie’s first few weeks in Twizel had been.

Matt grimaced. “Not much. Been kinda distracted.”

“No shit,” I agreed.

He sighed again. It was weighted.

“What am I gonna do, Lukey?”

I closed my eyes briefly and prayed to God he could get through this.

“You start by just being there,” I said. “You know? Come to the wedding. Watch our kid brother get hitched. Share a drink with him. Dance with the twins.”

A stuttered breath left him and then he was crying. Silently. Stoically. I crossed the distance between us and held my brother in my arms as he broke down.

Staring out across grass the colour of gold, a little bit of me broke apart with him.

Sometimes life was fucking hard.

Chapter 11

What Did Southern Farmers Find Sexy, Anyway?

Maggie

“What do you mean, you can’t establish a definitive cause of death?” I asked Doc Harding.

He pulled his glasses off his head and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. The movement one of frustration and infinite patience all at once.

“I told you, Sergeant, Twizel is not Auckland City.”

I ignored the repeated slur and stared him in the eyes.

“A physical examination should have turned something up, at least.”

“Certainly,” he said, reaching for his typed report. “Haematoma to the occipital bone. Not enough to indicate he was knocked out, mind you. But it would indicate he fell hard on his head, perhaps when he collapsed.” Peering back down at his report he added, “Scratch marks above the left lateral fourth intercostal space. In other words, directly above his heart. Cyanosis to the lips and distal extremities. In other words…”

“Possible cardiac arrest and hypoxia.”

“Yes,” he said, surprised, I think, that I was able to understand his medical terminology. “And the cause of that can’t be determined until an autopsy is completed in Timaru.”

“The body’s been collected?” I queried.

“Our local funeral parlour has accepted the responsibility of delivering Mr Whiting to the morgue at Base Hospital. They picked his body up half an hour ago.”

“How long is it likely to take before we hear back?”

“On the autopsy?” He scratched his head. “Two to three days.”

I sighed heavily.

“This isn’t…”

“Yes, Doctor. I know. This is Twizel. Not the big smoke.”

He harrumphed and thrust the report out towards me. I took it silently, willing myself to calm. I forced a smile as I slipped it into my front pocket.

“Thank you, Doc,” I said and made to turn away.

“You know, Sergeant,” he called after me. “We’re not as incompetent as you think.”

I turned to look at him and said, “I don’t think anyone here is incompetent, Doctor. I think you’re a small town, who has made up its own rules, and some of those rules are lax.”

“You call a spade a spade, don’t you?” He huffed out a laugh. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

I resisted rolling my eyes and pushed through his surgery door, donning my shades and staring up at the low hanging sun in the sky. It was after one. The street was deserted, as if everything had closed down for an afternoon siesta.

I glanced down the road towards the tavern, wondering if I could press for more details there. I shook my head. The barman hadn’t exactly been forthcoming and without actually knowing who else had been in the tavern last night, there were no leads to follow up there.

My eyes landed on the souvenir shop. Alicia Parsons was outside with a long handled broom, cleaning the lens on one of her security cameras. The sound of a motorbike caught my ear, and I turned to watch the local minister rolling up the main street on the back of a Harley Davidson bike. The chrome shone in the afternoon light, glinting an orange and copper colour. His helmet was one of those half helmets you see the Hells Angels or Mongrel Mob wear.

I watched as he rode past, offering up a casual salut when he spotted me, and then turned into the carpark at the local Anglican church. The bike’s motor cut off a few seconds later, birds startled out of a nearby tree shot up into the air above the church’s white spire, creating a picturesque contrast to the motorbike riding reverend’s arrival.

Only in Twizel.

I headed towards the Police Station on Tasman Road, hoping to catch Mac or Annmarie. So far, this was just a suspicious death on a local farm’s land. Nothing indicated murder. But the lack of a vehicle nearby warranted investigation. If Whiting did have a heart attack and subsequently expired from lack of oxygen to vital organs, then how the hell did he get to Red Tussock?

Granted, the highway was right there. But the pasture he was found in was out of the way. Section three, Luke had called it. I wasn’t sure how many sections Red Tussock Station had and if this was significant for some other reason.

As soon as I entered the station, Sheila shot up from her seat.

“There you are!”

“Here I am,” I agreed.

“Matt’s been looking for you.”

“Senior Sergeant Drake?” I queried. Since when had he bothered to search me out? He must have heard about the dead body.

“Really, Maggie. When are you going to call him by his first name?”

When he deigned to frequent the station more than just a half hour per day.

I smiled. It was undoubtedly the fake one. I needed to practice those.

“Is he here?” I enquired.

“Hell, no. The wedding,” she explained when she saw me raise my brows. “Young Finn’s big day. All of the Drakes, except Zach of course, will be up at the homestead supporting their little brother.”

“Finn’s the lawyer?” I asked.

“Yes, big Auckland hotshot. A bit like you.”

“I wasn’t a hotshot.”

“Get away with you, Maggie. All Aucklanders are hotshots, aren’t they?”

I offered a laugh. “If you say so.”

“Here,” she said, chuckling, and handed me a piece of paper.

It was standard police issue notebook paper, torn out of someone’s notebook, at a guess. On it was scrawled, Thank you. And simply signed, Matt.

I stared at it for a long moment and wondered what the hell Senior Sergeant Matt Drake was on now.

“What does it say?” Sheila asked, acting as if she hadn’t opened the note and sneaked a peek inside it.

“It’s a thank you.”

“What did you do to garner a thank you from Matt?”

“Does he not normally thank his staff?”

A strange look crossed her features. Sad and angry. An unusual mix.

“Not by note,” she said, and turned away, hiding her emotions.

Matt Drake was an enigma. Clearly well respected by his staff, family and friends. Not exactly what I would have expected. But then, this was Twizel, and I was beginning to see it was quite different from any other place in NZ.

“Are Mac and Annmarie back yet?” I asked.

“They had to head to Pukaki. Domestic disturbance.”

I ran a hand through my fringe and sighed. I was at a dead end. Not that I thought Mac would have anything more for me. But without a cause of death, I had nothing. Just a Red Tussock vehicle helping out a drunk as he stumbled into the gutter outside of Smokey’s Tavern.

I needed to see that ute. But barging back onto Red Tussock land so close to the impending nuptials was drastic even for me. My gut told me something was off here. The evidence suggested a puzzle, but little more.

But I’d also be lying to myself if I said I didn’t want to see Luke Drake again. Innocent he may be of this potential crime, but I’d hazard a guess the man was not an innocent at all. It was underhanded to even consider it, but with a Senior Sergeant practically AWOL and every other person in town covering his tracks, Luke Drake’s interest in me was fortuitous. An interest I could use.

I’d declined him picking me up for the wedding reception.

But I hadn’t said I wouldn’t attend.

Maybe I could scout for the ute then. Maybe I could figure out the Drakes once and for all.

Both Matt Drake and his incredibly interesting brother.

I snorted and walked back out of the station, waving a farewell to Sheila, and heading towards my vehicle, and ultimately my house.

It was time to dress to impress.

What did southern farmers find sexy, anyway? Only one way to find out, I guessed.

Chapter 12

Didn’t Breathe For Long Seconds

Luke

She was wearing a dress. And not just any dress. A fuck-me dress with little fuck-me boots and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a thigh holster for her service weapon.

I don’t think I had ever seen anything as sexy. I was practically drooling into my whisky glass.

Justin whistled low from beside me.

“Is that the new cop? Fuck me,” he murmured, taking a deep swallow of his own drink. “Matt works with her? Like every day? Lucky bugger.”

“Stop ogling her like a piece of mutton,” I growled.

“Hey!” he protested. “If I’m ogling her like anything, it’d be a fine glass of sauvignon blanc, not a fucking ageing sheep.”

“Long drink of fresh water,” Sam said from my other side. “Anyone going to introduce me?”

“No,” I snapped, placing my whisky back down on the table before me and pushing to stand.

“How about just pointing her in the right direction, I’ll handle the introductions,” Sam added. “Hey, baby,” he said in a low, supposedly sexy voice, “care to take a seat? On my lap?”

“And I guess you’ll want talk about the first thing that pops up?” Justin suggested, snorting into his glass.

“Imbeciles,” I muttered and moved off towards Maggie.

“Least we’re not gagging for it,” Justin muttered back.

I spun around and reached over the space between us, fisting his shirt.

“Care to say that again, arsehole?”

His hand wrapped around my shirt in return and his face moved forward an inch, pressing his nose practically against mine. I could smell the whisky on his breath, mixed in with fresh mint from the toothpaste he’d used earlier.

“Care to just get laid and save us all the drama?” he growled back.

“Boys!” Mum exclaimed, rushing over. “You’re causing a scene.”

“What scene?” both Justin and I immediately replied, wrapping arms around each others' shoulders and smiling widely at her. In unison we patted each others backs. Nothing to see here, move along.

She narrowed her eyes at us and slowly turned away.

“You’re not fooling her one little bit, you know,” a soft, amused voice said from beside us.

I let go of Justin and turned towards Maggie.

“Hey,” I idiotically said.

“Hey,” she replied, smiling. It reached her eyes. I could have thumped my chest in Neanderthal pride at that.

“Hey,” another voice said. “Gonna introduce us?”

“No,” I growled, grabbing Maggie’s hand and leading her away.

“Whoa there!” she exclaimed, still smiling. “I might have wanted to meet your friend.”

“It’s just my nosy cousin. You can meet him any time. Right now, you’re mine and no one else’s.”

I spun her onto the dance floor, and wrapped a proprietary arm around her back, hand resting just above the curve of her very fine arse.

“You don’t hold back, do you, Drake?”

“Luke,” I reminded her. “Say it.”

She arched her brow and glared up at me.

I leaned forward, brought my cheek against hers, and whispered into her ear, “You will say it, Maggie. And soon. Preferably while I bring you to climax.”

My hand skated down over her rear and gripped her arse.

I expected her to move it. To stiffen or push us apart. In the short amount of time I’d known her, Maggie Blackmore had never shied away from fighting back. Hell, I had to remind myself she wore her service weapon, concealed under that fucking dress, but within easy reach, no doubt.

But she didn’t do anything. She let me manhandle her, and pressed her breasts against my chest as if she wanted more.

I’m ashamed to say, I almost let her convince me. She felt so right in my arms, under my touch, pulled close against my thrumming body. But I am not a man to be taken for a ride. And Sergeant Blackmore was after something.

I suppressed a chuckle and turned her slowly across the floor.

“What do you want, Maggie?” I asked, nuzzling the skin below her ear.

“This is nice,” she replied, a little breathlessly. Unable to see her eyes, I couldn’t confirm the response was fake. But I’d bet on it.

“Oh, this is only the start, sweetheart,” I murmured. “We are on Red Tussock land and I know all the best places to find a little privacy.”

She ignored the implied threat, albeit a threat laced in the promise of sexual satisfaction. And allowed me to pull her closer still, until her thighs pressed against mine and her breath coasted over my shirt collar and I couldn’t tell whose heartbeat belonged to who.

“This is a spectacular venue,” she announced. “I didn’t realise you had facilities for functions as grand as this.”

“You think we can’t celebrate like the city?” I managed to reply.

“Not at all,” she rushed to say. “But this… well, it’s exquisite, really. Stunning.”

I was inordinately pleased she found Red Tussock Vineyard worthy. It might not have been my project, but Justin had worked damn hard to make this a venue worth travelling to. He’d started to reap the rewards, too. Getting bookings from big named overseas visitors and rich city folk. Red Tussock was perfect for parties.

“This is Justin’s baby,” I advised. “We’re very proud of what he’s achieved.”

“And yet you’re not above roughing him up when he angers you?” she pressed.

I let out a low laugh. “Brothers. Can’t live with ‘em…”

“Can’t live without them,” she said softly.

Too softly.

“What’s his name?” I asked, holding her carefully, as if I could hold her carefully enough to protect her from the world.

“Michael,” she said, and then cleared her throat. “He’s older than me. I always looked up to him.”

“Looked?” I queried.

“He…” she stopped and lost her footing, almost standing on my shoes in the fumble.

I pulled her close, ran a hand over her back soothingly, and said, “It’s all right, Maggie. I’ve got you.”

She clung to me for a moment. My heart ached. Too full. Too big. And yet breaking.

“What happened?” I asked.

“He was a cop. That’s why I became one, really.” She didn’t say anything more.

It wasn’t an answer, just a glimpse into her past. Because I was guessing, he was no longer a cop. Especially if he was the brother she referred to when she told the twins she understood.

She had a mute brother who had at one time been a cop. Is that why she was down here? Hiding away from what had gone wrong?

I wanted to ask. I wanted to soothe her heartache and pain. I wanted to hold this woman in my arms forever.

“There’s something I want to show you,” I whispered, pulling her off the dance floor, well aware of my mother’s beaming smile and Justin’s and Sam’s ribbing looks. I ignored them, leading her through the crowd of party-goers and out of the vineyard’s events building toward the back of the winery.

Vines lay in row upon row across a dark landscape. Strategic lights shining up on the gnarled trunks and bare, clipped branches. I slipped my jacket off and wrapped it around Maggie’s shoulders; I hadn’t thought to grab our coats. That alone should have told me I was well and truly gone for this woman. I never went outside at night in winter without several layers.

“You’ll freeze,” she protested, but I wouldn’t let her remove the jacket.

“You can keep me warm,” I replied, slipping my hand back in hers and taking her over the rise behind the buildings.

The wind died down as we walked behind the shelter of the outcropping, and then around a corner to a viewing platform. The vines out here were vast and unlit. In the ambient light, you could just make out the grid. It went on for miles and miles.

“Wow,” she said, clearly awed at the size of Justin’s vineyard. “That is impressive.”

“That’s not what I wanted to show you,” I said, gripping her chin between thumb and forefinger and tipping her head toward the horizon. “It’s better when the winery is shut down completely and the lights are all off. We don’t get any light pollution from Twizel or the homestead out here, so that helps,” I explained. “But the hill behind us manages to hide us just enough tonight.”

Out in the distance, beyond Mount Glenmary and the Southern Alps, the sky slowly turned a sinuous shade of green and pink.

“Aurora Australis,” I whispered, watching her closely. “The Southern Lights.”

She sucked in a breath of air. Held it. Didn’t breathe for long seconds.

And then a slow tear slipped down her cheek, glinting in the moonlight.

She turned. I moved. My lips finding hers in a heartbeat.

Chapter 13

I Was In So Much Trouble

Maggie

I shouldn’t have kissed him. I shouldn’t have allowed it to get this far. But when I saw the dancing lights and I turned to thank him, the look on his face chased away all cognitive thought.

And then his lips. So soft, but firm. So commanding. It wasn’t me kissing him, but him kissing me. And I liked it.

I wanted more.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, felt him tug me close against his hard body, and fell into the kiss. Completely.

It consumed me. I didn’t feel the biting cold air or see the beautiful Southern Lights. I couldn’t hear the sounds of the wedding reception or the wind as it whisked through the vineyard. I didn’t think of why I was there or what I needed to find out. Or anything, really.

Just a gnawing hunger that he seemed to fuel with every sweep of his tongue inside.

I might have moaned. He did growl softly, his arms tightening, his hand sweeping up my back, burying his fingers in my hair. He cupped the back of my head, tipped my face up to greet him. Devoured me with his lips. With just a kiss.

I certainly shouldn’t have agreed to go home with him.

There were people at the reception I needed to meet. Hell, I needed to touch base with the senior sergeant. There was a ute to find and a case to solve. But all I could do was cling to his body, wrap my arms around his tall frame, twist my fingers up into his slightly overlong hair.

I liked gripping his hair, but I liked that he returned the gesture, almost angrily. As of to say, I can do that too, only better. He twisted the strands of my hair around his fingers, making a pony-tail out of the tresses. And then he tugged, tipping my head back, stretching my neck taut, opening my throat up for his lips and teeth and tongue.

He nipped and licked and sucked. Oh, God, he sucked. My skin tingling, my heart thumping, my mind whirring and floating away.

I did moan. He shuddered. And then his hand was under my dress, skimming over my Glock, slipping into my underwear.

Oh, Lord, he was hot. His fingers so sure, so confident, so determined. I lifted a leg, wrapped it around his hip, and wantonly made myself available for him.

I was wet before he even touched me. Sopping wet, almost begging for more.

He growled again, ran his thumb over my clitoris, swept a long finger inside.

“Fuck,” he murmured against my hot skin. “Oh, fuck.”

He started pumping that single finger inside me. Sucking on the side of my neck in time to the rhythm he set up below. I bucked against him, gulping in frigid air through parted lips, my head still tipped back by his hold on my hair.

I’ve never been one to enjoy containment. My lovers have always been generous and kind. Almost too gentle. Letting me lead, when I’d rather follow. I’m a cop. I lead by example every day I don the uniform.

I hadn’t realised I wanted to give up all control when undressed.

“Say it,” he growled against my neck, two fingers now deliciously flicking inside me. “Say my name.”

Oh, Jesus, where did he get off being so sexy?

I wriggled against him, panting, moaning, determined to fight this call he had over me, this desire to let him under my skin. He licked up the side of my neck, leaving goosebumps in the cold air behind, and then nibbled on my ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth.

I shuddered. Rocking against his hand and fingers, begging silently for his thumb to rub me right there.

“Say it,” he whispered, “and I’ll let you come.”

I wanted to reply, I could come on my own, thank you very much. I didn’t need him. I was perfectly fine as is. But despite his fingers inside me, despite the delicious touch of his lips against my skin, despite the way my heart was thundering away in my chest, demanding to be let free, and shudders were racking my body, and heat was settling down deep… I couldn’t come.

As if he knew exactly how to play my body. How far to go to turn me on, make me beg for more, but not let me tip over that blissful edge into oblivion. He didn’t stop, didn’t take away the addictive sensations. I’ll give you this if you give me that. No. He gave me everything, he made me want more.

But he somehow managed to keep me just there, just where he wanted me, wound up, strung tight, teetering on the edge of an explosion.

“Say it,” he whispered against my lips, his hot breath pressing into my mouth. “Maggie,” he moaned, his lips covering mine, his tongue dancing with my own.

The kiss was hard and urgent and hungry and desperate. So desperate. His desperation as much as mine. And not for one second during it did he stop touching me, stroking me, pumping his fingers inside. I could feel moisture down my legs, it was freezing against my feverish skin. I could feel my body shuddering constantly, so tightly wound I was sure it would break apart. I could taste whisky and man. Smell leather and soap and Old Spice aftershave.

I was consumed by Luke.

“Say it,” he practically begged, laying kisses back over my chin, down my neck, burying his face in the crook against my shoulder, shuddering.

“Luke,” I whispered, voice husky and not at all my own, and his thumb swept over my clit, the world shattering into a million pieces.

“Oh, fuck, you’re beautiful,” he said, having pulled back to watch me. “Utterly magnificent.”

I collapsed into his arms.

“And mine,” he whispered, sweeping me up in his arms and carrying me back over the hill, toward the party.

I wasn’t prepared to face people. I knew I needed to, there was something I had to do, but I couldn’t think. Not now, not after having the best orgasm I had ever had in my entire life. I was boneless. Limbless. Utterly spent, but when he placed me in the cab of his truck and slipped into the seat beside me, I wasn’t too tired or spaced out to wrap myself around his body and kiss him soundly.

He started chuckling against my lips. “Home,” he said. “And then you can have your wicked way with me.”

He pulled me close to his side, practically on his lap, and started the vehicle. Within metres of the vineyard carpark, he’d pulled over and was kissing down my neck, lowering the edge of my dress, and wrapping his hot mouth around my nipple.

He made me come again. Calling his name into the steamed up cab of the truck. He was panting, a strained look on his face that made me feel extremely smug. I ran my hand down his heaving chest and cupped his erection.

“Ah, sweet Jesus,” he moaned as I pulled him out. “Not here. Home. Let me get you home.”

I never shy away from a challenge.

The road into the vineyard was dark, everyone still back at the wedding. I flicked my eyes to Luke’s face, saw how flushed he was by the light of the dashboard, his head thrown back as I stroked his hard shaft. Then lowered my lips to the broad head of his cock and licked, tasting salt and pre-come and him. I hummed around the tip, his hips bucking up at the sound and sensation. And then I sucked him in as deep as I could, making him moan.

“Fuck!” he cried, his hands finding my head, his fingers wrapping up in the strands of my hair. “Maggie,” he moaned. “Babe, I won’t be able to hold back.”

I didn’t want him to hold back. He’d shattered me. Turned me into something I was not. Something a part of me feared I was meant to be, but had never taken the risk to find out. Luke Drake made me stretch myself. Take a chance. Stop thinking. Just live.

I was determined to make him lose a little of himself, as well.

I licked up the underside of his cock, swirled my tongue around the head, my eyes flicking up to his now tipped down face, his eyes devouring me sucking his cock.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and then started to rock. His hands tightened in my hair, not too hard, just right. His eyes never left me as he pumped his hard length into my mouth. “Open wide,” he rasped. “Let me have that gorgeous mouth.”

The end of him reached the back of my throat and he paused there, just a second too long, enough for my heart to flutter and saliva to pool, and my eyes to widen. And then he was drawing himself out between my lips, wet, hard, determined.

“That’s it,” he said. “A little more. You can take it.” He thrust back in again, farther this time. Down my throat, making me have to work not to gag. It should have alarmed me. It should have angered me. Instead, I was turned on.

He was so in control and yet I could see him losing it. He demanded my acceptance of him and yet I could tell if I baulked he would have stopped immediately. I felt safe, even when I felt like I might be drowning. In him. In the moment. In the realisation that I enjoyed him holding me still, fucking my mouth.

I enjoyed it because I could see how close to shattering he was. How my acceptance of his cock, how and where he liked it, was his undoing. Slowly unravelling that control he had in his life. In everything he did, even this.

Until he didn’t.

I sucked hard, I kept eye contact, and I swallowed his cock down my throat, again and again and again.

“Fuck, Maggie!” he cried, and then lost all rhythm. Lost all careful hold on my hair, my head, my face, and thrust hard. Fast. Erratically.

And then he was coming and I was swallowing - something I had never done before in my life - and he was moaning, and looked so beautiful. Bathed in the soft light from the dashboard, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, shuddering uncontrollably as he lost himself to my touch.

I let him fall from my lips with a final lick and sat up, watching him float down from somewhere high in the sky. His hand reached up and cupped my cheek, a soft stroke of his thumb against sensitive skin. His eyes shone brightly, intently taking in my face, my breaths, the pulse at the side of my neck.

He hid nothing, this man, when stripped so bare. I saw all of him.

And I liked it.

I wanted more.

“I’m not done with you,” he husked. I smiled.

This was dangerous ground I tread. A Drake. My boss’s brother. The man in charge of Red Tussock Station. Where a dead body had been found.

I was in so much trouble. For more reasons than one.

Chapter 14

And I Still Craved To Make That Smile Mine

Luke

The smile was fake. She hid it well. Oh, I was sure she was into this. Into me. I was sure I’d have her several times tonight. But the smile was fake.

I wasn’t sure what to do about that. Maggie Blackmore was a puzzle. A puzzle I was determined to solve. Whilst having her frequently in my bed.

I hadn’t felt this enamoured with a woman for years. I hadn’t been inactive. But I hadn’t been committed, either.

I was committed to having Maggie. In every delicious possible way.

I even wanted her smile. The real one. Fuck the fake.

I put the ute into gear and pulled back onto the vineyard road. I reached over and slipped my hand into hers, brought it to my thigh, rested them both there. It made her stretch slightly, so she shifted to accommodate my demands. Did she realise how perfect she was?

How strong and beautiful and bendable she was?

I couldn’t wait to have her under my body. Above it. In front of it. In every possible way I could imagine.

I broke the speed limit getting home. Didn’t bother to leave her in the car while I rounded the bonnet to open her door; I simply reached over, unbuckled her seatbelt, and carried her out of the driver’s side door. I was already hard again.

She laughed, slung her arm about my neck, and let me act all Neanderthal.

“You’re perfect for me,” I said, kicking the front door open. It wasn’t locked. You don’t lock Red Tussock’s homestead. It might be mine now, but it would always be open to the family. Mum and Dad would be sleeping here again tonight, easier than driving back to Twizel. So would Momo’s parents. Finn and Momo, themselves, were taking the little guest cottage over the back of the vineyard for some wedding night privacy. And Justin and Matt had their own homes on station land, close by.

But in the morning, everyone would be here.

I wondered if I should warn Maggie.

And then I forgot about it as soon as I stepped through the master bedroom’s door. It swung shut behind me as I flailed around, trying to find the light switch, while not letting go of my prize.

“Put me down, caveman!” Maggie demanded, laughing.

“Never!” I shouted, giving up on the light - there was enough moonlight to guide my touch tonight - and throwing us both down on the bed instead.

“Oomph!” I managed as her elbow caught me in the gut. “You are so going to pay for that.”

“Oh, yeah?” she teased, getting up to her knees above me. She started to undo the buttons down the front of her dress.

Slowly.

Seductively.

Beautifully.

Her breasts spilled out, my mouth went dry, and then I was stretching up, reaching for the back of her neck, and hauling her lips to mine.

I didn’t last long before I was kissing her down her neck, over her collarbone, and wrapping my tongue around a nipple. My hand palmed her free breast, as my other held her immobile by her hip on my lap. Straddling me. Her panty clad pussy rubbing against my hard on.

I was gonna die.

In a fit of genius, I rolled us, and then tore her dress open, making buttons pop and fly off in every direction, clattering onto the floor.

“Hey!” she grumbled. “How am I going to dress now to go home?”

“One. I may never let you go home,” I said, studying my bounty in the dim light of the moon. “Two,” my voice lowered, “you can wear something of mine.”

“Is that a caveman thing? Dress me in your clothes? Tie me up to your bed?”

“Hmmm,” I said, contemplatively, “I think I might have some rope down in the shed.”

“Har har,” she managed, before she was moaning under my lips again.

I kissed down between her breasts, stopping long enough to lave each one with undivided attention. And then I was licking into her belly button, pressing open mouthed kisses across her beautifully rounded stomach, biting into a flared hip.

Fuck! She was perfect. Soft and curved in all the right places.

My hand dipped between her legs, cupping her intimately. She was wet. So responsive. I slipped a finger inside, swiped a thumb over her clit, watched her eyelids flutter closed, her chest rise and fall rapidly. And then I had to suck on her pulse.

“Luke,” she moaned beneath me, writhing, rubbing against me, begging for more.

“I want to taste you,” I declared, pushing off her body again and returning to between her legs.

“Yes!” she said breathlessly and I almost lost it.

There is nothing sexier than a woman who knows her own mind and is not afraid to show it.

“You want my tongue?” I asked, pulling her folds apart and watching her sweet cunt as it throbbed hungrily. “Or my fingers?”

“Both.”

Perfect.

I lowered my lips, inhaled deeply, and then licked up her centre, thrusting my tongue inside. And then I was eating her out, sucking and nibbling and growling against her mound, while my fingers gripped her hips firmly and my nose rubbed her clit and I just about lost my fucking mind.

There might have been a finger or two thrust inside. There definitely was an orgasm or two on her part. And then I was stripping, rolling on a condom, and positioning myself above her glorious body as she shuddered and moaned and floated back down from her high.

“Look at me,” I said. She blinked open well sated eyes. “I want you to look at me when I take you for the first time.”

She swallowed thickly.

“Nod your head if you understand.”

She nodded her head slowly.

“I don't make love, Maggie,” I told her. “I fuck.”

She blinked, a small furrow appearing between her brows.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m not loving you,” I added. “I fucking love your body right now. But I don’t do slow and easy, Maggie. I like it hard and fast and wet and loud.”

She met my gaze with a steady one of her own.

“Tell me to stop now,” I hissed between clenched teeth.

“Stop talking,” she said. “Start fucking.”

I closed my eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and when I opened them, I was already thrusting inside.

So tight. So wet. So fucking hot. I wrapped an arm behind her back, arching her body up under me, one hand gripping her hip tightly, holding her still for my cock as it thrust inside, the other fisted up in her hair. She tilted her pelvis, met me thrust for thrust, her legs wrapped around me, ankles crossed over my thighs; I could feel her boots still. Fuck! I could feel the holster on her thigh.

“You’re armed,” I said on a grunt. “Do you feel unsafe?” I didn’t stop fucking her. Each word said between a roll of my hips, a thrust of my cock, the most blissful sensation I had ever experienced on every pump and glide.

“Should I be?” she said on panted breaths.

“Never, if I can help it,” I declared, crushing my lips to her mouth.

She came apart within moments. I’d barely gotten started. I made her come three more times before I emptied myself inside. The condom was pulled off, tied up and discarded. Another was on in the next breath, her pale brow arched, her lips stretched wide, her smile… alive and beautiful and reaching her eyes.

“Is this how I make that smile real?” I asked, holding her watchful gaze.

“I’m not sure,” she replied. She meant it. Maggie had ghosts from her past. She was running. She wanted to hide.

“Turn over,” I whispered. She complied. She was made for this.

I reached down and swept her hair over her shoulder, baring her long neck. Then let my finger trail down her spine, into the crease of her arse. She shuddered. I slipped it into her wet and waiting pussy, feeling her walls contract greedily around its length.

“I think we’re going to have to try many different things together, Maggie,” I said, hearing the desire in the husky tone of my voice. “Until you know the answer to that question.”

“Less talking more fucking,” she demanded.

I was laughing when I thrust inside her again. In fact, I don’t think I stopped smiling until the sun started to rise and the birds sang their morning chorus.

And then I wrapped her up in my arms, holding her close, laying a soft kiss into her sweat soaked hair, and grinned at the ceiling, as she drifted off to an exhausted slumber. I could hear people in the house. I wasn’t sure Maggie had.

She was right, I was a caveman. Because even though we had guests, I still demanded she say my name each time she climaxed.

And I still craved to make that smile mine.

Chapter 15

No Pet Names

Maggie

The sun was in my eyes. The curtains wide open, a soft breeze filtering in through a crack at the base of the sash window. I stared around the part of the room I could see from where I was lying on my side. There was a dresser with a few innocuous things scattered across it; a comb, a wallet, a set of keys. Old Spice aftershave.

I felt a hot body wrapped around me from behind, a muscular chest pressed up to my naked back. A hard arm holding me tight, legs entangled with mine. I blinked, sucked in a slow breath, and spotted my Glock in its holster on the bedside table.

On my side.

I let the breath of air out and closed my eyes.

I had no excuse. I hadn’t even had a drop of alcohol. I’d been sober, awake, and of sound mind.

And I’d fucked a suspect.

Multiple times.

And OK, so I’d cleared him from the suspect list, he had a solid alibi, and my gut told me he had nothing to do with Whiting’s death. But he did run the station the body had been found on. And he drove a Ford Ranger ute with a Red Tussock license plate.

I’d seen it as he’d carried me into the house last night. RED 2. Which meant they had more than one. And I didn’t know which one had picked up Whiting from outside Smokey’s the other night.

Oh, this was bad. The arm tightened. A very impressive erection pressed into my lower back. Hot breath coasted over my neck, a tongue licked up the side, until lips covered my pulse point and he sucked.

“Such a give away,” he muttered against the tender skin. “It flutters like a hummingbird when you panic.”

“I don’t panic,” I immediately said.

“Maggie,” he replied sounding sad. “You live in a state of panic most of the time. I just wish I knew why that is.”

I thought I was good at hiding my emotions. I thought, other than the fake smile of course, that I fooled everyone.

But there was no fooling Luke Drake.

“I should go,” I tried.

“It’s Sunday. The bed’s warm. Your body is hot. And I’m hungry.”

Something clattered down stairs.

I tried to sit upright. “Who’s here?”

“The family, of course. Lie back down, I’m not done with you yet.”

He’d said that last night. I’m not done with you. God knows why it turned me to mush.

“You have family staying? Isn’t this your house?” I demanded, instead of giving into my libido.

“The wedding,” he replied steadily, gripping my chin and turning my face to his. Warm, amused brown eyes met mine. “Mum will be cooking breakfast, and then there’s all the food she’s been baking for the past week. Momo and Finn will turn up eventually, if he can drag himself out of their bed. Justin and Matt should be here too, if they know what’s good for them. Oh, and the Tanakas. Momo’s parents. Then there’s the cousins and my aunts and uncles and well, I think you get the picture.”

“All of them?” I said on a squeak.

“Yes, beautiful. All of them. And I intend to make sure every single one of them knows that you’re mine.”

I glowered.

“The Tanakas,” I started. “They stayed somewhere else, right?”

He smiled. “No. They stayed here. In the house.” He was enjoying this.

“Your parents?” I whispered.

“Here, too. Their home is in the retirement village in town. Too far to drive last night.”

Oh, shoot me now.

“Please tell me your brothers did not stay in the same house you… you fucked me in all night long. Please,” I begged.

His face sobered. “Matt and Justin have homes on station land. It was just the Tanakas and Mum and Dad here last night.”

“On another level of the house, right? Like, out the back and down a long set of stairs and behind a big, thick…”

“Maggie,” he said softly, cupping my cheeks. “You’re mine.”

I shook my head. “We met yesterday. I’m invest…”

“You’re mine,” he said unequivocally.

“Do I get a say in this?”

“Do you have something to say?”

I blinked at him. Fuck, there was so much to say. But did I regret sleeping with him? Sorry, fucking him? Hell, no. That was the best sex of my life. Possibly because it was fucking and not making love, but I wasn’t going to go there just yet.

“You knew they were here,” I finally said.

“Yes, I did,” he said, owning his caveman behaviour.

“You’re an arse,” I growled.

“But as of last night, I’m your arse.”

I let out a huff of breath. “Unbelievable.” Can’t a girl have a secret shag and then walk away without the world knowing?

Oh, God. What the hell was Sheila going to say? Who the hell was Sheila going to tell? Argh! Mac. This was not good. Not good at all.

I pushed the covers back and climbed out of bed. He let me. Not for a moment was I foolish enough to believe he couldn’t have stopped me. Not by force, per se. But by his magnetism. I was a magnet. That’s what it was. He was just a bigger one.

I couldn’t resist.

“Bathroom?” I said, indicating a closed door. The only closed door other than the one into the room itself. Luke lay back on the bed, hands behind his head, naked chest on display, sheet down around his thighs.

He was hard. Everywhere. From the eight pack he sported to the corded arms he flexed beside his head. To the huge fucking erection sprouting between thick thighs.

I licked my lips. That had been in me last night.

Multiple times.

“The closet,” he said. “This is an old house. The bathroom is down the hall.”

Down the hall where any number of people could be walking. Down the hall where I couldn’t skulk away quietly and unobserved.

I looked down at the floor, blushing. I hated to blush. I was beginning to hate this morning.

Luke appeared before me, completely naked, much as I was. Nudity didn’t disturb me usually. Unless it was the nudity of the man I was lusting after and trying to keep at arms’ length.

“I’ll check to make sure the way is clear,” he murmured, leaning down and kissing me on the lips. Just lightly. Barely there, really.

And I wanted more.

Damn this attraction. Why now?

He walked over to the closet and pulled out some clothes. Tracksuit pants that would be several sizes too big and a t-shirt I was going to drown in.

“Do you want some boxers?” he asked. “Or go commando?”

I let out a laugh. “I’ve got knickers, I’ll wear them.”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug of his shoulder. “If you can find them.”

I stared around the room and spotted bits of my dress, his trousers and suit jacket, a crumpled dress shirt, tie, socks, boots - his and mine - and no underwear.

I sighed. “Commando,” I said, scowling.

“There she is,” he said, handing the clothes off to me. “My little tiger.”

“Oh, no! No pet names,” I demanded.

“No? How about…?”

“No!” I reached up and placed my fingers over his lips. Our eyes met. My heart thudded. I watched as his gaze swept across my cheek to the pulse at the base of my neck.

And then he growled.

I dropped the trackies and t-shirt and we crashed together; lips, hands, bodies. Magnetic.

My legs were around his waist in a second, he was spinning us back to the bed in the next. My head hit the soft mattress, his body covered mine, our tongues delved and dived and tangled together.

And then someone knocked on the door.

Chapter 16

Depends

Luke

“You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered, lifting my lips off Maggie’s kiss swollen ones only long enough to get the words out. Then I was kissing her again. Frantically.

I couldn’t seem to get enough.

A second knock sounded out, louder this time.

“Go away!” I shouted, clutching Maggie to me as if she’d escape in the distraction.

“Can’t, bro,” Justin called. “Got a problem.”

His voice was solemn and subdued. Unlike Justin. Especially unlike Justin if he knew I had a woman in my bed. The fact he was missing the opportunity to rib me, meant something serious was going on.

I knifed off the bed and stalked to the door, swinging it open only wide enough for Justin to get an eye-full of me.

“Whoa!” he said, covering his face. “My innocence!”

“Fuck off. I’m busy.”

He smirked. The Justin I knew back. So, whatever had happened, couldn’t be that bad. I hoped.

His hands lowered and he scratched at the back of his head. He was dressed, but looked dishevelled, like he hadn’t had the time to shower yet. Or had been up several hours already. Due to the state of the vineyard after an event, that was probably true. He’d undoubtedly been over there since sparrow’s fart helping with the clean-up. Justin could be a dick sometimes, but he was a hard working one.

“Some of section four stock wandered into the vineyard,” he finally said.

“The fuck? How’d it get over there?”

He shook his head. “That’s not the worst part.”

“It gets worse than stock migrating several kilometres into a fully fenced section?”

He nodded, his dark eyes swirling with some kind of emotion I couldn’t place.

“A hundred head,” he said. I whistled. That was a lot of sheep to break off from a flock and get themselves over rough terrain and through multiple fences.

Ah, fuck. We had a rustler.

“I’ll get dressed and help Sam and Charlie get them back where they belong. Did they harm any of the vines?”

“Luke,” Justin said. “They’re all dead.”

I stood there, stunned immobile. Trying to figure out how a hundred head of sheep could get themselves killed naturally, whilst traipsing over impossible to navigate terrain on their own.

I was coming up blank.

“Is that normal?” Maggie’s voice asked from behind me. “For sheep to die like that without cause?”

Justin tried to peer around my shoulder; I closed the door to just a crack.

“Go back to bed, babe. I’ll handle this,” I said, not wanting Justin to see an inch of Maggie’s perfect skin.

When I looked over my shoulder, she was dressed. In my clothes. I almost opened the door back up, then and there.

“Is that the new cop?” Justin mock whispered. “In your bed?”

“Hello, Justin,” Maggie said, pulling the door open from behind me.

“Maggie! Wow! Didn’t know you were in there.”

Dick.

She smiled. For a second, I could have sworn it wasn’t fake.

“So, is that normal?” she repeated.

Justin scratched at his head again. “Nope. Sheep don’t just walk themselves over close to five kilometres of land and then cark it.”

“So, how did they die?” she pressed.

Justin met my eyes. There was anger there. “Poison, looks like. Possibly 1080.”

“1080?” I queried, deciding it was high time I got dressed. I walked back into the room, fully aware Justin would see the state of it, and grabbed some jeans out of the closet. “How the hell did 1080 get into the vineyard?”

“And how the hell do I contain it?”

Fuck! He was right. If 1080 was found on vineyard land, then it could compromise the vines. The whole of next season’s harvest. Fuck!

“Isn’t that the pesticide used by Department of Conservation for rats and stoats and the like?” Maggie asked.

“Yeah. Nowhere near here,” I muttered, pulling a t-shirt on over my head. I ran a hand through my hair and then sat down heavily on the bed to pull on some boots and socks.

Maggie walked over and started doing the same, sitting next to me as if it was a perfectly natural thing to do. I liked it.

Justin leaned against the open doorway and watched us with a smirk. I glowered back at him as I finished tying off my boots.

“You heading back over there?” I asked.

“Yep,” he said.

“I’ll come with you.”

“Me, too,” added Maggie.

“You don’t need to see this,” I said, suddenly wanting to protect her from the sight. Dead stock was not something I wanted Maggie to see first thing in the morning after having been in my bed all night.

“If it’s a crime, will you be reporting it?” she asked, staring me levelly in the face.

“Depends,” I hedged. Sometimes you dealt with things like this yourself and didn’t bring in the cops. Even if your brother was one.

Maggie smiled. It was the fake one. My hands clenched and my eyes narrowed.

“I’m here, anyway,” she advised, standing up and strapping on her holster, to the outside of her thigh.

It should have looked ridiculous, but somehow Maggie pulled it off, making it look quite mundane. A cop in oversized track pants with a Glock strapped to her well-shaped leg, the holster wrapped around her thigh and waist.

She actually looked pretty badass.

“Who you gonna shoot, Sergeant?” Justin asked.

“Depends,” she said, mimicking me. “What sort of sicko are we dealing with? If they can kill sheep in such a horrific manner, can they kill humans, too?”

Justin and I stared at her, a horrible realisation settling in my gut. First a dead body on our land in sector three. Then section four stock found dead in the vineyard. The morning after a family wedding.

“You think someone’s out to smear us?” I asked.

“What do you think?” she threw back at me.

I didn’t want to think at all. I wanted to be back in that bed with Maggie moaning under me. Nothing but the sweet scent of her arousal in my nose and the soft, silky sensation of her skin under my fingertips.

I flicked a disgruntled glance back towards the rumpled sheets and then stormed out of the room.

Chapter 17

Tough Love

Maggie

Luke was fuming. I don’t think I’d seen this level of lost control outside of his bed. Either the sheep had thrown him or the thought that Red Tussock was under some sort of smear attack had.

I wanted to soothe his worries. Reach out and run a hand down his back. Make contact.

I did nothing. Following him silently down the stairs, his amused brother trailing in our wake.

The voices reached us first and then the smell of breakfast. My stomach rumbled loudly. Luke glanced over his shoulder, his face softening when his eyes found mine. Even fuming, he was tuned into my discomfort.

“Breakfast first, then,” he murmured.

“The sheep can wait,” Justin added.

Luke scowled and then leaned down just before we made the kitchen, and whispered, “You up for this?”

“Of course,” I replied, and headed into the kitchen first.

It’s always been my downfall, this need to prove a point. That I’m strong enough. Hard enough. Competent enough. For anything. A wise cop would have hung back and assessed the situation. Tailored their approach to the level of threat.

I stormed right into the Drake kitchen as if I belonged there.

It was full. Several familiar faces around the big farm-style table. Mr and Mrs Drake. Finn and Momo, the wedding couple. Her parents. The twins. And Senior Sergeant Matt Drake. The rest of the room disappeared. Just his face. I couldn’t decipher the emotion on it. He was closed down, much like he’d been closed down since I’d arrived here.

There were other people present, but I’d done my dash; my confidence leaving me in rush of noise inside my ears. Seeing Matt Drake made everything real.

“Sergeant Blackmore,” Mrs Drake exclaimed. “What a pleasant surprise.”

I doubted it.

“Make a space, Matt,” she instructed her son. “Let the sergeant sit down.”

Matt shifted his seat sideways, not offering up a comment. He looked haggard this morning. His dark blond hair messed up, several days’ worth of whiskers on his firm jaw. His eyes were bloodshot. His hand trembled when he lifted his coffee cup.

I sat down next to him in equal silence, my heart thundering inside my chest, trying to get out.

He could fire me over this, I realised. Oh, sleeping with his brother wasn’t a crime in the literal sense. But when he found out about the dead body, if he didn’t already know, my sleeping with the station manager of Red Tussock could lose me my job.

And I hadn’t even really wanted to come here.

I could have stayed in Auckland. Faced the memories head on. Faced Michael head on. But I’d run when given the opportunity. And now I could lose my job.

My hand shook, too, when I reached for the coffee Luke had poured.

Warmth infused me when his palm landed on my nape, the heat of his body sweeping down my back. He squeezed gently, then took the seat on the other side of me. One that had appeared out of nowhere. I hadn’t noticed the twins get up.

“You have gorgeous girls,” I said to Matt, for want of something to say.

He grunted and drank from his cup.

“How’re you finding Twizel, Sergeant?” Finn asked, his arm casually wrapped around his wife’s shoulders.

“Interesting,” I supplied. Several chuckles travelled around the table.

“I bet,” he said with a genuine smile.

“What made you come here?” Mrs Drake asked.

I’d had an answer rehearsed for just such a question. I’d practiced it in front of the mirror, much like I should practice my fake smiles. It deserted me now.

“Um,” I said, staring into my cup.

“When do you leave, Finn?” Luke asked loudly from beside me, his hand slipping beneath the table and landing on my thigh. He didn’t squeeze it this time, just rested it there. A presence. Warm. Firm. Comforting.

“Today. Off to Fiji for a week.”

“Nice for some,” Justin offered, stuffing his mouth with bacon.

“Find a beautiful girl to marry and you, too, could be honeymooning in style,” Finn countered.

“Steady on,” Luke drawled. “One thing at a time. Justin married?”

“It could happen,” Justin replied.

“On what planet?” Luke demanded.

“And how do you pick just one?” Finn enquired.

“I ask myself that every day,” Justin mused, smirking.

“I hope they give you the run around, Justin Drake,” Mrs Drake offered. “The sooner you pick just one, the better for everyone.”

“Aw, Mum,” he complained, but I could see the sparkle in his eyes. “Where would the fun be in that?”

“If you ask me,” Mrs Drake said, just as Matt threw down his napkin on his uneaten plate and pushed back his chair. Loudly.

Mrs Drake’s voice trailed off.

“Sergeant,” Matt said gruffly into the silence. “A word outside, please.”

He strode out of the room expecting me to follow. I took a slow sip of my coffee, my chest restricting. Then offered a completely fake smile to Mrs Drake and left the room. Footsteps followed. I knew they belonged to Luke, but I didn’t turn around. The moment I’d entered the kitchen, I’d been aware this confrontation was going to happen, no matter what. I just wanted it over with now.

Luke was standing out in the driveway, staring off over the pastures in front of the homestead. His hands were on his hips, his boots shoulder width apart. His back rigid.

“I know what this looks like,” I started, deciding offence was better than defence.

“When were you going to tell me there’d been a body found on our property?” he demanded.

I stilled. This wasn’t about me spending the night with his brother?

“You’ve been hard to reach,” I said carefully.

He spun around and stared at me and then caught sight of Luke over my shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Just observing.”

“This is official business,” Matt countered.

“This is Red Tussock business.”

“No,” Matt argued. “This is a sergeant on my team keeping me out of the loop. It has nothing to do with the station.”

“The body was found here,” Luke said levelly.

“I wasn’t told!” Matt shouted.

Matt Drake was unstable, I realised.

A crushing sense of disappointment engulfed me. I didn’t want Matt Drake to be unstable.

I let out a slow breath of air.

“Senior Sergeant,” I said. “I didn’t rush to inform you, because you can’t be involved in any of this.”

“I’m in charge of Twizel Police.” Not for much longer at this rate. “You should have at least had the courtesy to advise me you were heading up an investigation on my family’s land.”

“When?” Luke demanded. “When should she have advised you? When you were out cold in one of the storage sheds? When you’d drunk a fifth of whisky? When?”

Matt looked devastated. “How could you?” he rasped.

“She knows. Maggie’s not stupid. She can see what’s in front of her face. I’m not telling her anything she hasn’t put together in the past three weeks of you practically ignoring her presence here.”

“Luke,” I warned.

“Damn you,” Matt growled and stormed forward, thrusting his shoulder into his brother’s chest, making him stumble back a step.

We both watched him disappear around the back of the homestead.

“Sorry,” Luke said, sounding contrite. “You didn’t need to see that. Tough love.”

“Does he have a drinking problem?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Six months.”

I had to ask, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

I opened my mouth just as Justin clomped down the front stairs of the house.

“Ready to see those ewes?” he asked.

Luke nodded his head grimly and started toward his Ranger.

All I could do was follow.

Chapter 18

Murder Was A Flash In The Pan Compared To All Of That

Luke

God, damn it. I was trying to be patient with Matt, I really was. But when he went after Maggie, I simply saw red. Six months was long enough to wallow. And taking it out on his staff was taking it one step too far.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew my jumping to Maggie’s defence was more about last night than the six months prior. I knew, had it been anyone else, I would have let Matt handle it. Even consumed in grief and anger, Matt was a damn good cop.

Why else had he put in for a new sergeant? And hired one with investigative experience within a fortnight of receiving her application.

Matt wanted answers. I just wasn’t sure if he was whole enough to ask Maggie the questions first.

I flicked concerned eyes across the cab of the truck to Maggie. The atmosphere was a stark contrast to last night. I shifted in my seat, remembering her electric touch under the moonlight; the way her hair had shone softly in the artificial glow from the dash.

“What do you really think is going on?” she asked.

With Matt? “I don’t know,” I hedged.

“Has anything like this happened before? Sheep turning up dead where they shouldn’t be?”

Oh. Clearly my family’s dysfunctional dilemmas weren’t as pressing as a potential crime.

If only she knew.

I scratched at my stubbled jaw. “Not in all the years I’ve been doing this.”

“It seems illogical,” she mused. “Why move them, if you’ve poisoned them? Shouldn’t the poisoning be the message?”

“That’s if they were poisoned at all.”

“You think it a natural cause of death?”

“Well,” I said, “Justin might have got it wrong.”

“Is he wrong often?”

I shook my head. Justin’s focus might be on the vineyard now, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a farmer through and through. Besides, Justin saw things others didn’t. His photographer’s eye was quite acute. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t already taken photos of the scene, documenting in digital what he had seen.

“There he is,” I said, spotting Justin’s ute already parked up at the far end of a row of sharply pruned vines. Charlie was standing off to the side, smoking a cigarette. He nodded his head as we climbed out of the Ranger, his own Red Tussock ute parked behind him.

“You want me to move ‘em?” he asked in way of greeting.

“Not yet,” Maggie replied, stepping closer.

Charlie raised his eyebrows at me, then took a long drag on his ciggie, blowing smoke all over the morbid scene.

“This is Sergeant Blackmore of the Twizel Police,” I said. “Maggie, this is our head foreman, Charlie Davis.”

“Mr Davis,” Maggie said with a nod of her head, but she was already looking back at the sheep.

There was a distinct slaughter house smell, even though there appeared to be no blood. Some of the ewes had foam at their mouths. Some had bulging eyes. Lips were peeled back off several, revealing their very blunt teeth.

“I’m no vet,” Maggie said, “but I can’t believe they all died at the same time.”

“Tyre marks,” Justin offered, from several feet away.

“One hundred head of sheep would require a large trailer or truck to move,” I said.

“Or they made several trips in the middle of the night,” Maggie offered.

“How come you’re not in uniform?” Charlie suddenly asked.

Maggie blushed, just a brief flare of red to her cheeks, and then she straightened her shoulders and said, “Didn’t have time to change.”

“And dead sheep require a fast response?” Charlie enquired. “Not the usual reaction we get from the police.”

I expected Maggie to say something else, but she just flicked her eyes over Charlie and then returned her attention to the scene.

“Is it 1080?” she asked.

“I’m pretty sure,” Justin replied, crouching down by a sheep at the edge of the pile. “Look here. They ate something and it wasn’t just grass.”

“Don’t touch that!” Maggie instructed, when Justin reached out to peel back a sheep’s upper lip.

He lifted his hands as though she had cocked a gun at his head. And then smirked.

“Worried for my health, Sergeant?”

“Worried about contaminating the scene,” she replied steadily.

“I already shifted a few,” Charlie offered.

Maggie’s eyes snapped back to his face. “Why?”

Charlie shrugged his shoulders. “Thought one was still alive.”

“Who found them?” Maggie asked.

“Charlie did,” Justin offered, “but I was up at the events centre and came out not long afterwards.”

“Did you touch them before or after that, Mr Davis?”

“I don’t know. Before maybe?”

“Why does it matter, Maggie?” I asked.

“It’s a crime scene.”

Charlie scoffed at that. “Dead sheep turn up every now and then. Hardly cause for forensics.”

Maggie straightened up from her crouch and flicked her eyes to me. I wasn’t sure what that look meant. This was Maggie in full detecting mode. Unreadable. Realistically, I knew this was a suspicious looking scene. Add in the fact that we already had one suspicious death on our station, and I understood the severity of this discovery.

But I couldn’t see poisoned sheep and James Whiting adding up to anything connected.

“What are you thinking?” I asked Maggie softly.

“We’ll need a vet to examine the bodies.”

“All of ‘em?” Charlie demanded.

“At least a good portion,” Maggie replied, running her hands down her trackies.

She looked startled at the touch, perhaps having forgotten she wasn’t in her crisp blue police uniform trousers. She shook her head and stared out over the vines toward the main road.

“How far to section three?” she asked.

Justin’s head flicked up and he narrowed her eyes at her. Charlie just lit up another cigarette and started to chug like a steam engine.

“At least five kilometres,” I said.

“And from here to section four, where you said they’re from?”

“Another five or so kilometres.”

“And from section four to section three?”

I stared at her. She held my gaze unflinchingly. “Five again.”

“How many sections do you have?” she asked.

“Twenty.”

“So, why those two? Three if you count the vineyard?”

“All three border the main highway,” Justin said.

“Any other reason?” Maggie pressed.

“That one alone makes enough sense,” Justin argued. “Easy access to our land and our stock.”

“Any other reasons?” Maggie repeated.

Charlie stubbed out his cigarette with purposeful movements, then reached down and picked up the butt, shoving it in his pocket. It was enough to attract Maggie’s attention, and her question went unanswered.

But I was having trouble forgetting it that easily. Why had those areas been targeted? Because it sure as hell looked like someone was targeting us. First: James Whiting. A man I’d been seen arguing with in public. Second: one hundred head from our main flock currently grazing on our lower pastures. Visible to any who drove by. And third: they’d been staged outside a Drake wedding on vineyard land which was currently attracting a lot of attention internationally.

I didn’t like where this was going. But more importantly, I didn’t like how this would affect our bottom line. 1080 on our land was bad enough. In our vineyard, it could be devastating. Add in a stock agent mouthing off about dirty wool at Red Tussock and we’re suddenly tainted.

Murder was a flash in the pan compared to all of that.

Chapter 19

Tonight

Maggie

Luke was distracted as he drove me back to the vineyard’s main carpark so I could uplift my car. The vet was on his way and Justin had said he’d keep an eye on things there. Charlie Davis, Red Tussock’s head foreman, had grumbled about work to do and slunk off. But I couldn't stay in borrowed track pants all day, so retrieving my car and heading home to change was important.

Leaving Luke, though, when he was so obviously worried, felt wrong.

“What sort of repercussions does this loss of stock incur?” I queried.

“Are you asking if it affects our bottom line?” He shook his head, but his eyes remained on the gravel road. “We’re not that small a farm.”

“30,000 merinos,” I said, repeating what he’d originally told me. “One hundred here or there can’t make a dent?”

He grimaced. His fingers flexing around the steering wheel. “I didn’t say that,” he said softly. “Our reputation will take a hit.”

“And your reputation’s important?”

“Of course.”

“I mean, it’s important to your bottom line?”

He pulled the ute to stop alongside my car and turned to look at me. “Why the questions about our bottom line, Sergeant?”

“Just trying to figure out why someone would do this. One hundred head of sheep is not a small amount, yet financially this wouldn’t harm you.”

“It could. In the long run. Especially if we can’t contain any contamination on the vineyard.”

“So, the perpetrator is targeting the vineyard, not the station’s merino?”

“It’s all Red Tussock land.”

And we were back to Red Tussock Holdings as a target.

I stared out of the windshield at the vineyard’s events centre. It looked barren and forlorn without the wedding guests to decorate its barn like structure.

“How many Red Tussock vehicles do you have?” I suddenly asked. “In particular, utes with the RED licence plate.”

“Why?”

“Just trying to get a scale for the size of this place.”

He stared at me a little too long. “A dozen.”

“So, RED 1, 2, 3, 4 and so on, up to 12?”

“Yes.”

“Can I have a list of all those who are assigned them? And which RED number is theirs?”

“Certainly,” he clipped. He was mad.

I didn’t think he was mad at me, per se. Just mad that I’d had to ask.

“But several of our vehicles are pool cars,” he added. “Any number of people could have access to them.”

That complicated things.

“Do they get signed out?”

“No. We’re a working station. We try to avoid paperwork, if we can.”

“So, where are they all kept?” I asked.

“RED 1 through 5 are assigned permanently to the family and Charlie, our head foreman. The rest get swapped around and used when required. Those in the pool can be anywhere at any given time. But most remain at the main shed in section one until someone needs a car.”

“Where’s section one?”

“Around the homestead. The heart of Red Tussock.”

That made sense.

“Do you have a map of the station, with the sections outlined?”

“Yes. I can get you one, if you’d like.”

“Please.”

“Maggie,” he said carefully. “Where is this going?”

I assumed he meant the investigation. Which I couldn’t discuss. But when I looked at him, I wasn’t so sure anymore. There was something there. Some sort of hurt or worry. It looked entirely too personal, entirely too related to me.

“What do you mean?” I hedged.

He reached up and touched my hair, running a couple of strands through his fingers. Then his hand dropped and he sighed, staring out of the windshield.

“I enjoyed last night,” he said.

“So did I.” His smile was fleeting.

“I intend to have you again,” he stated simply.

“Perhaps now’s not the right time,” I felt obliged to point out.

His head whipped around to face me, his eyes blazing with fury.

“I can accept an investigation on my station,” he declared. “I can even accept someone targeting us for nefarious reasons. But I will not accept you walking away from me.”

“You may not have a say.”

He reached over, wrapped a hand around my nape, and pulled me against his chest. I could have fought him. I should have fought him. I went willingly.

“You’re mine,” he husked, and then he was kissing me.

I kissed him back, I’m not going to lie. I grasped his shoulders, opened my mouth, and devoured him with equal passion. When his hand slipped under my t-shirt and snaked up to my breast, I finally pulled back.

It was daylight. Not dark on a deserted stretch of Red Tussock. The sun was shining. People were still cleaning the events centre, and at any moment the vet could arrive.

I wasn’t so far gone for this man that I couldn’t think clearly. And, clearly, now was not the time.

“I have to go,” I said. He hadn’t released my neck, and when he leaned forward, eyes closing, and rested his forehead against mine, I felt… torn. Unsure of myself. Wanting to comfort him, reassure him. Desperately reminding myself of what I was. Who he was. How wrong this was right now.

“Tonight,” he said. I started shaking my head. He pulled back and looked down at me, a hard glint to his dark eyes. “I’ll get the information you requested and we’ll meet to discuss it,” he advised. “Tonight.”

“We will?”

“Yes,” he said, unrelenting. “I will see you again, Maggie.” I couldn’t argue with that. I was investigating two crimes now on his land. “All of you,” he added. His thumb started stroking the side of my neck. “Every delicious inch.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Part of me wanted to adamantly refuse. I was in charge, damn it. Part of me wanted to beg he prove it. Right now.

“Tonight,” he repeated.

“Luke,” I said, gearing up to fire an argument back. Any argument would have sufficed, I wasn’t going to be picky. But I needed to remember what was at stake here. Not just a case, but my entire career.

I didn’t trust an unstable Senior Sergeant Matt Drake not to take this further. Not to take this where he should.

I was compromised, and I knew it. But when Luke stilled, his pupils dilating and his nostrils flaring, I didn’t make a sound.

“Say that again,” he ordered.

“Luke,” I immediately replied. As if his instruction alone was all I needed to comply.

“Fuck, Maggie,” he rasped. And then he was kissing me. Again.

Only this time, he hauled me over the centre console and onto his lap, pressing against my lower spine, making me feel his arousal. I stopped thinking. I stopped caring. Only his touch, his lips, his teeth as they scraped over soft flesh. His fingers as they roamed my body, slipping into the track pants, finding their target unerringly, all carried out with such predatory delight.

I was panting. He was moaning. And, oh, to hear that uncontrolled sound as it left his lips. To feel the way he gripped me, leaving indentations on my thighs. To taste him. Feel wrapped up in him. To smell his skin, his aftershave, him. It drove me wild.

And when his fingers found me wet and we both groaned out loud, I was sure I never wanted this moment to end.

“Come for me, baby,” he purred in my ear. “Say my name.”

I’d like to think I’m a self-reliant, independent woman. But with Luke Drake all around me and his hands on my body as if he owned it. And his rough, lust filled voice sounding out in my ear and the way he was touching me, stroking me, bringing me closer and closer to the edge. I combusted.

I shouted his name as his fingers delved deep and his thumb rubbed softly against my clit. Shuddering in his arms, I let him bring me back down again afterwards. Realising, belatedly, that I actually had no say in the matter at all; it was an illusion to tell myself I allowed him anything.

Luke Drake saw what he wanted and simply took it. And right then he wanted to softly bring me back to earth from a sky-rocketing climax, to draw out the moment, and make me imagine the next.

“Tonight,” he said in my ear, then nibbled on it.

I nodded my head. What else could I do? I was so far gone for this man, I already craved his touch.

I was already imagining what he would demand of my body next.

And I couldn’t wait for tonight to come.

Chapter 20

Everyone In Twizel’s Got A History

Luke

The phone hadn’t stopped ringing since I’d walked in here. It was ringing again now. I turned back to my desk and glared at it. Wondering which one of my nosy neighbours was on the line now.

“Drake,” I growled into the mouthpiece.

Sometimes Red Tussock wasn’t nearly as isolated as I’d have liked.

“Heard you lost some stock,” Devon McIntyre’s voice sounded out down the line.

“Wondered when you’d phone me,” I grumbled back.

“One hundred head,” he whistled, ignoring my jibe. “That’s gotta hurt.”

“We’ll manage.”

“You always do, Luke. But I’d hardly be a good neighbour if I didn’t ask.”

“And what exactly are you asking, Devon?”

I could practically hear his smile down the line. Devon McIntyre was always smiling about something.

“Was it 1080?” And there you have it. X marks the spot.

We were practically slap bang in the middle of no-man’s land. A great, big, black cross over Red Tussock on the map. Beware all ye who enter here.

I rubbed a hand over my face and sank into my chair.

“Don’t know,” I said.

Devon whistled low. “But you suspect.”

I liked Devon. Really I did. Shearing season, he’d be the first to strip down to his bare chest and grab a ewe and a pair of clippers, then set the pace for every shearer to match. Hard working, hard living, I’d drunk my fair share of whiskies with the man. It didn’t help that I’d gone to school with him. Spent every spare minute with him over at Lake Ruataniwha chasing the girls in the camp. Every New Years at Tekapo staring up at the stars. Every summer holidays up Mount Cook, hiking.

I considered him a close friend.

But Craggy Range Station was almost as big as Red Tussock and bordered our land. If we had an uncontrolled amount of 1080 on our station, he’d cut his losses, burn us and not look back.

“We’ve got it under control,” I said.

“I don’t doubt that you have,” he said quickly. “Where was it found?”

Well away from you, for now.

“It’s not been confirmed. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Just a friendly neighbourly chat, Luke,” he soothed. “Can’t I show concern for a good friend down on his luck?”

“Who said anything about being down on his luck?”

“Well,” he said, “there was that stock agent.”

I scowled at the phone’s base unit sitting on my desk.

“Down by the state highway, I heard,” he added.

“You heard correct.”

“Complete prick, but that doesn’t mean his death doesn’t affect us all. I was in Smokey’s that night, too, you know.”

I hadn’t seen him. I’d been too angry with Whiting to take in anyone else inside the crowded bar.

“Were you?” I said.

“Saw it all,” he happily pointed out to me. Great. Just fucking great. “He had it coming, you know.”

“What? Death?”

“No, that argument. Bloody hell, mate. You really let him have it. I was so damn sure you were going to throw a punch.”

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah, but he followed you outside. Not long after, in fact. I wouldn’t have been able to resist having a go at him out on the kerb.”

“I didn’t see him,” I said, stunned to hear that Whiting had left the tavern so soon after me. Maggie had already cleared me with Mum’s and then Dad’s accounts of that night. I didn’t want to think what this new tidbit of information could mean for my alibi.

“Yeah, he was staggering, so it wouldn’t have taken much for you to seek revenge.”

“Jesus, McIntyre. What do you take me for? I left and went home.”

“Is that what you told the cops?”

“Why the twenty questions, Devon?” I demanded, rapidly rescinding his friendship status.

“Just asking.”

“No, you’re prying and you might be a nosy prick at times, but you don't normally pry like this.”

Silence.

“Rumours are spreading, Luke,” he said softly after a while. “All over town.”

“Nothing strange about that. It’s Twizel.”

A scuffling sound made it down the line, as if Devon was nervous; shifting in his seat, organising paper on his desk, anything to not say what was on his mind.

“Spit it out,” I growled.

“Luke,” he said, “don’t shoot the messenger.”

“I won’t,” I promised, snapping a pencil in half with the force of my grip.

“The Herald’s in town.”

“The Timaru Herald,” I said, my lips suddenly numb.

“Yeah, and if they’re here, then the Mail will be too.” The Oamaru Mail. “And once they get here, you can bet your arse the Otago Times won’t be far behind. This’ll be on national television by mid-week.”

“Don’t you think you’re over exaggerating?” I felt obliged to say. “If they didn’t turn up for Whiting, why the hell would they be here for dead sheep?”

“1080 sells papers. 1080 and death sell even more.”

I huffed out a disgruntled breath.

“Red Tussock’s on everyone’s lips,” Devon added. “And Matt’s not doing a thing about it.”

“Jesus. This all happened this morning,” I complained aloud.

“I saw the reporter for the Herald when I picked up some lunch at Smokey’s. She was interviewing Mad Eye.”

“Tom won’t tell her anything. He’s not a gossip.”

“Nah, but who said reporters ever cite their sources. She could make shit up and declare her source anonymous while standing outside the Smoking Salmon, making everyone think Moody tattled.”

“Everyone outside of Twizel.” Mad Eye was as tight lipped as they came. I often wondered if he’d lost that hand and eye because he’d narked on someone and paid the price. Never to do so again.

Everyone in Twizel’s got a history.

“Just thought you should be prepared if you head into town,” Devon was saying. “Oh, and that new cop?”

“What about her?” I asked, closing my eyes to my fate and resigning myself.

“She was in Smokey’s too, listening to everything.”

Fucking great. Maggie getting corrupted by big city know-it-alls.

Fuck, who was I kidding? She used to be one. I could only hope she’d see through the reporter’s thin veneer to the harpy underneath.

I wasn’t so certain the stockyards would, though. Red Tussock was heading for bleak times ahead. And to think, lambing was just around the corner.

Lambing and therefore shearing season. Now, why did I think dirty wool would be on everyone’s lips. Dirty for more than one reason.

I hung up the call with Devon and dialled Justin. The vineyard was also going to take a hit.

Chapter 21

And Art Is To Be Shared

Maggie

This was the busiest I’d seen Twizel get since I’d arrived here. I pushed through Smokey’s front door, shutting in the hubbub of late lunch diners, and stared off down the street. Mac and Annmarie were talking to a reporter. The same one I’d seen inside the tavern talking to Hook. The barman had breezed through the interrogation with the dazzling skills of an uninterested rhino. No matter how the pretty little woman from the Timaru Herald had put the questions to him, his answer had always been the same.

“Nope. Didn’t see nothing.”

I’d smiled into my orange juice and watched the reporter get more and more frustrated.

Somehow I’d remained out of her sights, but Mac and Annmarie hadn’t been so lucky. I was tempted to stroll down the path and rescue them. At the very least, eavesdrop from a shop width away. But I couldn’t risk being associated with the public face of the case. Too many people, granted Red Tussock people, saw me leaving Luke’s bed just today.

I looked across the street and took in the camera lens angles outside the souvenir shop. If the reporter was worth her salt, she’d head there next. I gave Mac and Annmarie one last look and crossed the road, dodging a quad bike, two dusty utes, and a horse sans rider. I shook my head, but didn’t stop to corral the lost beast. Pushing open the door to Alicia Parson’s shop, I was greeted with the unusual sight of a floating fish, as it made its way between the over stuffed displays, its caudal fin gently swaying in the still air.

“Heads up, Sergeant!” Alicia said from behind the counter. “Almost caught yourself a salmon.”

The fish ‘swam’ off towards the front window of the shop and just hung there, suspended in mid-air, big bulbous eyes watching the busy-for-Twizel street.

“Got a new friend?” I asked, walking around the obstacles until I could see her. She had a remote control in her hand and was watching something on its small screen.

“New surveillance tool,” she said cheerfully. “See here,” she added, pointing to the screen. “It’s got an auto-iris lens, which means I can manoeuvre the camera into and out of shadows without loss of image quality. I can pan and zoom toggling this switch here. And the resolution is magnificent. 4K. You can’t get better than that.”

“In a salmon,” I pointed out.

“Well, it was either that or a shark. And we don’t have many sharks in Twizel.” I wanted to point out we didn’t have many flying salmon either. “Well,” she added, “not that kind of shark anyway.” She laughed at her witticism then.

“I like it,” I said, watching the salmon float along the front window. “But I do think people would notice it.”

“Not ideal for clandestine observations,” Alicia agreed.

“Do you carry out many clandestine observations?” I asked.

“Tsk tsk, Sergeant. That would be telling.”

“Fair enough.”

“You’ve noticed the reporter,” she said mildly. Not much got past this clandestine observer.

“Hard not to. Has she been in to see you?”

Alicia smiled. It was entirely too knowing for a souvenir shop owner.

“I dare say she will be in due course.”

“And what do you plan to share with her?” I enquired.

“I serve the public, Sergeant.” Just what I was afraid of.

“I’d rather you didn’t share the video surveillance of James Whiting.” Sometimes a direct approach is best.

“Ah,” she said, placing the remote control for the flying salmon down on the counter carefully. “And would that be a personal request or an official one?”

I blinked. “Official, of course.”

She pursed her lips tightly together and turned her attention to her stacked CCTV screens. Pressing buttons and spinning a dial, she produced video coverage of the night Whiting had died. I could tell it was the same night, not only from the convenient date stamp in the bottom right corner, but from the ‘Happy Hour’ sign on the front door to Smokey’s.

“I’ve already seen this,” I said.

“Not this, you haven’t.”

Had she held something back? Or had she discovered something after I visited with her yesterday?

The door to Smokey’s opened on the screen, light spilled out over the footpath. A shadowed figure burst through the opening and came to an abrupt stop just outside the now swinging shut door, then ran a hand through his dishevelled hair in a familiar movement. He was tall, broad shouldered, and wearing jeans with a heavy jacket. Stubble edged his hard jaw.

Stubble I had become intimately acquainted with.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Just watch,” she said softly.

Luke shook himself visibly, control sweeping down over his thrumming frame in the next heartbeat. And then he was crossing the street and heading off camera.

“Can you follow him?” I asked.

“Yes, but you need to see this first.”

The door to Smokey’s opened again, this time the familiar figure of James Whiting staggered out onto the path. Barely five minutes had passed on the screen from the time Luke emerged from the tavern until Whiting came out and vomited down the drain.

Five minutes.

“What time does that say?” I asked, my body numbing.

“Just after nine-thirty in the evening,” Alicia offered. I could feel her keen gaze on my face.

How long did it take to drive from Twizel out to Red Tussock? How accurate could Luke’s parents be with their timeline for his arrival home that night? Damn it, I needed a confirmed time of death. I breathed deeply through my nose and forced myself to look directly at Alicia Parsons.

“Anything else you’d like to show me, Ms Parsons?”

“Alicia, please, Sergeant. We’re friends.”

“We are?”

“I like you,” she said simply. “If I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t be helping you out.”

I wasn’t so sure that was the case.

“Can I have a copy of all your surveillance footage for that evening, please?” I asked, sounding exactly as a police sergeant should.

“Well, that is a little more complicated.”

“How is it complicated?”

“I’ll need to see a warrant.”

I almost laughed. This was fucking Twizel. No one obeyed the rules here. But Alicia Parsons, who was ‘helping me out’ needed to be ordered by law to hand over her tapes.

“Why?” I asked.

“We might be friends, Sergeant. But an artist must protect her copyrights.”

My brow arched. “Copyrights?”

She waved a hand toward her CCTV screens. “This is my work. My art, you see,” she said. “I will not part with it willingly.”

As far as an argument went, it made a certain kind of Twizel sense. Alicia Parsons was a voyeur, who considered her electronic surveillance of the Twizel town centre to be a form of art. I stared at her, unsure if a word she had said was the truth. There was something about this woman that set my alarm bells clanging. I couldn’t pinpoint it exactly. But, come on! Who has thousands of dollars worth of state of the art video equipment in and around their small town souvenir shop?

I nodded my head and offered a smile. I hoped it didn’t look too fake. Now that I was aware of that tell, I was making an effort to be convincing. I wasn’t sure it was working, but rather making me look unhinged instead.

“OK, then,” I finally said. “Can I at least ask that you don’t share it with the press?”

“But it is art, Sergeant. And art is to be shared.”

“But not handed to the police to assist in an investigation into a suspicious death?”

She smiled. It was more believable than mine, at a guess.

“I have helped, have I not?” she queried.

“You’ve been a wonderful source of information, Ms Parsons.”

“Alicia,” she repeated. I just smiled.

I said my farewells then, eager to be away from this peculiar woman, and walked back out onto the street. The salmon followed me.

“Does it have audio?” I asked, holding the door open so its tail fin wouldn’t get crushed.

“Oh, yes,” Alicia replied enthusiastically. “Bluetooth transmission right to the base unit.”

Great. She waved as I closed the door and the salmon floated away. I watched it for a moment, then scanned the street for Mac. I couldn’t spot the senior constable and his recruit. Nor could I see the Timaru Herald woman.

I took that as a good sign and headed toward my police car. When I rolled the unit past Smokey’s, I started the stopwatch app on my cell phone. And then drove flat out towards Red Tussock.

Chapter 22

Step Back, Please

Luke

Maggie was here. I could see her vehicle from the office window as it made its way up our long drive. She wasn’t going slowly. Not hard out, but not dead slow either. I scratched at my jaw and felt my eyes narrow.

“Something wrong, boss?” Charlie asked from over my shoulder. We’d been going through staff schedules and stock weights.

“Maggie’s here,” I said.

“Maggie?”

“Sergeant Blackmore.” It angered me that I couldn’t, shouldn’t, call her by her first name. After last night, she was only Maggie to me. But after this morning, I wasn’t so sure.

“Back again?” Charlie mused. “She’s got a bee in her bonnet over those sheep, at a guess.”

“It’s not just the sheep,” I corrected him. “A man was found dead on our property, of course the police will be asking questions.”

“What do you know about it, though?”

“Same as you, but that’s irrelevant. Dead man and dead sheep don’t exactly add up.”

I turned away from the window and met Charlie’s gaze. Maggie was still a good minute or more away from arriving.

“So, why isn’t Matt looking into it?” he asked.

“Matt trusts his staff.”

Charlie scoffed at that. I could hardly blame him. Matt had been AWOL for a while.

“You better get on to that rota,” I said, nodding to the sheet of paper in his hand.

“OK, boss. Anything else?”

I shook my head and Charlie sauntered out of the office. Taking a moment or two to straighten my desk, I tried to decide if Maggie’s arrival was a good thing or not. Failing to come up with an answer to that, I stopped fussing with my paperwork and flicked my gaze out of the window again. Maggie was pulling her vehicle through the homestead’s gates. Charlie’s ute had already left, taking the back access road up to the main shed, probably.

Allowing myself a brief second to straighten my shirt, I strode out of the office and down the stairs. By the time I reached Maggie, she was out of her car, staring closely at the two remaining Red Tussock Rangers on the circular return.

I stopped at the top of the steps to the veranda and crossed my arms over my chest and just watched. She must have sensed my arrival, because she pulled back from looking in Matt’s truck and offered a smile.

I could almost believe it to be real.

“You’re early,” I said.

“I missed you,” she replied, this time the smile was genuine.

I couldn’t help but smile back. I started walking toward her, taking my time, dragging out the moment. “I’m not above taking advantage of your infatuation,” I admitted.

This time it was Maggie who crossed her arms over her chest.

“Really?” she asked. “And what of your insistence that we meet again tonight?”

“Reality,” I growled, moving closer.

“You live in a very different reality to me, Mr Drake.”

“Maggie,” I drawled. “Are we back to that?” I closed in on her, entering her personal space, forcing her back against Matt’s truck. “If you insist on calling me Mr Drake, I’ll insist on tying you up.”

“Tying me up?” She looked alarmed.

“Making you beg,” I said, wrapping my hand around the back of her neck.

“I don’t beg.”

“Sweetheart, you were begging all last night. And you’ll be begging again, if I say anything about it.”

“You can be extremely cocky for a farmer,” she growled.

I let out a huff of laughter. “And you can be very stubborn for a cop. I will have you again, Maggie. With or without the handcuffs.”

She held my gaze, her pulse fluttering under my thumb. I applied a little pressure, making it thrum. Licking her lips, she sliced her eyes away. I wanted to demand she look back at me. I wanted to tip her head back and devour her mouth. I made a sound, poised to pounce.

And Maggie said, “Red Tussock’s a long way from town.”

What? “Yeah.”

“Took me twenty minutes to get here,” she said.

“You must have been booking it. Lights and sirens?” I asked on a smile.

Her eyes came back to my face and got snagged on my mouth.

“Were you that keen to see me, Mags?” I said, sounding way too sure of myself now.

Her lips thinned. “No pet names.”

“Mags isn’t a pet name. Just an abbreviation of your given name.”

“I’ve already got one abbreviation, I don’t need another.”

“So, it’s Margaret, then?”

“I prefer Maggie.”

“So do I.”

We stared at each other, tension zinging down both our frames. I wanted so badly to kiss her, taste her, consume her, but something was holding me back. Not my fucking libido, that was for sure. My body was tight, my blood was pumping, my skin on fire, desperate for her touch.

My head had other thoughts about the whole seduction thing.

“Why are you here, Maggie?” I asked.

She bit her lip. I’d never seen Maggie bite her lip before. It was cute, in a distracting kind of way, but it wasn’t the Maggie I’d come to know in such a short amount of time. Hell, she hadn’t even bitten her lip when she’d waltzed into the kitchen the morning after the wedding. And Maggie had been nervous then.

“What’s going on?”

“I can’t say.”

I stilled, my hand at her neck aching to flex. To pull her closer. Hold her tighter. Not let this woman get away.

“Am I a suspect again?” I asked, my voice leaden.

Her eyes came up to meet mine. “Twenty minutes,” she said. “Twenty minutes from outside Smokey’s to Red Tussock’s last remaining gate. That’s not enough time.”

“Time for what?”

She let out a long breath of air and stepped away.

“There’s video footage of you leaving Smokey’s.”

Shit. I didn’t like this.

“Just after nine-thirty Friday night.”

“Yeah?” I pressed, because despite her insistence on not sharing with me, this looked pretty fucking much like sharing right now.

“Twenty minutes if you went flat out from town to here.”

“I don’t understand.” But I was thinking I did. I was a suspect again. And Maggie was slipping away.

“It’s not enough time.” She shook her head, her eyes snagging on something inside Matt’s ute. Her whole body stilled. Her hand fucking went to her sidearm. I took a step backwards, my heart in my throat, my eyes bugging, sweat - fucking sweat! - beading my brow.

“Whose vehicle is this?” Maggie demanded. This time when she looked at me she was all cop.

I just stared at her.

“I’m searching this vehicle under suspicion that it contains evidence pertaining to a crime.”

“Maggie?” I asked.

“Step back, please.”

“Maggie, what the fuck?”

Her fingers reached for the door handle to the truck. I stepped forward, scanning the interior of the cab, coming up blank, while I placed my hand over hers, halting her progress.

“Don’t do this,” I murmured.

She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Step back,” she said, voice quiet.

Fuck.

I stepped back. What else could I do? Maggie wasn’t Maggie right now. She was Sergeant Blackmore, searching my brother’s car because she’d seen something to make her react.

I don’t know what I expected her to pull out of Matt’s Ranger, but it wasn’t a simple wallet. She held it carefully between her finger and thumb by the very edge, then used a glove from her pocket to prevent further transfer of prints on the leather. And then she opened it up.

“Whose vehicle is this?” she repeated.

“Whose wallet is that?” I shot back.

She looked at me then. I couldn’t read her eyes. I couldn’t read her face. This was the cop I’d first met. Unreadable.

“Maggie?” I tried.

“It’s James Whiting’s wallet, Mr Drake. Now who the fuck drives this truck?”

Chapter 23

That Explained A Lot

Maggie

Oh, God. I couldn’t tell the trucks apart. I couldn’t see the licence plates from where I was standing. And I couldn’t seem to walk the few steps required to prove this wasn’t Luke’s truck, but someone else's.

Someone else who belonged to Red Tussock and had possession of James Whiting’s missing wallet.

Please, God. Please.

“It’s Matt’s,” Luke said, sounding stunned.

He should be stunned. I’d been stunned. And now I was relieved, which was just plain wrong.

“OK,” I said.

“OK?” Luke repeated, incredulously. “How is this OK?”

It’s not your vehicle, I wanted to say. Instead, I said, “There’ll be an explanation.” Either one that condemned Matt Drake or exonerated him.

“Damn straight there’s an explanation. Just ask Matt.”

“I plan to,” I said, finally making my legs move.

I walked to the back of my car and opened the boot. Reaching in, I grabbed an evidence bag from my case box, then slipped the wallet inside, sealing it closed. Sealing it away, as if I could seal away this clue. For a second, I just stared at it. What the hell was Matt Drake doing with Whiting’s wallet? And why the hell did he leave it visible, out on the front seat of his ute, for anyone to see? Not only visible, but Whiting’s drivers license had slipped out, making it damn near impossible to miss the significance of the item sitting alone on the front passenger seat.

None of this made sense. But right now, I needed to calm Luke.

“This is ridiculous!” he shouted, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Matt’s got nothing to do with this.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I said. “Where is he?”

“I…” He shook his head. “Maggie,” he said. It sounded lost and afraid and cautious. “I’m not sure how much I should be helping you.”

“Do you want Matt cleared of this crime?” I immediately demanded.

“Of course!”

“Then work with me.”

“But…”

“There’s no ‘but’, only the truth.”

He started to pace. Gravel got kicked up from under his boots. The sun shone into my eyes, making me squint. It was lower in the sky, heading towards Mount Glenmary. Making the snow-capped mountains sparkle like a swathe of diamonds, scattered across the landscape.

How could such a beautiful place be steeped in so much misery?

“He went riding,” Luke finally said.

“Why?”

He turned and looked at me, his eyes begging me not to ask the hard questions. But where Matt Drake was concerned, all the questions seemed to be hard.

“Luke,” I said, moving closer. He stiffened. He wouldn’t have welcomed contact from me right then.

I felt a chasm inside me widen. A hole emerge. I was familiar with its bleakness. I’d only just managed to fill Michael’s hole inside me. With this man.

I swallowed and let out a soft breath of air. “Luke,” I said again. “I need to know what’s going on. If I can find a valid reason for this wallet being inside Matt’s truck, then I can clear him of any wrongdoing.”

He nodded his head, his lips firmly closed.

“Did he know James Whiting?” I asked.

“Matt doesn’t have much to do with the station,” he finally allowed. Every word seemed to be torn out of him. “He owns shares, we all do. So he sits in on shareholder meetings. But, as a rule, he leaves the day to day running to me and Justin.”

“So, he wouldn’t have ever met James Whiting?”

Luke shook his head. “I can’t see any reason for them to have crossed paths.”

I looked out towards the mountains, letting my eyes burn from the sun’s low rays.

“You mentioned he has a drinking problem,” I said softly. “Does that mean he frequented Smokey’s often?”

Luke shook his head again, frustration marring his features. “He only started drinking heavily about six months ago. Before then, he was straight as an arrow.”

“The good cop,” I guessed.

“His job was everything to him.” Hard to believe now.

I swiped my fringe out of my eyes and looked back at Matt’s vehicle. “I’m going to have to search it thoroughly,” I admitted.

“Ah,” he muttered, looking uncomfortable. “Don’t you need a search warrant for that?”

Fucking Twizel and their search warrants.

My turn to shake my head. “Not now.” I nodded toward the evidence bag in my boot.

“Oh,” he said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “I see.”

“Do you want to watch?” I asked. “Or would it be easier for you to step away?”

He narrowed his eyes at me, then pulled his hands free of his pockets and crossed his arms over his chest. Defiantly. “I’ll watch, thank you.”

My heart weighed a thousand tonnes. My body felt bone weary. I nodded my head, donned latex gloves, and started sifting through the interior of the Ranger. RED 4. That’s what the licence plate said. I was surprised Matt had a Red Tussock truck; I’d seen him in a police ute, as well.

“Why does he have a Red Tussock Ranger?” I asked over my shoulder.

“It pays to have more than one vehicle in Mackenzie Country,” Luke offered. “He keeps this one on rangeland. Uses it, sometimes, when he wants to cut himself off from his day job.”

I stood up from the driver’s side doorway and looked across the bonnet of the car toward Luke. “Like, if he wants to go out for a drink?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t make a difference. Everyone in town knows he’s the Twizel senior sergeant. But occasionally, he’d take the family for a trip up Mount Cook. Or across to Timaru. Things like that. He used this truck for when he wanted to be… normal.”

Normal family. Normal husband and father.

“Where’s his wife?” I asked, leaning back down again to continue searching. I hadn’t met Mrs Matt Drake. I’d gathered she wasn’t around. I certainly hadn’t seen her at the homestead or with her daughters. Matt was always alone. The twins, as far as I’d seen, and admittedly I’d not seen much, had always been with a relative.

Mrs Senior Sergeant Matt Drake was missing from this normal, happy family.

Luke hadn’t answered my question, so I pushed myself back out of the truck and stood up. He was staring hard at me, a puzzled expression on his face. His head cocked, lips thinned. Dark, turbulent eyes unblinking.

“No one’s told you,” he said. Not a question, but I replied.

“Told me what?”

Luke uncrossed his arms and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Missy died six months ago,” he said. “Driving a Red Tussock truck.”

I grimaced. “A car accident.”

“You could say that.”

I met his eyes. “What would you say, Luke?”

He blinked. Then blinked again. Then offered a shake of his head and a sigh.

“It was no accident,” he said. “Haven’t got proof of that, of course. But it was no accident.”

Shit. This didn’t sound good.

“Why not?”

“Damn it, Maggie. This is Matt’s story to tell.”

I shook my head, feeling infinitely sorry for doing this. But Matt Drake lost the opportunity to come clean, when a dead man’s missing wallet turned up in his car.

“Not anymore,” I said. “Help him, by helping me. How was it not an accident?”

“She had the twins in the car.”

I stilled. Images flashing through my mind. Not a car accident, but something else. Guns firing. Muzzles flaring. Dead bodies in a pile on plush carpet.

Michael.

“What happened?” I asked, swallowing thickly.

Luke looked terrible. Utterly spent.

“She drove into a ravine along Mount Cook Road.”

I frowned.

“How was that not an…”

“Missy drove like a nana when she had the twins in the ute. The tyre marks on the tar seal indicated she was only going about forty. It was a straight stretch. Wide part of the road. It looked like she had pulled the vehicle over, as well. Maybe turning to check on the girls? But somehow the ute ended up sixty metres down a ravine, crushed beyond recognition, Missy dead in the cab, the twins sitting on the side of the road. Unharmed. But not saying a thing.”

Holy fucking shit. That explained a lot. And also nothing.

Matt Drake was still number one suspect for James Whiting’s death.

And now I had a second suspicious death to deal with.

Chapter 24

Fuck!

Luke

Help him, by helping me. I was a fucking idiot, falling for shit like that. Falling for her. I watched as her police issue vehicle slowly drove back down the driveway, much slower than it had arrived. Because she wasn’t fucking timing it, of course. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, scowling.

Damn it! Despite feeling like I was trapped in a never ending cycle of betrayal, I still hadn’t wanted Maggie to leave. She was only doing her job. And I knew, realistically, that to clear Matt’s name, she needed to ask those types of questions. And she’d been careful. So fucking careful. Voice soft. Face concerned. Heart in her eyes.

But I’d still had to watch her leave. Because she was on the clock. And Matt was her prime suspect.

Fucking hell. James Whiting’s wallet in Matt’s ute. It didn’t make a lick of sense.

I looked out toward the ranges, toward where Matt would have gone for a ride. He’d looked fit for a hard workout earlier, but even Matt would have to return before the sun got much lower. I scrubbed my face and started toward the stables.

Matt was already there when I arrived. The stallion’s black coat shining with sweat, the brush forgotten at its side. A bottle of Dewars was open and in Matt’s hand, three quarters full, as he sat in a pile of hay inside an empty stall, staring at nothing.

“When did you get in?” I asked, purposely not mentioning the liquor.

“A while ago.”

I took in the horse as it ate from a feed bag. Its saddle and bridle had been removed, but it hadn’t had a rub down. Nobody leaves their horse like that. Unless a bottle of whisky’s calling.

I picked up the brush, rubbed it along the outside of my thigh to free the bristles, and then got to work.

“You don’t have to do that,” Matt said. “I would have got around to it.”

“He’s cold and wet, and needs a good brushing.”

“Fuck, I said I’d do it,” Matt growled, placing his bottle down on the floor purposefully and pushing to his feet. He didn’t stagger, but his eyes were glassy in the dimming light.

“Then grab another brush and help.” I nodded toward the other side of the horse. “We’ll do it together.”

Matt grumbled indistinctly, but did as I suggested. In five minutes the horse was clean and closing its eyes. We kept brushing for another five, massaging its flank, scrubbing along its haunches. It huffed out a satisfied breath as I led it into a free stall, then closed its tired looking eyes, ready for much needed rest. Matt must have ridden it hard. Running from his life.

I walked back to find Matt already into the whisky again. He was leaning against the far wall of the stall, staring up at me, a question in his dull looking eyes.

“Let’s hear it, then,” he said. “The lecture.” He wiggled the bottle in the air, making the amber liquid slosh from side to side.

I stepped into the enclosure and then slid down the stall wall, settling my arse on hopefully clean straw. I rested my forearms on my bent knees and stared at nothing.

“Must be serious,” Matt quipped. “You’re not yelling.”

“I should be,” I said, accepting the bottle from Matt and taking a swig. I handed it back and closed my eyes.

“What’s going on?” Matt asked, almost sounding like his old self. “I thought this little visit would be about the drinking. Again.”

I held my hand out for another chance at the bottle, took a deep pull once he’d handed it back, and then held onto it. I didn’t want the fucking thing to go flying.

“Sergeant Blackmore’s been visiting,” I said.

“You mean, Maggie.” He let out a laugh. “Or do you call her Sergeant when you’re fucking?”

Drunks can be mean. Matt is not one of them. Usually he keeps to himself, laughs at nothing, is the first one to suggest a midnight skinny dip in the river. But Matt since losing Missy was another story.

I ignored the jibe and placed the bottle down carefully on the floor beside me. I didn’t trust myself not to throw it.

“This is serious, Matt.” I said. “Deadly so.”

He hung his head for a moment and then rolled it back on his shoulders and stared up at the roof of the barn.

“I’m not in the mood for serious, bro,” he said.

“James Whiting’s wallet was found in your truck,” I blurted, before he could cut and run.

“The fuck?” he said, sounding stunned.

I looked him in the eye. The glassiness had vanished.

“What the hell, Luke?” he exclaimed. “I didn’t even know the man.”

“You never gave him a lift somewhere?” I pressed.

“No.”

“Never crossed paths with him in town?”

He scowled and shook his head.

“At Smokey’s?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re my brother! Do you seriously think I could do something to harm another man? Or is this all on Maggie? Sorry, Sergeant Blackmore. Has she got you so gagging for it, you forget your family ties and start throwing around accusations?”

I reached out with my right boot and kicked him hard in the shins. “Don’t be a fucking prick.”

“Look who’s talking, arsehole,” he said, rubbing his leg where my boot had connected. “I’m a fucking cop. I would never kill someone.”

“I know,” I said on a frustrated sigh. “I know, OK. But, Matt, how did it get there?”

“I have no idea,” he said, looking calmer. Looking lost. “I’ve no fucking idea.” Shaking his head.

“Does she have a cause of death yet?” I asked.

“How the fuck would I know?” Said without any heat at all. “She doesn’t advise me of a damn thing.”

“You’ve hardly been the involved senior sergeant,” I pointed out.

“Fuck,” he said on a sigh. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” His head banged back against the side of the stall with each word, making Zoro snort and Meg whinny. “Fuck,” he repeated.

We sat in silence for a while. I was tempted to pick the Dewars up again and have a drink. Instead I asked, “Why was Missy on that road?”

His head jerked as his eyes shot to me. “This again? I told you, I don’t know.”

“You’d fought, right?” I pressed.

“Yeah,” he said, resigned. “We’d fought. She’d stormed out, taking the kids.”

“And she’d headed toward Mount Cook,” I finished for him.

“I’ve asked myself, a thousand times, why was she on that stretch of road? Why? No matter what I speculate, all I can up with is…” He stalled. Saying the obvious was too damn hard.

“She was meeting up with him,” I said.

“Whoever the fuck he was.”

My brother is a lot of things. Loyal. Dedicated. Tenacious. Funny. Well, he used to be all of those things. But he was never forgiving. Betrayal of any kind is not tolerated. Hell, he’d even become a cop to right that kind of wrong.

And Missy had betrayed him in the worst possible way. She was family. The mother of his girls. His wife.

What would Matt have done when he found out she’d been stepping out on him? What would I do if it was me?

Fuck!

And what the hell did all of this have to do with James Whiting?

Chapter 25

I Had A Very Bad Feeling About All Of This

Maggie

The autopsy report appeared in my email inbox at half past two on Monday. I rubbed my eyes, stretched my neck, and opened the attached file.

The night had been long and unadventurous. I hadn’t been able to sleep at all. I’d tossed and turned, thinking of Luke and how lost he’d seemed. How the weight of the Drake family was pressing down on his shoulders. How his brother’s involvement in this case had added to the mix, making him almost lose it, completely.

I’d seen it before. So many times. When one person was head of the family, in charge of the firm, in control of the finances, accountable to all the rest. Luke Drake was station manager of a large farm, answering to many shareholders. All of them family.

They say you shouldn’t work with family. That it only leads to disgruntlement and fall outs. The Drake family seemed close, and hell, from the looks of it, so did other station families all around Twizel. But I couldn’t imagine the pressure would be any less, just because the people you answered to had seen you in nappies and attended your twenty-first birthday bash.

I’d felt sorry for him. Inordinately worried for him. And that had clouded my judgement. No matter which way I’d tossed and turned last night, I hadn’t been able to dismiss Matt’s implied involvement. Wallets don’t just find their own way into cars.

I blinked as I stared at the computer screen, my eyes gritty, my stomach roiling. Nothing I’d done this morning had helped in the slightest, either. Hook remained mute. Alicia wasn’t sharing anymore of her art. And the judge hadn’t called me back with the go ahead for the video surveillance warrant.

And Matt Drake was missing in action.

I reread the first line of the autopsy for the third time. Slowly the words filtered through my exhausted brain.

Indication of hypoxia to extremities. Ventricular necrosis. Fluid in the lungs. Evidence of early stage metabolic deficiency present in several organs, including liver, kidneys, and testes. And over 200 mg of sodium fluoroacetate in his stomach.

Cause of death: An accumulation of citrate in the blood leading to cardiac arrest and respiratory failure. Time of death: Between 2 - 2:30 am, Saturday.

A hand written line had been added to the scanned document stating sodium fluoroacetate, otherwise known as 1080, is highly toxic to humans and presents as an accumulation of citrate in the victim’s blood.

Whiting had been killed by rat poison.

I leaned back in my chair and thought. Then sprang forward again and lifted up the handset to my desk phone. Within minutes, I had confirmation from the vet that the sheep on Red Tussock land had been killed in much the same way as Whiting.

But none of this made any sense. Why kill Whiting using 1080 and then kill sheep on your own land with the same poison, thereby linking the two crimes? Add on top of that the sudden appearance of the dead man’s missing wallet in a Red Tussock ute and you’ve got ‘too easy’ written all over the case file.

This was too easy and yet, I couldn’t figure it out.

I reached for the phone again and looked up the number for the Timaru Hospital pathology lab. I was put on hold for a good five minutes, but finally struck gold when the chief pathologist, who was visiting from Christchurch, picked up the call.

“We don’t actually see too many poisonings by 1080, Sergeant,” he said in answer to my question. “But what I can tell you is, it’s likely the victim’s meal prior to death was substantial in order for him to consume enough of the sodium fluoroacetate to facilitate cardiac arrest. It wasn’t in pellet form; no partially digested fragments turned up in the stomach contents. So, we can rule out him mistaking it for a party drug. From what I’m seeing here, it was most likely milled into a paste and added to the meal. But I can’t believe it would have tasted pleasant, even disguised in such a way as that.”

“Would being under the influence of the amount of alcohol found in Whiting’s body account for that?”

“Account for his lack of taste? Yes, undoubtedly. He was quite inebriated. But still, mistaking sodium fluoroacetate made into a paste as a garnish for his post-pub meal is stretching it.”

I stared back at the email containing the autopsy report.

“You don’t mention any injuries indicative of him being forced.”

“There were none.”

“So, the meal was consumed willingly.”

“It’s hard to say, but from the evidence as it stands, yes. Of course, ethanol has a hand in that theory, too. The amount of alcohol Mr Whiting consumed prior to death was substantial and could have made him quite pliable.”

“Any way to determine time of ETOH consumption?” I queried.

“Not really. It could be he’d consumed more ethanol than what remained in his blood stream and was found in his stomach contents at death, as some of it had metabolised already. Or what was found is indicative of time of consumption. To give you a time in that regard, though, would be misleading. And wouldn’t be admissible in court,” he added. “As for the partially digested food: Estimated time of consumption would be three to five hours prior to death. Metabolisms vary; I can’t be more precise than that.”

I stared at the items listed as being in Whiting’s stomach. Meat, vegetables, and a carbohydrate substance which could indicate pastry. All mixed together in a partially digested sauce. He’d eaten a pie laced with 1080.

“Thank you, Doctor,” I said, having heard enough.

“You’re welcome, Sergeant. And good luck.”

He rang off, leaving me staring at the computer screen and trying to picture Senior Sergeant Matt Drake baking a pie. Of course, he could have bought one and lifted the lid, painted the contents in the 1080 paste, and covered it back up again. In Whiting’s inebriated state, he wouldn’t have noticed his food had been tampered with.

Had the victim vomited outside of Smokey’s due to overindulgence of alcohol or because he’d eaten a poisoned pie?

Even autopsies weren’t definitive. I still had too many unanswered questions.

But what I did know was Luke Drake had been nowhere near James Whiting at his time of death. Unless Matt Drake took the man home to Red Tussock, and the parents and brother were covering up their baking session in the homestead’s kitchen at midnight.

I snorted out loud, garnering the attention of Sheila.

“What’s so funny, Maggie? Share the joke.”

“Life,” I said. “Life’s fucking funny and then it twists the knife in your back.”

Sheila came out from behind the divide that hid the officers’ desks from the front of the station. I reached forward and clasped the mouse, dragging the cursor to the tiny x, forcing myself to be casual in my movements. The autopsy report vanished, and only then did I meet the receptionist’s eye.

“What’s brought this on?” she asked, not even sparing the computer a glance.

It could be that Sheila Cooper was more astute than that, and didn’t showcase her talents quite so obviously as to be caught staring at the computer screen whilst spying. The woman certainly knew a hell of a lot of what was going on in and around Twizel.

Which meant…

“What do you know about Missy Drake?”

The small smile that had been gracing her lips vanished and then she sighed.

“He finally told you.” I didn’t correct her. “That’s a start, I suppose.”

She looked out into the empty reception area, and then said, “Come on. Let’s go get a coffee.”

“A coffee?”

“I need to be far away from here when I talk about this,” she said on a weighted sigh.

Sheila turned on her heel, her fuchsia and aqua muumuu swaying alarmingly, provocatively even, despite its generous size. I stared after her for a long moment, and then made sure I was signed out of my email account and the computer was shut down before I followed.

I had a very bad feeling about all of this. And leaving trails behind me didn’t seem wise.

Chapter 26

Bad Fucking Timing

Luke

I finished loading the fence palings into the back of the ute. Charlie had missed them off this morning’s order and as he’d discovered a broken segment to the section four fence, it needed to be addressed immediately. It was the sort of thing I should be telling Maggie. The sheep, which found themselves on vineyard land, could well have escaped section four through this gap in the fence.

Of course, how they covered that sort of distance between section four and the vineyard was anyone’s guess. But it wasn’t impossible; there was a rough track we used for recreational riding. In fact, it led to the ridge Matt would have ridden yesterday. In his current blinkered and alcohol fuelled state, he’d probably missed the broken fence completely.

I sighed. I had absolutely no idea how to reach my brother. And the longer it took for him to kick his own arse out of the gutter, the worse it got. Hell, even the timber yard was talking about Matt now.

Everyone was.

I slammed the tailgate of the ute shut and turned to walk around the side to the driver’s door. A guy in a suit and fucking tie caught my attention before I could get in, waving out from across the carpark. He picked up pace and jogged over toward me. I didn’t recognise him and he didn’t have the look of a stock agent about him. Of course, iLovestock were a pack of wankers and this could be Whiting’s boss. Here to grill me.

I leaned back against the Ranger and narrowed my eyes, waiting for him to reach me. If iLivestock thought they could add to the clusterfuck that was Red Tussock’s standing in the farming community, they had another fucking thing coming.

“Mr Drake?” the man asked, reaching into his pocket and drawing out a card. “Luke Drake?”

I nodded my head as he handed over his business card.

“My name’s Mark Everett. I’m a senior investigator with the IPCA.”

“IPCA?” I queried looking down at the card. Not iLivestock. But not good either.

“Independent Police Complaints Authority,” the guy said. “I’m glad I caught you. I didn’t fancy turning up at Red Tussock unannounced.”

“There is such a thing as a phone,” I pointed out.

“Yes,” he said, a glint of amusement reaching his eyes. He’d had no intention of ‘announcing’ his arrival in Twizel.

“You’re a long way from home, Mr Everett,,” I remarked. His card said Wellington. IPCA was located within a spitting distance of Police National Headquarters at a guess.

“Yes. I roam the country when required.”

“And you’re required here,” I guessed.

“I think you know why,” he said carefully.

I pocketed his card and turned toward the front of my vehicle.

“This won’t go away,” Everett said. “Your brother has been on our watch list for several months.”

I said nothing, reaching for the door handle of my ute.

“You could make this so much easier for him and the Twizel Police Station if you cooperated.”

I looked over my shoulder and held his knowing stare. I hated him on principle. This fucktard had heard rumours, nothing more. And had decided to investigate. Matt was a good cop. At least, he used to be. He was going through shit right now, but that did not mean he was corrupt or had broken any laws and needed to be treated like a criminal.

“I have nothing to say,” I said, opening my car door and sliding into the seat.

Everett stepped forward, blocking the door so I couldn’t close it.

“I’ll be in town for a while,” he offered. “Staying at the Mackenzie Country Inn. The more involved you are in the investigation, the less likely it will impact your station.”

My hands fisted the steering wheel.

“Are you threatening Red Tussock?” I demanded.

“No. Of course not. I’m just explaining how things will go.”

“You have no idea how a small town works, Mr Everett,” I pointed out. “We look after our own.”

“Police officers must be held accountable. Do you honestly think the Twizel Board of the Mackenzie Country Council have not endorsed this investigation?”

“I think you’re full of shit,” I snapped.

“We’ll see, Mr Drake. We’ll see.” He backed away from the door and I slammed it. Starting the ute, I refused to look the guy in the eye. My tyres spun a little as I tore out of the building supplies carpark.

This shit just got real. Matt would not cope with losing his job as well as his wife. Hell, he’d practically lost his daughters; they were shadows of the vibrant little girls they’d once been. Take policing away from him and he’d crack.

But then, Matt was already close to cracking anyway.

I slammed my hand down on the dashboard and then pulled out my cell phone. Swiping the screen, I called my brother.

There was no answer. There rarely is, nowadays.

The cell was police issue, so I didn’t leave a message. But on the off chance Sheila knew where Matt was, I pulled into the police station on Tasman Road. Mac’s ute was there and so was Maggie’s Commodore. The garage was closed, so there was still a chance Matt was on station.

It was with a sense of disgust at myself for believing anything good of Matt right now that I pushed through the front doors. Matt had been AWOL from life and from this place for six months now. Mac had covered. Sheila had done her part to hold it all together. But the cracks were showing. Murmurs on the street. The local council board involved. It was a sinking ship and Matt would end up drowning.

Sheila glanced up from the reception as the door squeaked open and smiled, breaking my morbid train of thought.

“Long time no see, Handsome!” she exclaimed, standing up and rounding the desk, swooping in for a kiss on the cheek.

“Sheila, sweetheart. You look stunning.” She was a pink and green symphony of colour.

“Oh, you!” She swatted me on the arm and returned to her side of reception. “What brings you all the way into town?”

“Fences.”

“Ah, that’d do it. Lotta fences on Red Tussock.”

“Damn straight.” I smiled. Sheila could always make me smile. “Matt around?” I asked.

Her own smile faltered, then she rallied. We were all doing that a lot lately.

“Hasn’t been in this morning,” she admitted quietly.

“Did he phone in?”

She shook her head, her lips pursing. “You know I love you Drake boys, don’t you, Luke?” she said, voice lowered as if she wanted to hide what she was saying from the officers out back.

“I know, Sheila,” I replied, patting her plump, highly manicured hand as it sat on the desk.

“That boy,” she said, shaking her head on a sigh. “What can we do? Something needs to be done.”

“It will be,” I promised. “Say, you recognise this name?” I asked, pushing the IPCA investigator’s business card across the desk between us. Sheila lifted up her glasses from where they were hanging around her neck and narrowed her eyes at the text through the lenses.

I knew it was a risk letting her know this early on in the guy’s arrival. She’d find out soon enough, I was sure. But Sheila had a tendency to gossip. Maybe Twizel needed to be warned. Sheila and the others at the police station sure as hell did, anyway.

“IPCA?” she whispered on a gasp. “Here?”

I nodded.

“Oh, hell,” she muttered, starting to tidy up her desk.

“Sheila,” I said. She stopped fussing and looked up at me. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. OK?”

She bit her bottom lip. “And Matt?”

That was an entirely other thing. I slipped the card back into my pocket, scowling, just as Maggie rounded the partition to the reception area.

Her eyes met mine. My chest ridiculously constricted. And then she smiled. It reached her eyes.

Gone. I was so fucking gone for this girl.

Bad fucking timing.

Chapter 27

I’m Here For Matt Drake

Maggie

The shock of hearing Luke’s voice from in reception morphed into delight at the sight of him. Then promptly segued into worry. He looked exhausted; dark circles beneath his eyes and he hadn’t shaved. Not that Luke was the sort of guy to go clean shaven often, but his stubble did look a little scruffy, bordering on beard territory.

“Hey,” I said, aware Sheila was watching the exchange avidly.

“Hey back,” Luke said, a smile twitching the corner of his lips. For a moment, my gaze got snagged there, until Luke added in a deeply amused voice, “Missed me, huh?”

I blinked, feeling a ridiculous blush creep up my cheeks, and swung a startled look toward Sheila. Luke’s low rumble of a laugh caught my attention again and when I turned to look at him, he didn’t seem as weary. His dark eyes sparkled with mirth and he seemed to stand much straighter, taller, all of a sudden.

Damn, but he could look attractive.

“Funny,” I replied, giving him a mock scowl for his efforts. “For a farmer, you sure as hell don’t do much farming. What brings you into Twizel?”

“Fencing. You know, those things that crisscross all over a farm.”

“Laugh a minute,” I said, unable to stop a grin from emerging. Then I sobered. “Was there a problem?” Why else would he be here?

“Just catching up with Sheila,” Luke advised. “She missed me.”

“You keep me out of this, Luke Drake,” Sheila admonished.

“How can I, when you always brighten my day?” he shot back. Sheila huffed, but I didn’t miss the mutual respect and affection they had for each other.

“Now, now,” she said. “Admit it. You came in here to see our Maggie.”

“My Maggie,” Luke corrected, his challenging gaze holding my startled one.

“Luke,” I warned.

“What? You think no one knows about us? Sweetheart, this is Twizel.”

“It doesn’t help that you fan the flames.”

He took a step toward me; I held my ground.

“Maggie,” he said, voice firm. “I’d shout it from the top of Mount Cook if I thought anyone would hear me.”

I stared at him. He was delusional.

“You really do live in a fantasy world, Mr Drake.”

He grinned. “Back to ‘Mr Drake’ are we? You know what that means.”

The blush was back. I rolled my eyes and purposefully turned to look at Sheila. “Don’t believe a word he says,” I instructed. “It’s called erotomanic delusional disorder.”

“It’s called what?” Luke asked, laughing.

“Look it up.”

“Oh, I plan to. But first…” He moved closer. “Dinner. Tonight.”

Sheila was practically jumping up and down behind her desk, hands clasped together before her heaving bosom, eyes wide as though she was watching a particularly intriguing episode of Shortland Street.

“Say, yes,” she urged enthusiastically.

“I’m busy tonight,” I offered, simply because arguing seemed the wisest course of action here.

Luke leaned down, hot breath coasting over my earlobe, and whispered, only loud enough for me to hear, “You sure will be, darling. Busy with me in my bed.”

“Luke,” I said on a beleaguered sigh. “This isn’t a wise idea.” So fucking complicated.

“Maggie,” he shot back. “I need to see you.”

It wasn’t the words that did it, but the longing and desperation in the tone, the heavy weight that seemed to be weighing down on him. The way he held his hands fisted at his sides, as if it was taking everything in him not to reach out and touch me; wrap me up or fall into me. As if I was all that was keeping him going; the thought of being with me at the end of another horrible day.

Luke’s days had been hell on earth lately and I was thinking his world devolved into a hell not long after Missy Drake had died. He was constantly propping up his brother. Had a station to run, which had suddenly landed itself in the spotlight. And a family that was looking to him to solve all their problems.

I slowly nodded my head and his body relaxed, his hands unfurling and one rising up and cupping the side of my neck, thumb directly over my pulse point.

“Good girl,” he murmured, satisfaction and relief evident in his tone now.

“I live to serve,” I deadpanned.

“Don’t give me ideas,” he growled back. “I have a very vivid imagination.”

“I just bet you do.”

“Oh,” Sheila said on a happy sigh, “you two are perfect for each other.”

“Oh, God, don’t you start,” I complained.

“What did I say?” she asked Luke, genuinely bemused at my reaction.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” Luke reassured her. “Maggie’s just a little shy.” I snorted.

“Oh,” she said. “That explains it.” It did? “But if I know you, Luke Drake, you’ll have her dancing to your tune before the end of the week.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I demanded.

“Well, you see, Luke’s a bit of a…” She broke off when the front door to the station squeaked open. Three sets of eyes swung toward the intruder as if caught in the middle of something decidedly unseemly.

I pasted a smile on my face for the new comer, aware Sheila had done the same. But Luke had completely frozen. Those hands of his fisting all over again.

His change in demeanour caught my attention, so I didn’t get a good look at the visitor until it was too late. When he spoke, I swung my gaze back off Luke, my stomach plummeting, a fine sheen of sweat immediately blossoming down my back.

“Ah, Sergeant Blackmore,” IPCA Senior Investigator Mark Everett greeted. “I’m so glad to have caught you on station.”

“Fuck,” Luke muttered under his breath. I don’t think Everett heard him, but then the man had ears like a hawk from memory.

“Mr Everett,” I said, purposefully leaving off his job title. He scowled. Luke did too. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place and I didn’t quite know why.

“Senior Investigator Everett,” the slime ball corrected.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, not sounding anything at all like I was. “I was sure you got demoted.”

“Hardly,” he snapped. “That case was eventually solved.”

“Eventually,” I agreed. Luke shifted beside me, moving closer. No doubt picking up on my body language.

I hated this man. Everett had a lot to answer for. And here he was, waltzing into my life again.

And then it hit me. He was here for Matt. Damn it. My life just got even more complicated.

Calling his bluff, I asked, “Why are you here, Everett?”

“Senior Investigator Everett, Sergeant Drake. Please remember. Courtesy is a must in this line of business, wouldn’t you say?”

I ground my teeth, but just arched my brow at him. No way was I repeating myself.

He waited me out, saying nothing. The silence stretched. Sheila was twisting her hands in front of her body. Mac and Annmarie had come out from behind the partition to see what was up. And Luke was vibrating with rage.

“Oh, very well,” Everett said on an exaggerated sigh. “I’m here for Matt Drake.”

He pierced Luke with a pertinent glare, making me realise they’d met already. How long had the investigator been in Twizel?

And how much did he already know?

Chapter 28

Maggie Was Magnificent When Riled

Luke

Fuck! I’d been aware that twit was going to make himself known to Maggie eventually, but I hadn’t realised she’d recognise the fucker. And my suspicions grew the more they conversed. Maggie certainly didn’t have much time for the man, but I’d never seen her react like this. It was more emotional than Maggie had ever been, and I couldn’t help thinking it was all an act.

Maggie could hide her feelings when she wanted to; tamp down on emotions and appear nonchalant. She only gave herself away when she smiled. I’m not sure everyone could tell Maggie’s smile was fake, but I’d known from the moment I’d laid eyes on her that was her tell.

Now I wondered if I could add overreaction as a diversion to that tally as well. Maggie’s obvious dislike of the man was masking something. I just hoped like hell it wasn’t masking something significant. Like maybe the fact that she was here on IPCA’s behest.

“And this is how you introduce yourself?” Maggie demanded.

“I’m making all the pertinent persons aware of my arrival.”

“When did you arrive here exactly?” Maggie asked.

“Last night, if you must know, Sergeant.”

“I must,” Maggie snapped. “And how long do you intend to stay?”

“As long as it takes.”

“Previous experience tells me that you could be in Twizel for some time, then,” Maggie concluded.

Everett bristled. “If you obstruct my investigation again, Sergeant, then yes.”

I had to smile when Maggie grinned. There was nothing fake about that one. It was completely self-congratulatory.

“Don’t blame me for your cock-ups, Everett.”

The man huffed incredulously. “I see working with you is going to be a challenge. Yet again.”

“Not at all,” Maggie said steadily. “Because you won’t be working with me.”

“Oh, yes I will,” Everett argued, puffing up like a pissed off peacock. “Everyone here at Twizel Police Station will, in fact. By order of the Board of Mackenzie Country Council.”

“Bullshit,” Mac growled, entering the conversation. “They wouldn’t condone this.”

“Senior Constable McQueen, I believe?” Everett asked. Mac nodded his head. The IPCA dickhead turned to look at Annmarie. “And you must be Constable Antil.” His voice was kind and fatherly. “You and I must become better acquainted, my dear.”

“She’s a probationary constable,” Mac snapped. Annmarie winced at the reminder, one I was sure she received from the hard-nosed Andrew McQueen every day of her life. “She won’t be talking to you without me.”

“Your supervision is not required for this,” Everett explained.

“The hell it is; she’s my responsibility.”

Everett shook his head. “She graduated Police College. Therefore she is required by law to assist in an IPCA investigation.”

“Only if her senior officer approves the request,” Mac growled.

“You are not the most senior officer, Senior Constable.”

“Matt won’t go for it,” he immediately replied, looking smug.

“Senior Sergeant Matt Drake has no say in this, as he is the one being investigated,” Everett said, looking pleased. “No, Probationary Constable Antil’s senior most officer is, of course, Sergeant Blackmore.”

All eyes turned to Maggie.

“You know your responsibility, Sergeant,” Everett said quietly. “Don’t let yourself down.”

Maggie glared at the man. Definitely a history there. Was she working for him under duress?

“The Board condones this?” Maggie enquired.

“They have endorsed this investigation, yes.”

“Has the senior sergeant been made aware of your presence in town?” she asked.

“I have not had a reply to my repeated telephone messages,” Everett advised. I forced myself not to cringe. Bloody hell, Matt.

“What exactly will this investigation entail?” Maggie pressed.

“Interviews to start with. Nothing too taxing, I assure you.”

Maggie let out a small huff of breath.

“I’ll take your request under advisement,” she finally muttered.

“Oh, no, that won’t do at all, Sergeant. And you know it. I must start my interviews now. Immediately. Any longer and stories could be fabricated, versions aligned.” He shook his head adamantly. “No. The interviews start today. Perhaps with you?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, Senior Investigator, but today is not good for me or Twizel Police Station staff.”

“How so?” the pompous prick asked.

“I have an appointment with a judge.” She did? “Mac and Annmarie are heading up to Christchurch to follow up on some evidence in an open case at ESR.” From the brief look of surprise on Mac’s face, I was thinking he wasn’t aware of this trip to the government’s forensics laboratory. “And Ms Cooper,” Maggie said, offering Sheila a smile to reassure her, “has personal obligations requiring her attention this afternoon. So, perhaps we can reschedule for tomorrow?”

Everett stared at her for a long moment and then scowled his displeasure.

“I see,” he said. “This will, of course, be included in my final report.”

“What will be included?” Maggie politely asked. “The fact that we had pertinent prior engagements and were unable to drop everything on your unannounced arrival?”

“You know damn well what I mean, Sergeant. This is The Declan King case all over again.”

Maggie blanched and I suddenly knew her reactions were real. The Declan King case; it meant something to her. Something painful. I shifted closer to her, letting my arm press against her side. Letting my heat reach out and embrace her. Letting her know she wasn’t alone anymore.

She never would be, if I could help it.

Everett’s keen gaze took in my close proximity and his lips thinned. Beady little eyes stared at the place where Maggie’s and my body connected.

“Mr Drake,” he said. “As I find myself with time to spare, perhaps you would be so kind as to share a coffee with me?”

“I’m a farmer,” I said harshly. “I don’t have time for coffee.”

“And yet you are here, socialising,” Everett guessed.

“Mr Drake is helping us in an ongoing investigation,” Maggie supplied. “And his time is his own, as you no doubt are aware.”

“Hmmm,” Everett murmured. And then he let out a breath of air and smiled.

It was chilling and calculated and entirely too self-satisfied.

“Then don’t let me hold you up,” he said, straightening his shirt cuffs. “I’ll just make myself comfortable here and start by going through the senior sergeant’s case files.”

Mac stiffened. Maggie just glared at the man. But I saw the moment she realised he’d played them. The moment defeat entered her eyes.

She hid it immediately and lifted her chin, then said, “Allow me to show you to a free desk, Senior Investigator.”

“Brilliant,” he enthused. “But there’s no need for you to delay your appointments. I’m sure I can find my own way around the station. As you will remember, I am very experienced at ferreting out interesting nuggets of information.”

Maggie’s breath left her in a hiss and then she nodded her head and turned on her heel, leading the way toward the storage room out back where the case files were kept. I stood there with a silent Mac, a nervous Annmarie, and a fuming Sheila. No one said a word.

When Maggie returned five minutes later, laden down with manilla folders in her arms, we all followed her outside. Sheila placed the notice on the window that announced the station was currently unmanned and listed the pertinent numbers to ring for assistance, as we waited for Maggie to talk.

The moment stretched, but I couldn’t have taken my eyes off her if I had tried. She was irate, I realised. There was no other word for it. And, fuck, was she glorious in her fury. Eyes bright, face hard, breath shallow and rapid. And her pulse? Thundering.

Despite this latest turn of events, despite the clusterfuck that was my life right now, I couldn’t stop myself fantasising. Maggie was magnificent when riled.

And when her eyes met mine, I knew. I’d do anything to keep this woman in my life.

Chapter 29

This Was Twizel

Maggie

It took several long seconds for me to be able to speak. That despicable man. That snake. That slimy, derogatory, self-important prick. I was so angry, I was panting.

“Easy,” Luke suddenly said, his big, warm hand wrapping around the nape of my neck. “We should move, he could be watching.”

“Fucking arsehole,” Mac spat.

“We need to warn Matt,” Sheila practically wailed.

“Leave Matt to me,” Luke said. “Maggie? What else?”

As if I could formulate a plan.

I cleared my throat and looked down at the folders in my hands. “This was all I could grab without him being aware of it,” I said. “Mac,” I handed him several from the top, “these are your current files from your desk. I signed you both out of your computers.”

“Good call,” Mac said, taking the files and flicking through them. “They’re all here.” He looked at what was left in my hand. “Those can’t be all yours, Sergeant. You’ve hardly been here long enough to cause a stir.” There was an implied threat in there somewhere.

“They’re not,” I admitted. “But they’re also files I don’t want that leech to get.”

“He could just subpoena them,” Mac pointed out.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” I replied.

“What now?” Annmarie asked. “Do we really have to go to Christchurch?”

“Yes,” I said on a huff of breath, flicking my fringe out of my eyes. “He’ll follow up on it. He’s very good at crossing his Ts and dotting his Is.”

“And how do you know him?” Mac asked, a glint of suspicion in his hard eyes. I was surprised he hadn’t donned his mirrored sunglasses yet. But perhaps he wanted me to see the challenge.

I met his glare with one of my own.

“I’ve crossed paths with Senior Investigator Everett in Auckland. It did not go well for him.”

Luke smiled off to the side; I forced myself to ignore the mesmerising sight.

“Luke’s right, though,” I added. “We need to move. If he’s not watching already, he will be soon. You and Annmarie head up to Christchurch and follow up with ESR about that wallet.” Luke stiffened beside me. “While you’re there, I want you to call into Christchurch Central Police Station and touch base with a Sergeant Parton. Tell her I sent you and ask her to give you everything she’s got on Everett.”

“On Everett?” Mac asked. “Can’t you just call her?”

“She never discusses IPCA over the phone or by email. It has to be a personal visit.”

“You suspect him of something untoward?” Luke asked.

“I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him,” I replied. “Look, we need to move. You guys head on out and I’ll keep an eye on the slime bag.”

“Slime bag,” Annmarie said. “Nice.”

“And me?” Sheila asked.

I offered her a smile and reached over to squeeze her hand. “Just hide, sweetie. Go home, lock your door, and don’t answer it for anyone.”

“I can do that,” Sheila said with a decisive nod of her head. She hiked her handbag higher up on her shoulder and straightened her back. “If that man thinks he can storm in here and go after Matt, he has another bloody think coming.”

“Thatta girl, Sheila,” Mac drawled.

“Don’t hold back,” Annmarie agreed with a smirk.

Sheila huffed and then levelled me with a worried stare. “You’ve got this, haven’t you, Maggie? You know how to stop this from unravelling, right?”

I swallowed thickly. “Yes, Sheila. I’ve got this,” I lied.

She smiled, it was crooked and not her usual dazzling display, and then she turned on her heel and marched off towards her car parked at the edge of the street.

“You don’t got this, at all, do you, Sergeant?” Mac asked quietly.

“In this, Mac,” I said, “be thankful I’m a JAFA. We Aucklanders know how to swim with the sharks, and IPCA’s Investigator Everett is just another fucking Aucklander with razor sharp teeth.”

Mac huffed out a breath and pulled his shades from his front pocket, slipping them on. “Fucking JAFAs,” he groused. “Gotta be good for somethin’.”

Annmarie offered me a small smile and then followed her training officer toward his ute, leaving me alone with Luke on the sidewalk.

“Do you really have an appointment with a judge?” he asked.

“No. But I’m expecting a phone call from one.”

He laughed softly. “This is bad, isn’t, Maggie?”

“Yes,” I said, not sugar coating it for him. He nodded his head, seemingly relieved I hadn’t hedged.

Silence descended.

“Will you hide too?” he finally asked. “Like Sheila,” he added.

“Twizel needs to see us,” I said, looking off down the street. “Needs to know the local boys and girls in blue are present, even when they’re under a heavy cloud.”

“But it’s Matt under that cloud, not you.”

I turned and looked up at him. “Matt is ours,” I said simply.

“I think you might mean that,” he whispered, and offered a small smile.

I did, I realised. There was no proof of his innocence in Whiting’s murder. And that wallet was a big black mark hanging over his head. The poisoned sheep didn’t help, but also didn’t directly connect to Matt Drake. And then there was Missy’s suspicious death, leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

But none of it was solid evidence. None of it irrefutably proved his guilt. It was all circumstantial; even the wallet. There could be an explanation for how it got into his ute.

But if Matt didn’t sort his shit out and soon, circumstantial could become just enough to convict. His behaviour was suspect. His name was on everyone’s lips. And now he was being investigated by the IPCA.

I looked back up at Luke from where my gaze had wandered to and said, “You need to find Matt. Warn him.”

“I know. I will. And you?”

I let out a weary sigh. “I need a coffee.”

Luke arched his brow.

“And maybe a souvenir.”

“OK,” he said slowly.

I started walking toward my car, Luke slipped into step beside me.

“Did you know,” I said conversationally, “that Alicia Parsons has cameras angled into her neighbour’s backyard.”

“Maggie,” he said, laughing. “I didn’t take you for a gossip.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Sheila’s rubbing off on me.”

Mr Marinkovich chose that moment to back his mechanic’s truck into the driveway across the street. Sliding down from the driver’s side without so much as a glance in our direction, he proceeded to pull out a heavy, wrapped object from the back.

I stopped beside my car and watched him. Luke leaned back against the vehicle and did the same. Marinkovich heaved the oblong shaped object up onto a surprisingly large shoulder, tattooed muscles bulging, face straining, and then turned around and hauled it into his garage.

“Transmission,” Luke said succinctly.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“What else could it be?”

I started to laugh. This was Twizel. I couldn’t even begin to guess.

Chapter 30

Could My Life Get Anymore Complicated?

Luke

Watching Maggie drive off was disquieting. Hell, I seemed to be watching her drive away a lot, lately. It amused me that I stood there for so fucking long staring after the retreating rear end of her police issue sedan. I shook my head at myself and then pulled out my cell phone.

I didn’t expect to get an answer; Matt was officially AWOL. Out of desperation, I left a curt message. “It’s me. Get in touch.” Then swiped the call closed.

Looking back over my shoulder, I stared at the closed door to the police station, and then spun back towards my ute. As I pulled away from the kerb, my cell phone rang. For a pathetic moment, I thought it might be Matt returning my call. But Charlie’s name came up on the screen.

Work; a distraction I both craved and resented. But maybe Charlie had seen Matt on the station. I answered with an abrupt, “Yes?”

“Boss, you need to see this.”

What now? “What do I fucking need to see, Charlie?”

“Today’s edition of the Timaru Herald on display at the Musterer’s Hut.”

Jesus. “What’s it say?”

“Nothing good,” he admitted. “Red Tussock’s name’s in capital letters on the front page.”

“Fuck! Haven’t they got bigger fish to fry than us?”

“Doesn’t seem like it. And that bitch, Tanya Ruka, won’t take it down. I asked.”

“Tanya’s not a bitch,” I automatically replied.

“Just because she sucked your dick once or twice don’t make her ‘not a bitch.’”

“Fucking hell, Charlie. What’s got into you?”

He sighed. “I don’t much like Red Tussock being dragged through Matt’s shit.”

Charlie had never really got along with Matt, but he hadn’t ever been this vocal about his dislike of my brother. My turn to sigh.

“What are you doing in town anyway?” I finally asked.

“Can’t a man have a lunch break when he needs one?”

I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it. Charlie was even more prickly than usual. But seeing Red Tussock written in newsprint on the front of Tanya’s café would probably put any hardworking man into a snit. And Charlie had always been a bit volatile.

“All right, all right,” I said, once the phone was back to my ear. “But that fence isn’t going to repair itself.”

“You got the palings?”

“Yeah, on the back of my truck.”

“I’ll see you back on station, then.”

“Sure. I’ll just swing by the Musterer’s and see what’s up with Tanya.”

Charlie snorted. “More like what’s up with you.”

“Tanya and I are long over.”

“Sure, that’s why she’s hanging out your dirty laundry on Main Street.”

Charlie hung up after that little gem. I ran a hand over my face and scratched at my stubble. Sometimes managing people was more difficult than managing livestock. I clenched my fingers around the steering wheel and took the turn off back into the centre of town. Tanya’s café was down by the Chemist. I wondered if I’d see any of those cameras Maggie had been talking about.

The store was bustling when I got there. Of course it was. Tourists, locals, and even a few of Red Tussock’s neighbours. Didn’t anyone work on their fucking stations anymore? I paused at the front window and stared at the taped up article cut from the front page of the Timaru Herald. Red Tussock was typewritten right there in bold print, just like Charlie had said. James Whiting’s death was mentioned, but not the dead sheep. At this stage, it was all about the location. The reporter had speculated that James Whiting might have been on our rangeland for an appointment or to check on stock he was interested in representing. But it was all hearsay and conjecture. Nothing solid.

For a second, I wondered why Charlie had made such a fuss. Taking a deep breath, I pushed through the front doors into organised chaos. Tanya stood behind the display counter, louder than life; brassy, brash, and beautiful. Her eyes met mine as soon as the door swung shut at my back.

“The man of the moment!” she called out, a genuine smile spreading her cheeks. “Get over here and tell us all the gossip, Drake. What’s it like being on the front page of the Herald?”

“Annoying,” I growled, walking through the parted throng to greet her. “And what the hell are you doing working for the press?”

“Just spreading the news, Luke. Just spreading the news.” A pastime Tanya was too damn good at, giving Sheila a run for her money.

“Take it down, Tanya,” I said more quietly, once I’d reached her.

“Now, why would I do that? Look at what it’s done for business.” She indicated the mass of customers in her shop, either eating, ordering, or lining up to choose a home-baked slice of heaven.

“Tans,” I said, resorting to our former close acquaintance. “It might be good for you, but it’s shit for me, OK?”

She softened slightly and then she was smiling again as she looked over my shoulder towards someone at my back.

“They say, ‘any press is good press,’” she enthused. “And if you’re really worried, why don’t you tell your side of the story?”

I scowled at her. She knew better than to ask me for gossip.

“That’s a good idea, Mr Drake,” a woman suddenly said from beside me. I glanced down at her, not recognising the petite blonde. But Tanya obviously did.

“This is April Matthews,” Tanya said, her eyes holding mine for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. “A reporter for the Timaru Herald.” Shit, maybe Tanya did have an axe to grind. “The reporter who wrote that article you’re so worried about.”

“It’s a speculative piece,” the reporter advised. “But I’d love to do an exclusive. How about it? Set the record straight, Mr Drake. What exactly was James Whiting doing on your property?”

I gave Tanya one last glare and spun on my heel, heading toward the door.

“Running only adds to the suspicion,” the Matthews woman said, rushing after me.

“In whose fucking world?’ I muttered. But I knew it was a mistake to have spoken as soon as the words were out of my stupid mouth.

“Yours now, I’m afraid,” Matthews said. “But relax, I’m here for the truth. You want the truth to win out, don’t you, Mr Drake? Help me to help you.”

I stopped in my tracks before the door and turned my head to look down at her. She was short, so it would have been easy for me to loom and threaten. But that’s not who I am and I was fucked if I’d let Matt’s problems make me into a man I was not.

“Listen, Ms Matthews…” I started.

“Miss, I’m not married.” She offered me an inviting smile. Tanya snorted. I flicked my gaze up to the meddling café owner and then back down to the flirting reporter.

Could my life get anymore complicated?

“Miss Matthews,” I said. “There’s nothing to say.”

“There’s always something to say, Luke,” she replied. “Can I call you Luke? You can call me April, by the way.” The smile turned shy.

She was better at fake than Maggie.

I scrubbed a hand across the back of my neck. Then flicked a glance out of the front of the shop, wanting to be anywhere else but here. My eyes met stunning blue, an arched brow, and the amused glint of a certain police sergeant.

I pushed through the door needing an escape, needing a life line. Needing Maggie.

The reporter fucking followed.

“Perhaps we could get a late lunch,” the persistent woman suggested. “A bottle of wine, a selection of local cheeses. They say getting to know someone over a meal is always the best. And I would very much like to get to know you, Luke Drake.”

Maggie flicked amused eyes off the reporter and settled her gaze on me.

Yes. It seemed my life could get more complicated.

Chapter 31

This Time, It Was Full Of Meaning

Maggie

The fish was floating down the main street, tail fin gently swaying. Its beady little fish eyes watching everything and everyone. It stopped when it spotted me, did a loop-de-loop, then kept on ‘swimming.’ A startled laugh was torn from between my lips. The surreal sight not going unnoticed by others, either.

Tourists pointed. Kids tried to chase after it, jumping up and reaching for its swooping tail. Locals just shook their head and kept on walking. Alicia Parsons’ voyeuristic tendencies were clearly common knowledge.

I pulled my cell phone out as I stood outside Smokey’s and dialled the Timaru Court House. Judge Aniston finally answered my call after I’d been put through to three different people. The warrant for the video surveillance would be in my email inbox by close of business today. But visiting with Alicia now seemed counterproductive.

She’d made her position very clear yesterday.

I waved out to Reverend Blundell as he emptied the mailbox outside of the church, his tattooed arm visible at the end of his rolled up shirt sleeve. The pharmacist nodded his head to me in greeting as I walked past, then went back to his conversation with a tourist. In rapid-fire French.

It kind of explained Alicia’s spying on him now. The English and French had never truly trusted each other.

I paused as I came abreast of the Musterer’s Hut Café, getting quite desperate now for a coffee. But my gaze was snagged on a certain station manager and, bizarrely, the reporter I’d spotted yesterday who’d hounded Hook at Smokey’s for a byline. The slim blonde was batting her eyelashes and smiling up sweetly at a very disgruntled Luke.

I crossed my arms and watched the show. Luke said something. She simpered back. He became more perplexed and agitated.

And then he looked out of the café window, eyes connecting with me.

He pushed through the door of the coffee shop in the next heartbeat as if the hounds of hell were on his heels.

“Perhaps we could get a late lunch,” the reporter was saying. “A bottle of wine, a selection of local cheeses. They say getting to know someone over a meal is always the best. And I would very much like to get to know you, Luke Drake.”

Well, that explained it, then.

Luke looked at me, a pleading expression washing over his face briefly.

“Good afternoon, Mr Drake,” I said, pleasantly.

“Sergeant Blackmore,” he replied immediately.

The reporter stilled, then brightened, stepping forward and holding out her hand for me to shake.

“Sergeant. My name is April Matthews, staff reporter at the Timaru Herald.”

I shook her hand and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Ms Matthews.”

“Miss,” she said, flicking a knowing smile toward Luke. “I’m not married. Yet.”

It took willpower and years of training not to laugh out loud. Luke looked beleaguered.

“Has there been any progress made on the James Whiting case?” April asked.

“We’re working with the necessary departments to find a resolution as quickly as possible,” I replied by rote.

“Surely you have something to add,” the reporter said. “At least confirmation the death was not natural.”

“At this stage, it would be premature to jump to any conclusion.”

“But…”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Ms Matthews,” I interrupted. “There’s a coffee inside this store with my name on it.”

I smiled at Luke and pushed between them, opening up the shop’s door.

“Sergeant,” Luke called after me.

“Yes, Mr Drake?” I replied, looking over my shoulder. The door was open, the noise of the busy café spilling out onto the street. Several pairs of eyes swinging our way and narrowing at the chill air I was letting in.

“Can I have a word?” Luke asked.

“If you’d like to buy me a coffee, Mr Drake, you can have several.”

“Of course,” Luke replied, grasping the life line offered. “Good afternoon, Miss Matthews.”

“Oh, I thought we were going to have lunch,” she complained.

“I really need to speak with the sergeant.”

“Naturally. With such suspicions hanging over Red Tussock, I should think you’d have her phone number on speed dial.”

I walked back out of the shop and let the door shut behind me.

“Ms Matthews,” I said, voice crisp. “I’d advise you to keep your speculations to yourself and not spread rumours on Twizel’s streets.”

“Freedom of speech, Sergeant. I’m entitled to say whatever I like.”

“And print it?” I pressed.

“I’m a reporter,” she said, chin lifted.

I turned and looked at the newspaper article taped to the Musterer’s Hut’s front window.

“Yes,” I agreed. “One skirting the edges of the Defamation Act of 1992.”

“Excuse me?” she said, face paling. “There is nothing in that article that could be construed as defamatory.”

I turned back and looked directly at her. “Isn’t there?”

“No.” She shook her head adamantly. “No, there is not. If you’ll excuse me,” she said primly, then spun on her heel, pulling her cell phone out of her oversized bag, and bringing it to her ear as she stormed off.

“Nicely done,” Luke drawled. “But for a rescue, you left it a little late.”

I spared him a smile and opened the door to the café again. The general hubbub of the coffee shop surrounded us, the smell of roasted beans on the air, the clamour of casual conversation washing over my senses.

“Dragging you away from her would only have added to her suspicions,” I pointed out, leaning in so he could hear.

“Ah, so if I hadn’t asked to speak with you, you would have left me hanging?”

“I had hoped you had enough sense to take the opportunity my presence awarded.”

“Admit it,” Luke murmured, bending low enough to whisper in my ear. “You have to keep yourself in check around me.”

“Hardly,” I said on a breath of amused air. I came to stop in front of the counter, the woman behind it watching us - no, me - closely.

“Sergeant,” she said with a nod off her head in greeting. “What can I get you?”

“Flat white and a ginger slice, please,” I said. Then held out my hand over the counter. “It’s Maggie. Maggie Blackmore.”

“Tanya Ruka,” she said, shaking my hand briefly.

“Are you having something?” I asked, turning to Luke.

“Yes, Luke. What are you having this afternoon?” Tanya asked, her tone sharp and full of meaning.

Meaning I didn’t get immediately.

“You know how I like my coffee, Tanya,” he drawled, seeming amused at the woman, not put out as I would have been. Her tone had been cutting.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I know how you like a lot of things. And law and order used to not be one of them.”

My eyes swept between the two like a spectator at a tennis match.

“Sounds like you had a wayward youth, Mr Drake,” I remarked.

“Sweetie,” Tanya said. “It was outrageous. And hardly when he was a youth.”

More rumours. Charming.

“Tans,” Luke warned. “What happens in the shearing shed stays in the shearing shed, yeah?”

Tanya - Tans - flicked her eyes to me. “Seems like you’ve branched out from shearing.” Her gaze travelled down my stab vest covered torso and landed on my hip holster. I smiled.

It was utterly fake.

She handed over the coffees and my ginger slice without a further word, then turned to the next customer, dismissing us. I shook my head to myself and went in search of a free table, finding one right beside that blasted newspaper article. Luke scowled at it as he sat opposite. Then scowled at a person sitting at a table next to us. Then turned his scowl on me.

“You see,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “That’s exactly why I don’t like nicknames.”

His lips twitched.

“Why’s that?” he asked, stirring sugar into his long black.

“They’re proprietary.”

“Proprietary?”

“Once given, you can never get them back.”

“And you think Tanya wants hers back?”

I shook my head, placing my cup down on the table before me. “No. I think she believes because you own it, that she’s still in some way yours.”

“She isn’t,” he argued.

I smiled. This time, it was full of meaning.

Chapter 32

It All Matters In The End

Luke

“Does it bother you?” I asked. A base part of me wanted Maggie to be jealous.

“Not at all.” But Maggie was not the jealous type, I was picking.

I glanced across the café towards the front counter. Hard brown eyes stared back. Tanya, though, definitely was.

“Fair enough,” I said. “No nicknames. Got it.”

“Just so we understand each other, of course,” Maggie said, but there was laughter in her beautiful eyes.

“You should know, though,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “Even if I don’t call you by a nickname, you are definitely mine. I’m not giving you back. Just so we understand each other, of course.”

She rolled her eyes. I let out a laugh. Half a dozen people stared at me.

Grumbling to myself, I added more sugar to my drink.

“Is it always this busy in here?” Maggie asked. “Or is it the article?”

“It’s Twizel. Any opportunity to gossip and they’re there.”

“I bet Sheila spends a lot of time in here,” Maggie mused.

“Ha! Sheila and Tanya do not get along.”

“Didn’t like her for you?”

I arched my brow. “Well, there was that. But no. Tanya likes to think she’s the first to know anything in this town. Sheila likes to prove her wrong on occasion.”

“A gossip stand off. Hmm, I bet you could mould a game show around that concept.”

“What? You don’t have busy-bodies in Auckland?”

“We don’t even know our neighbours’ names.”

“That’s sad.” My neighbours might piss me off on occasion, but I know that should the shit hit the fan, they’d be there for me. A phone call. A drive by and see something’s wrong, they’d step in. Every single time.

“There’s something to be said about anonymity,” Maggie offered.

“There’s something to be said about community, too,” I argued softly.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Maggie hedged. But I could tell she didn’t believe it yet.

“Give it a couple of years and you’ll see the light.”

Something swept over her face and then was gone. Something sorrowful. Dejected.

“You think you’ll go back?” I asked.

“I have to.”

“Why?”

Maggie picked up her teaspoon and started stirring her coffee. She didn’t add any sugar, so I took it for the gesture it was. A distraction.

“Maggie?” I pressed, leaning closer over the table. My hand reached out, but she pulled hers away, glancing around the bustling café. I leaned back and stared out the window.

Maggie would either come to me or she wouldn’t. But I hadn’t been lying earlier. I was not prepared to give her back. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Auckland could go stuff itself, as far as Maggie was concerned. Matt had wanted her here, had big plans for her in Mackenzie Country.

I had even bigger ones.

As if reading my mind, she said, “Tell me about your brother.”

My gaze flicked back to her impassive face.

“What do you want to know?” I trusted her. I trusted that she was on Matt’s side. God knows why, he’d not done a thing to convince her. But Maggie was a good cop, that much I could tell. Honest. Loyal. Dedicated. All the things that Matt had always been.

If they did ever get to know each other, they’d have a lot in common. I could picture Maggie becoming a close friend to my brother. Someone to rely on. A partner to share the load. Running the Twizel Police Station had taken its toll on Matt. It sure as hell had taken its toll on Matt’s marriage.

He needed someone like Maggie on staff.

“What kind of guy is he?” she asked. “Was he?” she corrected. “Before Missy’s death.”

I scratched the scruff on my chin. “You’d have to go back a little earlier than that to see the real Matt,” I offered.

“How much earlier?”

“‘Bout a year, I’d say. Maybe more. He hid things well. They both did.”

“Missy, too?”

“Yeah. Picture perfect couple.”

“Perfection is only ever skin deep.”

“I thought that was beauty.”

She shrugged. “Same thing.”

“Being a cop makes you cynical, huh?”

“No, just makes you realistic.”

I wanted to tell her there was beauty in the world. Lots of it, if you only knew where to look, how to see it. But I was picking Maggie had a whole hell of a lot of baggage. At a guess, I’d say because of what happened to her brother. But Maggie was more complex a character than that.

And I never wanted to sell her short of anything.

“Matt and Missy,” I said, getting back to the original topic, “were childhood sweethearts. Fell in love in high school, got married not long afterwards. The twins came along much later. IVF.”

Maggie raised her eyebrows. “That’s tough.”

“Yeah, right? Hardcore. But they got through it. Seemed stronger than ever. Then they had the girls and everything was…”

“Perfect.”

“Yeah,” I said, softly. “Perfect.” I was beginning to see Maggie’s point. There’s no such thing as perfection. True perfection, that is.

“What made you first question their relationship?” Maggie asked.

“Missy would go for long drives with the girls. Matt would call the homestead trying to find her. She wouldn’t answer her phone or would be out of coverage. One day, Charlie said he saw her at Pukaki. Said she was heading up Mount Cook to show the girls.”

“Any reason why she’d go up there?”

“Matt used to take her there all the time, before the twins. She loved to hike and Matt was really into it. They joined mountaineering groups as teenagers. Got involved in search and rescue.”

“It held memories for her,” Maggie surmised. “Good ones.”

“Yeah, but why go there without Matt?”

“Was he doing long hours?”

“No more than usual. You know how the job is.” She nodded.

“Did Missy have a good friend in town? Someone she confided in? Would turn to?”

I shook my head. “Missy was a quiet girl growing up. Wore glasses. Got teased a lot. Matt would come to her rescue. Defend her. Kids can be cruel, you know? Matt stood up for her. Their relationship just happened afterwards. I think he felt responsible for her, in the end. Like if he didn’t protect her, no one else would.”

“You think that’s why he married her?”

“Nah, by the time he married her, he was in love.”

“In love with Missy? Or in love with the idea that Missy was his to protect?”

“Does it matter?” I asked.

“It all matters, Luke. It all matters in the end.”

Chapter 33

Damn, But The Man Did Have A Point

Maggie

Something happened up on Mount Cook Road. Something that made Missy Drake pull over. Something bad. The twins were mute because of it. Matt was an utter mess. Red Tussock was crumbling under the fallout.

But nowhere in this story did James Whiting fit in.

Maybe I was biting off more than I could chew. I had one unsolved case on my desk, why bother to drag up another? And right now, I had bigger shit to shovel.

I pushed open the door to the Twizel Police Station and held my breath. Silence greeted me, but light spilled out of the case file room, splashing across the darkened interior of the station like a bloody gash.

“Is that you, Sergeant?” Senior Investigator Everett said. He appeared in the doorway, glasses in hand as he wiped them on a handkerchief. “I’m surprised you’ve returned.”

I didn’t have much choice. I needed to print out the warrant.

“I work here, remember?” I snapped back.

Everett smiled. Like a shark scenting blood in the water.

“Perhaps we can have that interview now?” he suggested.

“I’m just here to pick up a warrant, Everett.”

“Senior Investigator…”

“Let’s cut the crap, shall we?” It was long overdue. “How did you think this would go exactly? Did you really believe I’d welcome you with open arms and jump at your demands?”

“I thought you would at least be professional.”

“Like you were in Auckland?”

“It’s been six years, Sergeant. Can’t we let bygones be bygones.”

“You ruined his career,” I hissed. “His life.”

“It was regrettable, but necessary.”

I scoffed, slammed my keys down on my desk and turned on the man.

“You ruined him for the sake of your reputation. And you’re about to ruin another man for the exact same thing.”

“Is that what you think? That Matt Drake is innocent.”

“What are the charges?” I demanded.

“There aren’t any. Yet.”

I baulked. “This is a fishing expedition?”

“A fishing expedition based on just cause.”

“And what cause is that, Everett?” The gall of the man. I was fuming.

“Did you know he got his last sergeant damn near killed?” he said simply. “That’s why he retired early. Drake let him enter a suspicious address without backup. When the senior sergeant finally got there and found his officer down, he lost his mind. Pulled a non-issue shotgun from the back of his vehicle and fired on the civilians in the house.”

“The civilians who had harmed his sergeant,” I guessed.

“At that stage, Sergeant Blackmore, Sergeant Grayson was outside the address, passed out beside his car. There was no indication that anyone inside the house had done anything nefarious. For all Drake knew, the man could have had a heart attack.”

“Did he? Have a heart attack? Or did someone inside the house harm him?”

“That’s beside the point. Add in the fact that case closure rates have halved in the past six months, complaints have been issued from the public at an alarming rate, and Senior Sergeant Matt Drake is more often seen at the local tavern than in uniform these days, and you’ve got a police officer who is clearly in need of investigation.”

I sat down heavily in my office chair and stared at the man.

“You don’t have a clear mandate to be here, do you, Everett?”

He bristled, puffing up, cheeks turning red.

“My bet,” I added, “you don’t even have permission from the Mackenzie Country Council Board either.”

“Of course I have permission; they’re worried. As you should be. He’s out of control, Sergeant. A loose cannon. And he could take the entire station down with him, at this rate.”

I sighed and booted up my computer. This was a complication I just didn’t need.

“You have nothing to say?” Everett pushed.

“What can I say? You’ll just forge ahead with whatever ill thought out plan you’ve devised in that petty little mind of yours and nothing I can do will change it. It didn’t six years ago. It sure as hell won’t now.”

“How defeatist. And irresponsible. You have a responsibility to the uniform you wear to do what’s right.”

“Right now, Everett,” I said, standing and walking to the printer where the warrant had just spat itself out, “I have a responsibility to the case at the top of my work pile.”

“Is it the James Whiting case?’ Everett asked.

I wasn’t at all surprised he’d homed in on that one. It was on the front page of the newspaper.

“Yes,” I said succinctly.

“Interesting that his body turned up on Drake family land.”

“Is it?” I hedged.

“And the victim’s wallet,” he added.

Now, how the hell did hear about that?

I had the case file in my car. He shouldn’t have had access to any of our online files. The wallet was not information we’d released to the press.

I turned around and cocked my head at the man, trying to figure it out. Everett had something to prove, I was sure of it. Maybe things had been going wrong since that fucked up case back when he ruined Michael’s life; Karma’s a bitch and all that. I needed to know what Mac and Annmarie had found out.

But I needed to know who had narked to this man more.

“How did you find out?” I asked.

“I have my sources.”

“Don’t be coy with me, Everett. That was case sensitive information we didn’t want the public to know about.”

“Well, someone knew about it.”

“How did you find out?” I demanded.

“An anonymous call, if you must know.”

Shit. “And you didn’t think it was pertinent information we should have been made aware of?”

“Who do you suspect, Sergeant?”

“That’s the point, isn’t it? Whoever told you is fucking with the case. Could even be the perpetrator.”

“No,” Everett said, head shaking adamantly. “That’s Matt Drake.”

Bloody hell. He’d already pinned this on Matt. From a tip off. An anonymous tip off. That’s why he was here. Not because of the rest of the crap he’d just spouted. Although that was condemning on top of this. But because he had a murderous cop to hunt.

Low life piece of scum.

“Then tell me,” I said through gritted teeth, “how the hell did they get close enough to Matt’s ute to know Whiting’s wallet had been found in there?”

“Maybe it was one of your team, Sergeant. Ever think of that? Maybe they’ve had enough of a senior sergeant who clearly is not as clean as everyone thinks.”

My mind pictured chip-on-his-shoulder Mac, then quickly imagined eager-to-please Annmarie, then replaced the image with can’t-keep-her-mouth-shut Sheila.

Damn, but the man did have a point.

I shut down the computer, snatched up my keys, and walked out of the station without saying another word.

And all the while Senior Investigator Everett of the IPCA chuckled to himself as he carefully cleaned his glasses.

Chapter 34

You Can’t Possibly Miss It

Luke

I opened the front door to a steaming sergeant.

“Where the hell is your brother?” Maggie demanded.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “He’s not answering his cell phone.”

“Does he have a bolthole?” she asked, storming into the hallway and starting to pace.

“I’ve checked them all,” I admitted, closing the door and shutting out the cold night.

The sun had not long set, making Mount Glenmary gleam as if gilded. Stars were bursting to life in the darkening sky. No clouds meant a low temperature. If Matt was outside, he could freeze to death.

“What’s this all about?” I asked carefully.

“Everett is building a case against him with the help…” she stalled. Ran a hand through her hair, making it come loose at the back. “Damn it,” she growled.

“Whose help?” I asked, taking a step closer.

I reached up automatically and twisted her loose hair around my wrist. I hadn’t even thought of what I was doing. Maggie’s hair had come out of its pony tail and my fingers simply itched to replace the tie.

Cool blue eyes met mine as I tipped her head back slightly.

“What’s happened to get you so riled?” I asked, voice hushed already.

“Someone’s ratted Matt out,” she whispered back. Fuck. “The wallet,” she said, swallowing thickly.

I tightened my hold, pulled her flush against my chest, felt the rise and fall of her harsh breathing. Acting on automatic now.

“Who knew about it?”

“A select few,” she admitted, her pulse thrumming wildly beneath my thumb as my hand wrapped around her neck.

“Who?” I pressed, tipping her head back a fraction further.

It was a testament to who Maggie was as a woman that she didn’t even baulk at my behaviour. Simply submitted to my hold, letting her body relax against me. As if she craved the opportunity to lower her mask, to have someone else hold her up, keep her together.

Every day she walked in that uniform she carried a weight on her shoulders. Here, with me, she could let the weight slip off.

“Twizel Police Station staff,” she said, voice husky. “You.”

“No one else?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” she murmured, already succumbing to a more blissful state of mind and body. She needed this.

“Take off your vest,” I ordered, my own voice lowering an octave.

Her hands didn’t fumble when she undid the zip down the front. She shrugged her shoulders and let the garment fall to the floor at her back.

“Now the shirt,” I whispered.

The buttons came undone one at a time, her measured movements both a turn on and a hardship. I wanted to rip the bloody thing off her, but both my hands were occupied and I had to rely on Maggie’s.

“Faster,” I found myself saying, showing too much of my eagerness to have her naked.

“Are we alone?” she asked, just before she undid the lowermost button.

“I don’t share what is mine, Maggie,” I told her.

“And yet you let me scream your name when the house was full of guests.”

Ah, and there was the feisty police officer beneath the submissive woman. I’m not sure Maggie realised she was submissive in bed. If I pointed it out, she’d undoubtedly baulk. Maggie was a competent, highly capable, accomplished woman in a male dominated industry. But when given the chance to privately switch that all off, her body spoke for her.

“I never said I wasn’t above letting everyone know you are mine,” I growled. “But they will never see you,” I promised. “When you’re with me, you are safe. Always.”

She licked her lips, her eyes widening slightly, and then the shirt fell off her arms and landed on top of the vest.

“The bra,” I said. She complied. I was already aching.

“What now?” she asked, breathless.

“What do you think, Maggie? What do you want?”

She looked lost for a second, as if she wanted me to set the pace. To lead the way. Oh, I was more than ready to do that. But Maggie had been the one to storm in here, her emotions all over the place. She needed a firm hand, but also a soft touch.

“Make everything go away,” she finally admitted.

I tipped her head back, lifting her lips up to my face, and whispered above them, “That’s why I’m here, Maggie.” Then I kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle. It was an attack. It was a message; I’ve got you. You don’t have to think. Just feel. Just react. Her pulse quickened, her body softened, nipples pebbling tight. A moan slipped free of her lips as our tongues swept together, sending shooting sparks of need right down to my cock.

Maggie tasted like fresh air and mints. Like everything I’ve ever wanted. Like nothing I’d feasted on before.

“Pants,” I growled against her lips, then kissed her as her hands unbuckled her belt.

Her holstered weapon hitting the wooden floor at our feet made her jump. I pulled back from her lips and lowered my mouth to one of her breasts, sucking her nipple into my mouth. Hard.

Her spine arched, her head tripped back further, aided by my hold on her hair, and a cry of shock and sensation spilled from her parted lips. I moved to the neglected nipple and repeated the action, but not before issuing the final command to, “Take off the rest.”

Her boots were toed off, one by one. Her trousers kicked off next. Then came her lacy underpants. She stood before me, completely nude, completely at my mercy. Cheeks flushed, lids heavy, lips parted, nipples taut. I walked her backwards until the top of her head hit the hallway wall. Then I released her pony tail and ran my hand down between her breasts, over her stomach, dipping a finger between her folds.

She was sopping wet.

I looked up at her, my palm still wrapped around her throat; for the life of me, I couldn’t seem to remove it. I wanted to taste her, but from this position, arm outstretched to her neck, I couldn’t do it. There’d be time enough for that later.

I pulled my fingers out from her pussy and lifted them to my lips, sucking all of her juices off them. She shuddered, made a whimpering sound, her chest heaving with stuttered breaths. I reached down and unbuckled my belt, flicked the buttons through my worn jeans, letting them hang open. Then fished a condom out of the pocket. Ripping the packet open with my teeth, I handed it to her.

“Cover me,” I said.

She looked down between us, my palm flexing to allow her face to tip, but not quite enough for her to see my cock clearly.

“Are you going to let me go?” she asked.

“No.”

“I can’t see it.”

“You can’t possibly miss it.”

She smiled. It lit up her eyes and made fine lines appear at the edges.

It made her look stunning.

Then soft but sure fingers found my aching dick and wrapped around it. Maggie stroked hard, exactly how I liked it. Then rolled the condom on blind like a fucking professional.

I didn’t like the idea of Maggie having practiced her condom rolling techniques on multiple guys, so I growled out my next command.

“Wrap your legs around my waist and don’t fucking let go for anything.”

She jumped up, my grip at her throat loosening but not releasing, then wrapped those long, shapely legs around my hips, positioning her wet pussy right on top of my throbbing cock. My free hand found her bare arse cheek and slapped skin loudly as it landed, offering further support from beneath.

My cock twitched at the sound of palm meeting flesh. Later, I told myself. Right now my woman needed to be claimed. Fucked beyond thought or reason. Allowed to let go and forget everything.

But my cock. Her pussy. And the fucking fantastic orgasms she was having.

I thrust hard, sinking in balls deep, and made Maggie scream.

Chapter 35

I’ve Got You

Maggie

God damn, but Luke could fuck. I could barely catch my breath. And his hand at my throat should have made that breathlessness claustrophobic. But it didn’t. And I couldn’t figure out why. I couldn’t think. He wasn’t letting me.

He pounded into me, the muscles on his back bulging under his t-shirt, his arms corded beneath my fingertips, his arse flexing as he rocked into me, again and again and again.

The wall rattled. The door shook. I was sure the glass in a nearby window would shatter. But Luke didn’t slow up the pace, didn’t pull back on the power. He not only fucked me against the wall, he fucked me damn near through it. Any minute and I thought we’d crash through to the other side.

His hand on my butt cheek squeezed and released in time to his plunging cock. His lips sucked on my chin, my jaw, my ear, then back to my mouth where he devoured my tongue. His thumb rubbed over my pulse point beside my throat, occasionally pressing harder, making spots appear behind my closed eyelids. His cock brushed against my clit on every upward thrust, and then dragged back out over the sensitive nub on every withdrawal.

So many different sensations; so many, I couldn’t think. I lost myself to the rhythm; it never ceased. It never altered. A piston pumping in and out of me at just the right depth, just the right angle, just the right thrust.

My first orgasm stormed through me and stole all reason. The second blindsided me as he sucked on my tit. The third left me a limp noodle in his arms, my legs barely able to keep their grip around his hips, but his cock never stopped.

“One more,” he growled against my lips.

I shook my head, felt his fingers flex on my neck, and then he gently squeezed. My eyes flew open, his dark gaze stared back, holding me still. Calm. Steady. You can trust me, they said. I opened my mouth, no words came out, no breath came in.

And then he thrust hard, stayed buried, rubbed the base of his dick against my over sensitive clit, and I shattered. Or I thought I did. But when he released my throat, the pulse thundering back up the side of my neck, the air rushing into my straining lungs, I exploded.

And he was right along with me. Groaning, moaning, his cock twitching as he released into the condom inside me. His whole body leaned against mine, pressing me into the wall. Sweat coated his skin, a trickle rolling down the side of his neck and catching my eye. We were both breathless, panting, chests heaving. My nipples rubbed against his t-shirt, turning me on all over again. His cock twitched, coming back to life, as if he knew it.

His heavy lids opened and he stared right into me. Saw me. Caught me when I needed to be caught.

“What the hell was that?” I said, my voice beyond rasping. His hand stroked down my throat, so gentle, so caring, so him.

“I’m keeping you, Maggie Blackmore,” he said, which wasn’t an answer. “I’m keeping you and I’m not giving you up.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I offered.

He smiled. Luke smiling was a thing of beauty. It made his face crinkle in the most attractive way. I’d never thought sun lines could be attractive. But a man like Luke Drake, who worked all day in the harsh Mackenzie Country sun, should have sun lines. They shouted to the world that this was him. That he worked hard, played hard, lived hard.

I loved them. I was beginning to love Luke Drake.

He pulled out, his cock slowly slipping free, my walls tightening as if not wanting to release him. He stroked my throat, soothing me, promising me he wasn’t leaving completely. Then he placed me down on shaking legs.

“Turn around,” he said, voice low and sexy.

I obeyed the command without even thinking.

“Hands on the wall,” he added. I complied. “Good girl, Maggie. Now arch that back, spread those legs, and let me see you.”

I felt him step back as I did as he’d ordered, my body shaking with the anticipation of his next touch.

“You have a fine arse on you, Maggie.” A hand came down on my bare butt. It wasn’t hard. More of a playful swat. But I didn’t doubt for a minute that Luke couldn’t make it smart.

I wasn’t completely naive. I’d had my share of lovers. But Luke took loving - or fucking - to a whole other level. I’d never gotten off on having my hands secured or having a palm wrapped around my throat, stealing my air.

But it wasn’t the loss of air that did; I like to breathe. It was handing over complete control to another person. To this person. Right now. Right here.

It didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense. I’d only just met him. His brother was under suspicion for murder. His farm was in the limelight, somewhere as a police officer I shouldn’t be.

And yet I couldn’t stay away. Luke Drake was my kryptonite. A magnetic attraction I craved. When Luke touched me, I let go of everything superficial. Everything superfluous. I let someone else take charge and despite his hand at my throat, I could breathe.

His big, calloused fingers gripped my hip, pulling my arse out at more of an angle. His bare cock, stiff and hard, rubbed between my folds, letting me know what was coming. Then that hand, the same one from earlier, wrapped around my neck, under my chin, and tipped my head up.

His hot breath coasted over my earlobe as he whispered, “You are so fucking beautiful. I can’t stop wanting your body. Wanting to do dirty things to it. Wanting to cover you in my come. To slide my cock between your arse cheeks. To titty fuck you. To shove my dick down your throat and make you swallow every drop as I spill it.”

He stroked my arse with his free hand and then slipped his fingers around the front of my body, rolling over my clit, his cock almost bumping against his thumb as he rocked between my legs.

“Does that scare you, Maggie? My desires? What I want to do to you?”

“No,” I admitted.

“What if I tie you up?” His voice was low, a warning. “Strap you down to my bed and make you come for hours on end.” His fingers didn’t stop rubbing tiny circles over my clit as he spoke. “Lean you upside down over the edge of the mattress, stretch that gorgeous neck, fist your hair and make you deep throat my cock. What then?”

“Luke,” I begged, needing to come. His filthy words. His deep rumbling voice. Those clever fingers. I was so on edge, so wound up, but he held me just there, teetering, hanging. Begging.

“I like it when you beg, Maggie.”

“Neanderthal,” I said on a huff of pent up air.

He chuckled. “You wanna come, sweetheart?”

“Yes.”

“How badly?”

“Badly,” I admitted, unashamed that he’d brought me to a place where I was so honest.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured.

“Luke,” was all I could manage.

A condom wrapper fell to the floor, then his cock was out from between my legs, no doubt being covered. But he never stopped teasing my clit. Not once.

“When I spread your cheeks,” he said, his voice strained. “And enter you from behind.” Another swirl of his finger over my clit. “You are not to come.”

“Luke,” I pleaded. “I can’t…”

“You can, baby. I want to get my fill of you first.”

I shook my head. His hand at my throat squeezed slightly.

“Say yes,” he ordered.

“Yes,” I hissed.

“Don’t come,” he repeated, his thumb stroking across my hardened nub.

I moaned. He spread my cheeks, his cock pressed into my pussy from behind.

“Don’t come,” he said again and thrust hard.

I bit my lip and tasted blood. His hand at my throat flexed, but didn’t tighten. The fingers between my legs moved lower, sliding either side of his cock as he plunged it deep inside of me. The heel of his palm pressed against my clit.

I whimpered.

“Don’t you dare come, Maggie,” he growled in my ear, then bit the lobe.

“I can’t…” I panted. He just thrust harder.

Sweating, gasping, moaning, shaking, I felt my mind leave my body. All thoughts vanished. Just the sensation of his bare chest - at some point he must have removed all of his clothing - against my back, hot slick skin against hot slick skin, the stretch of his engorged cock spreading my folds, banging against my g-spot, making my vision blur and my body tingle.

A wave of sensation rose inside me on every grunt of breath puffed out down my back; a tidal wave I couldn’t fight. Tears coursed down my cheeks, my lips trembled, my hands and feet felt numb, my breath wheezed out between my lips.

And still he didn’t stop. Touching me. Tormenting me. Fucking me. He ruled my body, he strung it out, he stripped me bare and remoulded my skin, making it too tight.

“Come,” he said, his finger and thumb pinching my clit, sending me crashing, nose diving, head over heels under the wave, breathless.

I made a sound I’ve never heard before. A keening wail, so loud, so guttural; from deep within.

“That’s it, baby,” he said. “Ride me hard.”

I realised I was, rocking back against him, seeking that next pump of his cock even more desperately then he’d been seeking to sink himself inside me. I moaned, my head hanging low between my shoulders, my forehead resting against the cool wall. The shudders subsided. My legs gave out. Luke wrapped a hand around my hip and held me upright.

Then he pulled himself free of my body, the condom got frantically torn off, and he came all over my back, warm splashes coating me.

“Fuck!” he moaned, the sound almost painful. “Jesus fuck,” he added, stroking himself off.

His hand at my throat held me tenderly, a thumb sweep across my rapidly beating pulse letting me know he was aware of what he was doing. Even as his head came down on my shoulder and his desperate breaths coated my back, and his come started to dry on my butt cheeks.

“Maggie,” he said, almost reverently. And then he swung me around, swept me up, and started carrying me towards his bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Haven’t you had enough?” I said groggily.

“Never,” he replied, smiling down at me.

My lids grew heavy, my breaths evened out, and a smile swallowed me whole.

“I’ve got you,” Luke whispered, and I realised he did.

Because not once had I thought of my job. Of what waited back in the real world.

Of Matt or James Whiting or even Investigator Everett.

And not once of the ghost of Missy Drake trying to tell me something.

Chapter 36

I Didn’t Have An Adequate Answer

Luke

I watched Maggie sleep. My chest expanding with a sensation I wasn’t familiar with. I rubbed at it absently, taking in the way her eyelashes fluttered against her smooth cheeks. How the flush of sex painted them an alluring shade of pink. How relaxed her body was snuggled up against mine. How perfectly she fitted.

I ran a finger down her bare arm, seeing goosebumps rise in its wake. I reached down and lifted the blankets up, covering her from toes to chin. Her pulse beckoned.

Sweet Jesus, she was perfect. And here we’d established that perfection wasn’t real. Well, fuck that. Maggie was as real as they came. Stunningly so.

“You’re mine,” I whispered. She smiled in her sleep.

Knowing I’d be sawing logs all too easily with Maggie in my arms and fearing a severe telling off by my woman should I forget to clean up our mess before station staff arrived in the morning, I reluctantly slipped out from beneath the covers and tiptoed from the room. The house creaked softly as I made my way downstairs, my feet feeling like they were floating a centimetre off the fucking floorboards.

I picked up the used condoms and threw them in the rubbish, then grabbed Maggie’s gun and locked it away in the gun safe in my office. Then returned to the hallway for our clothes. Glancing out of the front window, I spotted Matt’s ute. It hadn’t been there earlier; the only reason I knew he still lived; he’d been home at some stage yesterday to uplift his car. And now he was back.

I threw Maggie’s uniform on the sofa in the lounge and slipped back into my jeans and boots, then grabbing a jacket, I opened the front door and stepped out into the cold night air.

Matt sat on the swing seat, staring off towards the front pastures. Towards section three. He wasn’t drunk. Or, at least, he wasn’t holding a bottle of whisky.

“When did you get here?” I asked, leaning back against the railing of the porch.

“Long enough to know you were busy.”

Fuck. Maggie wasn’t going to like that one little bit.

“Why didn’t you leave?” I demanded. He’d got real good at that recently.

He pointed towards the front of his ute. I turned and stared at it for a long moment, my eyes slowly focusing on the dent on the hood.

“What did you hit?” I asked, dreading the answer. If Matt had been drunk while driving, I might have to thump him.

“I didn’t. First time I drove it was to come here. It turned up at my home like this.”

“Someone drove it there, wrecked?”

“Seems like it.”

“Fuck,” I said on a heated breath.

“I’m being set up,” Matt finally said, softly.

“Because of this?”

“And the wallet. And IPCA. I’m being fucking set up.” He had a point.

“But what’s a dented hood got to do with it?”

“Fencing,” he said.

“What?”

“There were bits of fencing in the grille.”

“The fuck you say? Fencing?”

“Section four fencing.”

“The sheep.”

“Yeah.”

“But this doesn’t make any sense.” Why would anyone think Matt would sabotage our sheep? It’s just not in him. And besides, his profits would be hit too with Red Tussock’s name being dragged through the mud.

“None of it does,” Matt said. Then tired brown eyes met mine. “What does Maggie think?”

“You haven’t asked her?”

“I can’t go near the station with that IPCA prick there. I can’t go anywhere. What does she think?”

“I don’t know.”

“So you just fuck her anyway? Even though she could arrest me at any moment.”

“You’re innocent aren’t you?” I threw back.

“Of this,” he said, as if he had other things to be guilty for.

“Of everything, numbskull.”

He snorted. “I’m not so sure anymore. Missy would disagree if she were here.”

“Fuck Missy.”

“Don’t fucking say that,” he growled.

“Then don’t fucking mention Maggie and fucking in the same breath,” I growled back.

“What, it’s not fucking? Sounded like it.”

“Fuck off!” Truth is, I wasn’t so sure it was just fucking anymore. I sure as hell didn’t want to let her go and I’d never been that attached to the women I fucked before. But Maggie? Maggie was something else.

Maggie was a drug I didn’t want to quit. Maggie was a need not a desire. Even knowing she was sleeping in my bed, upstairs, waiting for me to wrap my body around hers and hold on tight, filled me with a longing so deep I could barely breathe.

I still wanted to do dirty things to her. I still wanted her to submit to my every whim in bed. But I was starting to think there was no end to my fantasies as far as Maggie Blackmore went. I wanted to try them all. Do it all. With her and no one else.

“It’s not fucking,” I said, more for myself than Matt.

“Well, fuck me,” he said and laughed.

I started to smile, then my eyes snagged on the ute.

“Who the hell would be doing this?” I said on the next breath.

“I don’t know, bro. But I’m worried.” Not a lot worried Matt. Or not a lot that he’d admit to. Hearing him voice it now sent my protective side in to overdrive. I wanted to fix this for him. I wanted my brother back.

“We’re gonna get through this,” I promised.

“I’m not so sure, Lukey,” Matt said on a sigh.

“Don’t you fucking give up on me now,” I growled. Then pointed to the second storey of my house. “We’ve got a fucking Auckland detective up there. Sound asleep in my bed. Would she be there if she thought you were guilty?” I shook my head. “That’s not Maggie’s style. Even if she hasn’t said it, none of this is flying with her at heart. She covered for you with Everett. She’ll…”

“Everett and Sergeant Blackmore have a history. One that could work for us or against us.”

“He the one who dicked her brother?” It all made sense. The way Maggie blanched when Everett mentioned Declan King. The fact that Michael Blackmore was no longer a cop. Was, in fact, mute. I could just picture that sanctimonious prick Everett messing with Maggie’s brother like that.

“You know about Michael Blackmore?”

“She mentioned him.”

“Jesus, you do do more than just fuck her.”

I swatted him across the back of the head. He mock whimpered. I punched him in the upper arm. Hard.

“Ow,” he groused, rubbing it.

I sank down next to him on the swing. Both of us staring off over the pastures. The stars blinked above our heads. The occasional car could be heard in the distance, the sound of its engine carrying across the moor from the state highway. The air felt chiller and chiller. Breaths huffing before lips.

“Michael Blackmore was accused of going rogue on an undercover assignment,” Matt said.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. He was close to Declan King. That drug lord who killed heaps of people at the Auckland Court House six years ago?” Fuck me. That was who Declan King was. It’d been all over the news. Even down here. The Court House Massacre. “Well, Blackmore was close enough to King that certain people in positions of power believed he should have been able to prevent that bloodbath from happening. Everett hounded him. Dug up every dirty, belittling thing from his past that he could. Shit that was irrelevant. Shit that had nothing to do with him being a damn good cop. It was an utter clusterfuck, from what I’ve read. Then someone stepped forward, a witness, that proved Blackmore had no idea what was about to go down and by the time it all started, he was too entrenched to do a thing but try to protect those being hurt around him.

“Took a bullet or two in the process. Saw death close up on a bloody scale. And then went through the court system, hounded by Everett, afterwards. People talked. Cops talked. His career was over even though it wasn’t.”

“And he stopped talking,” I finished.

“Just shut down. Couldn’t take it. Severe case of PTSD, exacerbated by guilt complex. Misplaced guilt, but there you have it.”

He shook his head and leaned back on the swing seat.

“In any case,” he finally added, “Everett has an axe to grind with Maggie, because she made his life living hell. Defended her brother. Turned up at IPCA every weekend she had off. Investigated the case herself on her down time. Almost lost her rank and job. But it worked. The witness was found, Everett was shamed. Blackmore exonerated.”

“Too little too late.”

Matt nodded. “And now he’s here. Got something to prove and a police sergeant to dick with. How helpful would Maggie’s hatred of Senior Investigator Everett be, do you think?”

He raised his eyebrows at me and waited.

I didn’t have an adequate answer.

Chapter 37

Bloody JAFAs

Maggie

There were voices downstairs, floating up on the scent of bacon. I frowned as I stepped out of Luke’s bedroom, cocking my head and trying to determine how many people were here to witness my walk of shame. Again.

The good news was I could only hear one other voice than Luke’s. The bad news was it sounded distinctly like the senior sergeant.

I groaned and crossed the hallway to the bathroom, making quick work of freshening up and getting dressed. My uniform was sitting waiting for me. Even my boots. But not my gun and holster.

With a sense of dread that made my stomach churn, I walked down the stairs praying Matt hadn’t found my gun abandoned on the hallway floor next to the condoms. It took everything in me to enter the kitchen and hold my head up high.

The smell of frying bacon did help a little.

“Morning,” I said, announcing my presence.

“Hey, beautiful,” Luke offered, stepping away from the stove and wrapping a hand around my pony tail, tipping my head back for a quick kiss on the lips. I had the impression this would be a standard greeting from Luke. He had a thing for holding onto my hair.

Ordinarily, I’d welcome that. But I was acutely aware of his brother watching our every move.

Luke pulled back and looked me in the eyes, hand still holding fast to my pony tail. His gaze flicked between one eye and then the next, and then he leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “Your gun is in my safe, in my office.”

He’d seen my disquiet, I realised. Been able to read me. I let out a small breath of air and then smiled. His grin back was blinding in its beauty.

“Morning, Sergeant,” Matt said from across the farmhouse table.

“Matt.” I was determined to get to know Matt Drake a little better. Turning up in his brother’s kitchen the night after I’d slept in his bed made titles irrelevant.

Or so I hoped.

“Matt’s ute is outside,” Luke said. I blinked at the segue and took a seat at the table opposite his brother, helping myself to the coffee and pouring a cup.

“OK,” I said, adding milk.

“It turned up at his house last night. We don’t know who drove it there,” Luke added.

I watched Matt. There was something happening and Luke was softening the blow.

“OK,” I repeated.

“It’s been damaged.”

“How?” I asked. Matt remained mute, watching me like a hawk.

“Looks like someone drove it through a fence.”

It took a second for the facts to align. “A farm fence, perhaps?” I asked. Matt blinked slowly.

“Yeah,” Luke offered. Placing a plate of fried eggs, bacon and hash-browns down before me. It was big enough to feed the whole police station, let alone one sergeant.

“Oh,” I said looking down at what was obviously my plate. “This can’t just be for me, right?”

“Eat,” Luke said, slapping a bigger plate down in front of his brother, and then another mammoth sized portion in front of his seat, to my side.

No one dug in.

I let out a slow breath of air.

“OK,” I said. “How certain are you it’s section four fencing?”

Matt let out a little laugh.

“What’s so funny?” I demanded.

“I bet you’ve learned where every section is on the station already.”

Well, yeah. I was investigating a series of crimes on Red Tussock. “So?”

He shook his head, reached over the table for the salt and pepper, and started to liberally coat his cardiac nightmare.

“Good choice bringing you in,” he said as if to himself, just before he shovelled a forkful into his mouth.

“Glad you’ve come to that conclusion,” I deadpanned, unsure of what the hell had just happened.

Luke’s rumbly chuckle sounded out beside me and his hand landed on the back of my neck.

“Eat,” he said. Again.

I scowled at both men and picked up my fork. Luke didn’t touch his meal until I’d placed food in my mouth. And only then once I proved I wasn’t about to stop stuffing myself.

“Someone’s setting him up,” Luke said between mouthfuls.

Matt lowered his fork and looked across the table at me.

“What do you think?” he asked. And he meant it. He wanted to know what my take on all of this was. I felt flattered, but put on the spot. There were so many different things to think, at this stage.

“Who have you pissed off?” I queried.

“Motive,” he surmised.

“There has to be one.”

“Couldn’t they just be psychotic?”

“This is Twizel,” I agreed and both men laughed.

Matt was the first to stop, his hand going to the back of his head and rubbing as if to dislodge a decent thought.

“I don’t know. I’ve not exactly been firing on all cylinders lately.”

“Any case stand out?”

He shook his head. “Mac’s been carrying the load.”

“What about that house you shot up?” I pressed.

He winced. “You heard about that, huh?”

“Everett.”

“Fuck,” Matt growled, pushing the uneaten portion of his meal away in disgust.

“Known drug house,” Matt finally explained. “We’d been out there too many times to count. Confiscated illegal weapons. Made arrests. The whole nine yards.”

“Then why was Sergeant Grayson there alone?” I asked.

“He went in before I got there. Saw a half starved kid with snot running down its dirt smeared face running around naked and went in.”

“Did you tell him to?” I could look this all up in the station’s files. I could even ask Mac, if I wanted to have my face chewed off. But sometimes hearing the story from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, told you things printed words couldn’t.

Like how angry Matt was. How frustrated and guilty he looked. How his eyes pleaded with me to understand. Matt would be hopeless at poker.

Or very good at throwing the game.

“Standard procedure is to wait for backup at that address,” he said. “I sent Gray out there, knowing I’d meet him at the location at about the same time. He went in without orders. The kid was hysterical.”

Damn. “How was he hurt? Grayson, I mean.”

“They shot him in the back. He crawled to the car for cover. When I found him, he was unconscious.”

“Blood at the scene.”

“Small calibre. Small wound, thank fuck. It pooled beneath his body.”

“So, that’s a ‘no.’”

“Yeah,” Matt said looking away form me.

Tricky scene. But it was an address well known to the police for possessing illegal guns.

“Perhaps going all Dirty Harry on their arses wasn’t the best, Senior Sergeant,” I suggested.

His eyes slowly came back to my face.

“But then, this is Twizel, so I get it.”

“You got a thing against Twizel, Sergeant?” he asked, lips tipping up in a barely there smile.

“You guys are batshit crazy,” I admitted. “It’s either the spring fed water or the clean high country air.” I looked out of the window over the sink towards his ute. “Hell, you even drive low emission cars.”

I turned back and looked at both men, arms crossed over my chest.

“What the hell is wrong with you people?” I concluded.

Matt looked across to Luke and slowly shook his head.

“Bloody JAFAs,” he said.

Chapter 38

We Just Didn’t Have A Name

Luke

It was surprising how fucking happy I was watching Matt and Maggie tease each other. Neither had finished their meals, but then the topic was hard to stomach. But slowly I could see a softening to Matt as he threw a shot back at Maggie. And her barbs back at him made my face ache; I couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

By the time it was obvious nothing else would be eaten, they’d come to an unspoken agreement. Maggie was behind him. And he was placing his trust in her. Hell, he was placing his career, maybe even his life, in her hands.

Maggie leaned against the bench as Matt and I did the dishes - no way was I letting Maggie help after she’d just won over my brother - and stared out at the ute. A contemplative look on her face.

“1080 isn’t that hard to get ahold of,” she said. “It’s a controlled substance, so records are kept. But any number of farms could have some stored away in their sheds.”

“Not livestock farms,” I offered. “Too much of a risk of stock eating the bait.”

“More likely DOC farms,” Matt said. “Forestry land or wildlife reservations.”

“Any around here?” Maggie asked.

“Sure,” Matt said. “Some out toward Mount Cook. Mount Cook itself is a national park controlled by DOC.”

“You guys border a national park, too, don’t you?”

“Hopkins and Dobson Valleys,” I said. “Leading up to Mount Glenmary and Mount Huxley. It’s all part of the Mount Cook National Park, but there’s no Department of Conservation holdings within shouting distance of our land.”

“So, no reason for 1080 to migrate to Red Tussock,” Maggie surmised.

“None at all.”

She narrowed her eyes at the ute. “It’s you,” she said, still staring at the Ranger. “It’s all about you, Matt. Not Red Tussock.”

“But Matt doesn’t farm the land,” I pointed out. “Justin and I do.”

“He,” Maggie said, “ - and we’ll call the perpetrator a ‘he’ for now - has a connection to Red Tussock, no denying. But he’s also gone after Matt’s reputation on the Force. James Whiting might have been a mistake. Maybe iLivestock’s most aggressive agent pissed him off somehow and he snapped. But everything he has done since is to convince people that you were unstable enough to have killed a man.”

“Covering his mistake,” Matt guessed. Maggie nodded.

“The wallet tied you to Whiting,” she added. “The ute ties you to the sheep. The IPCA shows you’re failing on the job. His intent could even be to get you alienated from your brothers.”

“Never gonna happen,” I remarked. Matt snorted, his arms crossed over his chest as he listened to Maggie.

“Stock agent. Wallet. 1080. Sheep. IPCA.” She shook her head. “It’s clear you’re being set up, but why? Without knowing why, we’ve no hope of discovering who has it in for you.”

“But I have no idea why,” Matt complained.

“Yes you do,” Maggie insisted. “We just need to break it down. This is personal. Why go to the bother of making you look insane if it isn’t?”

Matt slowly nodded his head in agreement.

Maggie suddenly looked uncomfortable.

“What personal things have happened in your life lately that would lead to this sort of retaliation?”

Matt paled. I swore softly under my breath. Maggie waited.

“We’ve got no reason to believe he’s still around here,” Matt said to me.

“No reason to believe he ever left, either.”

“But wouldn’t he have done something sooner? Like when Missy died? If he’s angry at me because of her death, then why wait to have it out?”

“Let’s not forget that he snapped by killing Whiting,” Maggie interjected, undoubtedly keeping up with our conversation. “He’s the one unstable, Matt. Not you.”

Matt snorted louder that time and turned away. “I’m beginning to wonder,” he muttered, running both hands through his hair in frustration.

“That’s his intention,” Maggie pointed out. “Destroy your reputation. Alienate you from any support; friends, family, the community. Unfortunately, you did the rest.”

“The rest?” Matt asked without turning back around.

“Alcohol impairs judgement. Continued abuse of it can alter moods.”

“Fuck,” Matt growled. “He knows I’ve been drinking.”

“And he’s using it to make you think you’re going insane.”

Matt spun back around and stared at Maggie. “He’s a psychopath.”

“Possibly even a sociopath, but a functioning one.”

“But he knows me,” Matt pressed.

“Quite well,” Maggie agreed.

“Then that means…” Matt started… and suddenly sank into a chair at the table as if his legs gave out.

“That means,” Maggie said carefully. “That Missy’s lover is someone you know.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I said. “Are you sure it’s Missy’s lover?” I asked her.

“It makes sense,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Unless Matt can think of anyone else he’s personally slighted enough to frame him for murder.”

Matt shook his head, looking shellshocked.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, racking my brain.

Maggie waited.

“That’s it, then,” Matt finally said on a defeated sigh. “My wife’s lover is out to screw me all over again.”

Maggie shifted on her feet, then looked out at the ute through the window. “He’s confident enough to be on Red Tussock land. Confident in his ability to walk in and drive away in Matt’s ute. Confident that if he was spotted, he could talk his way out of it.”

“Or he just took a risk,” I offered.

“Your homestead is a good kilometre from the main road. There’d have to be a very good reason to walk all the way up here. And,” she added, “know that once you did, there’d be something worth taking to frame Matt with.”

“Matt often leaves his truck here,” I argued, desperate for this not to be going where I thought it was.

Maggie sighed. “The perpetrator drove a Red Tussock ute when he took Whiting.”

“What?” Matt exclaimed.

“Where was your ute Friday night?”

“Here,” Matt said. “I left it here. I came over to see Finn and then walked out back.” He scrubbed his face and flicked his eyes to mine.

“To the shed,” I guessed.

“I got shitfaced,” he admitted. “Couldn’t drive home, so stayed where I was. Drinking.”

“How much fucking whisky do you have stashed out there?” I demanded.

“You’ll never find it all,” Matt declared.

“Could Matt’s ute have gone missing?” Maggie interjected. “The house would have been in chaos.”

I closed my eyes and breathed out through my nose. “I can’t confirm if it was there or not.” I shook my head and looked at Maggie. “There were lots of cars here, Matt’s ute could have got lost amongst them.”

“And lots of people,” Maggie offered. “Wedding guests.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Florists?”

“Maybe.”

“Caterers?”

“They’d have gone directly to the vineyard.”

“Vineyard staff?” Maggie asked.

Shit. “Yeah.

“I’ll need a list,” she said. Then she turned to Matt and added, “And I’ll need you to cross reference each name for me.”

“Fuck,” Matt muttered.

“Fuck,” I whispered in agreement. We knew who was framing him. We even knew why. We just didn’t have a name.

Chapter 39

And The Ghost Of Missy Drake

Maggie

It was a start. It was better than what we’d had. But it still wouldn’t convince IPCA.

I headed into town, leaving Luke to his chores and Matt with the list of names. None of them had jumped out at him. But sometimes these things needed time to percolate.

The Twizel office of the Department of Conservation was on Wairepo Road. A nondescript rectangular building much like a single storey house. Several DOC utes were parked in the lot. As well as a convertible Mazda MX7. The top was down. It was winter. It boggled the mind.

I pushed through the door and came to a stop at a reception area, various flyers were spread out in piles on top of the counter. “Don’t spread DIDYMO!” “What does a 20% reduction in water look like?” “What a pest!” I reached forward and uplifted the one titled, “Protecting our native wildlife.”

“Hello,” a wiry haired man called out. “You’re the new sergeant, aren’t you?”

I indicated the stripes on my stab vest and nodded my head. “Maggie Blackmore,” I offered, shaking his outstretched hand.

“Simon Bishop,” he said, pushing his glasses back up his long nose again.

I waved the pamphlet in my hand. “Kiwis,” I announced. There was a picture of one on the front.

“Apteryx australis,” he replied. I smiled. “The southern brown kiwi,” he translated. “Are you looking to get into bird watching, Sergeant?”

“Not unless the birds do something illegal,” I replied.

He burst out laughing as though I was a comedic genius. My smile widened. It possibly wasn’t fake anymore, either.

When he managed to get himself more or less under control, I asked, “Are there many around here?”

“More toward Haast than Twizel.”

I turned the pamphlet over and looked at it. “Then why have these here?”

“Tourists migrate even if the kiwi doesn’t.”

“That makes sense. So, you don’t use 1080?”

“There are more endangered birds in New Zealand than just the kiwi, Sergeant. It just happens to be our most recognisable. If we threw a kakapo or weka on there, no one would know what it was.”

“Good point. So, 1080? Do you have any?”

“Do you have a rodent problem?”

What a decidedly vexing man. I let out a breath of air surreptitiously. “Mr Bishop, I’m investigating a crime involving 1080 poison.”

“The sheep on Red Tussock,” he guessed.

“You’ve heard?”

“This is Twizel.”

I nodded. “Are you missing any 1080?”

“No.”

Well, that made hunting down the perpetrator’s supply that much harder. Members of the public could possess it, I supposed, and it was possible that the killer stole some from an unwitting farmer - even if Matt and Luke believed no one locally would use it - which they hadn’t yet accounted for. But where would I start looking?

“OK, well, thanks for your time,” I said, feeling marginally dejected. I turned on my heel and headed toward the door.

“Of course,” Mr Bishop called out over my shoulder, “we’re not the only DOC office in the greater Mount Cook area.”

One hand already on the open door, I turned my head and met his bright eyes. He was rather like a bird himself. Hair everywhere quite like ruffled feathers, eyes piercing as though hunting for a juicy worm.

“You’re not,” I said, waiting.

“No. There is the Mount Cook office in Bowen Drive, Mount Cook Village. And they have just discovered a discrepancy in their sodium flouroacetate.”

Have they now? “Thank you,” I said, and pushed through the door.

The sun was high in the sky and my stomach was grumbling. A drive up to Mount Cook would have to wait until I grabbed something to eat and touched base with Mac and Annmarie. Sheila would be back in at work as well, so I decided to swing by there before heading out of town on what might end up being a wild goose chase.

Sheila was staring blankly at her computer screen and didn’t even look up when I entered the police station. And she was wearing a god-awful outfit in shades of brown. Very unlike our vibrant blossom. Teary eyes slowly lifted to mine, taking a few blinks to focus. When she recognised my face, she offered a small smile.

“He’s still here, then?” I asked. She nodded. “He interviewed you?” I guessed. Another nod of her head. “Mac and Annmarie?”

Just then a loud crash sounded out toward the back of the building. I rushed away from Sheila to investigate. In the case files room, I found Mac and Everett. Over fifty case files scattered across the floor at their feet.

“What did you do that for?” Everett was shouting.

“I thought you were going to fall over. You looked faint,” Mac explained.

“I was perfectly fine until you bowled into me.”

“Well, sorry for giving a rat’s arse about your state of health.”

“I think you purposely pushed me into that shelf. Is there something here you don’t want me to read, Senior Constable?”

“What? You can read, too? I’ll be damned.”

I cleared my throat. Two sets of enraged eyes glanced at me.

“Is there a problem?” I asked.

“If you call your Neanderthal senior constable a problem, then yes!”

“Is he not answering your questions, Senior Investigator?” I asked.

“Oh, he’s answering them, and then elaborating on non-sensical, miscellaneous information for minutes on end.”

“I thought it might be pertinent,” Mac complained. “How was I to know it wasn’t?”

I tried not to smile.

“Where’s Annmarie?” I asked.

“I told her to take her lunch break without me if this went on past twelve,” Mac advised, glaring at Everett.

“How long have you been at it?” I queried.

“Three hours!” Everett complained. “Ms Cooper took all of ten minutes!”

I couldn’t stop the twitching of my lips.

“Well,” I said. “See that you clean this lot up.” I nodded toward the case files.

“Of course, Sergeant,” Mac agreed immediately, as if he followed my orders without complaint on a daily basis.

Everett harrumphed and then swiped up his briefcase. “I shall take my lunch break, as well.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Senior Investigator,” I said, stepping in front of him to block his way. “You were involved in this mess, were you not?”

“I was the innocent party!”

“Strange,” I said, catching Mac’s wink over Everett’s shoulder. “How claiming one’s innocence doesn’t seem to sway some people.”

“Really,” Mac drawled, “you should be quite familiar with that concept.”

I left Mac to his games, then checked my cubbyhole for messages. An ESR report was hidden behind a stack of bushcraft and survival training pamphlets - Mac’s doing, at a guess. I scanned the document and then slipped it into my vest pocket. It seemed James Whiting smoked, traces of cigarette ash had been found in the folds of his wallet. Although, from memory, he didn’t show signs of nicotine abuse in his autopsy. I filed that little nugget of information away and swung by reception, reassuring Sheila, then headed out to my car. Grabbing a bite to eat at the petrol station, I turned the vehicle toward the highest point of New Zealand.

Mount Cook, Aoraki, awaited.

And the ghost of Missy Drake.

Chapter 40

It’s Maggie

Luke

Matt’s ute wasn’t alone in the driveway when I returned home for dinner. RED 1 sat parked up beside it, shining black paint, gleaming chrome wheels, sheepskin car seats covers. Mum’s pink fluffy dice hanging down from the rear view mirror.

I smiled to myself as I clomped up the steps onto the porch, spotting the twins immediately. They were playing hide and seek, although by the looks of it, they’d got the rules of the game wrong. Both of them were crouched down behind the swing seat, their nobly little knees and lace trimmed socks visible at the bottom. They were holding hands, their knuckles white with the death grip they had going on.

Then one of them started to pee.

My heart slammed into my throat and my breaths stuttered. It hurt. It fucking hurt to see them like this.

“Hey,” I said softly. “Anyone seen my nieces out here?”

A curly, dark blonde head slowly rose from behind the swing seat, wide brown eyes met mine, a lip trembled.

“Hey,” I said. “I know you.”

She blinked. “Rachel,” I whispered. “You OK, sweetheart?” Another blink, and then slowly her head slipped down behind the swing seat, her arm going around her twin, Dani.

I stood there and tried to breathe. Tried not to fucking cry like a little girl. I sucked in a deep breath and pushed open the front door, hearing my mother’s voice immediately.

“This is ridiculous, Josh. These are our friends and family, you’re talking about. None of them would want to harm Matt.”

“I know, love,” Dad said in reply. “But someone has to have started this.”

“Not family,” Mum said adamantly. “We’re Drakes. We don’t betray each other.”

I stepped into the kitchen and caught Dad wrapping his arm around Mum’s shoulders. She looked frail, all of a sudden. As if the years had finally caught up with her. Matt sat at the table nursing a coffee. He looked rugged. His eyes met mine and his chin lifted.

“You just missed Charlie,” he said.

“Anything I should know about?” It was late for Charlie to be working.

“Something about the mechanic, the generator, and the main shed.” Matt shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of his drink.

I scratched my head, sounded like a bad joke, and pulled out a chair. Taking it, I reached for the coffee.

“Rachel and Dani are out on the porch,” I announced to the room at large.

“I wondered where they’d disappeared to,” Mum said.

“Dani’s peed her pants,” I said as neutrally as I could manage.

“Shit,” Matt said with feeling.

“I’ll go get them,” Mum offered.

“No. I will. They’re my kids.” Matt stood from the table, leaving the room without looking back.

“Well, that’s a turn up,” Mum said.

“He’s stopped drinking,” Dad offered. “Early days, but still.”

“This is tearing him apart,” Mum explained.

“Then he needs to harden up,” Dad argued.

“You’re too tough on them sometimes, Joshua.”

“And you’re too soft.”

“Jesus,” I said. “We’re grown arse men.”

“Don’t you use that kind of language with me, Luke Drake,” Mum admonished, and then turned to the oven and withdrew a cheese flan.

Dad offered me a wink. “Hear things are progressing with the young sergeant.”

I cringed. “Matt gossiping again?”

“It’s not gossip when it’s about family!” Matt shouted from the downstairs bathroom.

“You’re getting as bad as Sheila!” I shouted back.

“You wish!” he yelled back. “Sheila would have drawn pictures!”

“Sheila wouldn’t have stayed when she wasn’t invited!”

Dad started chuckling. “Caught an eyeful, did he?”

“Dad!” both Matt and I said in unison.

Matt walked back into the room, Dani clinging to his neck in one arm. Rachel holding his other hand, hiding behind his leg.

“Just in time for dinner, girls,” Mum announced, placing utensils and plates on the table.

“Bit late for you, isn’t it?” I said, helping myself to a portion.

“We went snowball fighting,” Dad announced. “Out by Lake Ruataniwha. Someone got very competitive.”

He winked at Rachel. She offered a tentative smile.

“You’d think it was world war three,” Mum announced.

“A friendly match, that’s all. Dani’s got a great right arm.”

He cuffed her on the shoulder gently. She only cringed slightly.

“So, this sergeant,” Mum said, sitting down and helping herself to salad. “She seems nice.”

“Mum,” I warned. I was not going to discuss my ‘feelings’ with my mother.

“Just asking,” Mum said affronted.

“But can she fire a rifle?” Dad asked.

“Of course, she can,” Matt argued. “She’s a cop.”

“A city cop,” Dad shot back.

“A detective,” I said. “She wears a gun.”

Dad looked at me and then at Matt. “You didn’t have a position open for a detective.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t need one.”

Dad nodded his head slowly and then took a bite of his flan. Chewing thoughtfully, he finally added, “Then she could be good for deer hunting season.”

“Dad!” I said. “You are not taking my woman deer hunting.”

“Your woman?” Mum asked. “Does this mean she’s special?”

Oh, God, shoot me now.

Matt started laughing, then Dad followed. Mum reluctantly joined them. I was scowling at them all when the phone rang. Reaching across to the wall behind me, I picked up the handset and said into it, “Red Tussock Station. Or madhouse,” I muttered.

“Luke?” a male voice said.

“Yes,” I replied. “Who’s this?”

“Andrew McQueen.”

“Oh, hey, Mac,” I said, looking toward Matt. Matt sat back and raised an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“Is Matt with you?” Mac asked.

“Yeah, hold on,” I handed the phone over to Matt, and then poked my tongue out at the girls, making them giggle.

Thank fuck for that. Whatever crisis they’d had, they’d recovered enough to smile.

I rubbed at my chest as I watched them pick through their food, vaguely aware of Matt’s voice in the background. Matt stood up, catching my attention again, and walked the handset back to the base unit. And then turned around and caught my eye.

“There’s been an accident,” he said, his face paling.

“Oh, dear,” Mum whispered, hand reaching out to one of the girls.

“M..Mount Cook Road,” Matt said, stuttering.

Jesus, just what Matt needed.

“Mac want your help?” I asked.

“Luke,” he said. “It’s Maggie.”

Chapter 41

That’s When I Started Panicking

Maggie

There used to be this ad on TV. Two possums standing in the middle of the road, their big wide eyes staring off at the headlights of an approaching vehicle. “Check it out,” one of them says. “Two moons.” It always made me laugh.

I wasn’t laughing now.

I squinted my eyes and lifted a hand to the rear view mirror, tipping it down so the headlights behind me didn’t ruin my night vision. It was too late. Already the dark expanse of Mount Cook Road sparked before me, little spots of brightness where they shouldn’t be, flaring before my eyes.

“Low beam, arsehole,” I muttered, slowing the Commodore down in an attempt to gain the driver’s attention.

From the glare in the wing mirrors, it was obvious he didn’t give a shit.

I indicated my intention to pull over, slowing the vehicle further. Snow crunched under my tyres as the car hit the dirt and loose grit on the side of the road. An engine roared. Those bloody headlights flared even brighter, and then the dickhead sideswiped me, performing a picture perfect PIT manoeuvre.

I hadn’t been going that fast, but the snow on the side of the road was slick with ice, my rear flicked out, my nose spun around, and then he was ramming me.

The next few seconds felt like hours as the car spun and his car spun and the road became nothing more than a dark expanse spasmodically lit up by two moons.

Four, maybe, if you counted my high beams. The glow of our combined headlights merged into one mesmerising arc as it swept over tar seal, snow bank, pine tree, tar seal, snow bank, pine tree, and back around again and again and again.

I swear he had his foot to the floor of his vehicle.

It’s strange what you think about when you know you’re about to crash. I thought about the possums. I thought about how they teach you to turn into a spin and drive out of a corner. I thought about Red Tussock Rangers. Forestry workers. And snow ploughs.

I thought about Luke.

And then the car that had hit me gunned its engine and fishtailed off down the roadway out of sight.

I woke up in a mangled car.

The airbag had deployed and a huge pine tree stood where the engine was meant to be. A volunteer fireman, complete with face visor and protective gear, was leaning over the top of me. The roof of the car had been peeled back like a tin of sardines. I could smell pine needles and snow, diesel and grease. And whatever aftershave the fireman wore.

I wondered where the possums had got to.

“Hey, Sergeant,” the fireman said, his voice muffled by the visor protecting his face. “We’ll have you out of here in a jiffy.”

I tried to nod my head, but something restricted movement. Everything seemed to be weighted down as though under the sea. When I lifted my hand to my neck, it was attached to a line. Fluid was dribbling through it into the side of my wrist, crepe bandages securing the IV site.

I stared at the bruises at the base of my thumbs; they looked purple in the artificial rescue light. I tried to move my fingers, but they ached. When I finally manage to lift my free hand up to my neck, I touched plastic. A brace.

I blinked at the crumpled hood. My vision blurred on the pine tree sitting no more than a few feet away. The possums were a figment of my imagination.

And then I realised I couldn’t feel my legs.

That’s when I started panicking.

Chapter 42

What Aren’t You Telling Me?

Luke

It was carnage. The flashing lights of the ambulance and fire engines painted the snow in alternating shades of red and blue. Neither was reassuring.

I couldn’t see Maggie; they wouldn’t let me near the car. But Matt had made it to her side and was talking to the fire chief. Mac was shining a torch light on the tar seal a few metres away, skid marks could be seen where Maggie’s car had spun out. Bits of metal and plastic littered Mount Cook Road. The front of Maggie’s car looked mangled even from this distance.

I was finding it hard to breathe.

“There’s paint transfer,” Annmarie said at my side.

“What?” I couldn’t stop looking to see if Maggie had moved yet.

“On the sergeant’s car. Paint transfer.”

I slowly turned my head to look down at her. She smiled; it was full of understanding.

“Do you want me to find out what Mac’s discovered?”

She was trying to help, I realised. Keeping me involved. She was probably breaking a hundred crime scene rules because she could see I was falling apart, right there.

“Yeah,” I said with a nod of my head. “That’d be good.”

“OK,” she offered, and trudged away toward where Mac was crouched down looking at something.

I wanted to watch them. I couldn’t stop watching for Maggie.

She didn’t get out of the car.

The firemen crawled over the vehicle like insects over a garbage heap. Their reflective jackets catching the safety lights and making a mockery of the scene; making it seem more surreal than it actually was.

This was fucking real.

My eyes gradually made their way back to Mac and Annmarie. They had a tape measure out and were marking spots on the ground with chalk. Mac was pointing where he wanted Annmarie to stand, she’d move, holding her end of the tape, he’d check it, then write something down. At one stage they brought out a laser measuring tool, but obviously they were having difficulty with it.

Mac finally stood up and scratched his head, then looked back towards Maggie’s car. His face was set hard; anger marring his features.

I glanced back at Matt. He was leaning down over the car; talking to Maggie? I started walking before I thought better of it. Several fireman looked in my direction, but no one stopped me until I was within a few feet of the car.

“You can’t be here,” a burly looking paramedic said.

“She’s my girlfriend,” I said, throat dry.

His features softened, but he shook his head. “You need to wait for the senior sergeant.”

“Matt?” I called. Matt’s head turned and he caught my eye. He didn’t look happy.

I felt a hand on my arm and looked down, ready to fling the fucking thing off me.

“Mr Drake,” Annmarie said. “Let’s step back, so they can work.”

“I need to see her.”

“I know,” Annmarie said. “Give it some time.”

“Is she all right?” I demanded, looking toward the ambulance officer who was still standing there. “Why aren’t you doing something?”

“There’s not enough room, sir. We have to let the firemen cut her out first.”

Jesus. I staggered back, my hand covering my mouth.

“Luke,” Annmarie tried. “Come on, I’ll tell you what I can.”

That was the only reason why I let her pull me away from Maggie. That and because I knew if Maggie was still trapped, me getting in the way would only delay things.

Matt looked back across the distance to me and nodded his head; reinforcing my reasoning, but not calming my out of control thoughts. A look was shared between us that spoke volumes.

I’ve got this, his said.

Take care of her, mine pleaded.

“It seems,” Annmarie said, drawing my reluctant attention once we’d reached Mac’s car parked off to the side, “that she spun out, rotating 360° several times. She wouldn’t have been able to avoid the tree. She was out of control when she hit it.”

“No shit,” I muttered. I felt sick to the stomach.

“From what Mac can tell, she wasn’t travelling fast, but there’s ice and well, you know how that is. No chains, either.”

No, I couldn’t see any. My heart thudded away inside my chest.

“But,” she said, voice lowering as if to whisper. “Hers is not the only set of tyre marks on the road.”

I looked down at Annmarie. My heart had stopped beating completely. “What do you mean?”

“Remember the paint transfer?” I nodded my head. “She made contact with another vehicle before she lost control. Both cars spun, but the vehicle she hit gained traction early, and managed to untangle itself from her car.”

I looked back down the road from the direction Maggie and been coming and then turned around and looked past Mac’s car toward Pukaki. The road was eerily quiet outside of the rescue crew’s high powered halogen lights.

“Where’s the car?” I asked.

“That’s the thing. Who crashes into a police car, leaving an officer trapped in her vehicle, and then bolts?”

I looked back at her. My mind whirring. Bile coating the back of my tongue. “She was run off the road.” My fists ached with how hard I was clenching them.

“Well,” Annmarie said. “It does look suspicious.”

Matt walked over then and my heart started thundering all over again.

“Is she awake?” I demanded.

“She wasn’t at first. She is now,” he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “They’re about to get her out. This could get rough, Luke. Steady yourself.”

I nodded, my body strung tight, my hands still fisted.

I wanted to hit something. I wanted to rage and shout. I wanted to hold Maggie in my arms, see for myself that she was all right. Sweep her fringe out of her eyes; it was always bugging her, but she didn’t cut it. Why didn’t she cut it? I loved that fringe.

Oh, fuck. This was bad. Maggie.

“How bad is she?” I asked, my eyes trained on the firemen and paramedics.

Looking for Maggie. Praying to God.

“We won’t know the extent of her injuries until we extricate her completely from the vehicle.”

I knew my brother well, that was his police voice; he was holding out on me. I understood intellectually what he was doing. But, as far as Maggie was concerned, I’d passed ‘intellectually’ days ago.

She was mine. She was part of me now. When Maggie hurt, I hurt.

And Maggie was hurting now.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I demanded.

“Luke, it’s…”

And then Maggie was screaming and I was running and I felt every single bit of her pain along with her.

Chapter 43

Slightly Bonkers And Growing On Me

Maggie

Motherfucker, but that hurt. At least I could feel my legs again.

“Easy, Sergeant,” a paramedic said.

“You go easy!” I growled back. “This hurts like a motherfucker!”

“That’s the spirit,” the chief fire officer said.

“Maggie!” someone shouted. I tried to turn my head.

“Stay still, Sergeant,” the paramedic urged. “We’ve almost got you.”

“Maggie!”

Luke?

“Maggie!”

“Someone hold him back!” the fire chief ordered.

“Maggie! Oomph!”

“Someone’s keen to see you,” the chief drawled.

I smiled, it hurt my cheeks. Hell, I was hurting everywhere.

“Tell him I’m OK,” I said.

“Who Luke?” the chief asked.

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Luke!” he called out. “The sergeant said to tell you she’s OK.”

Silence.

“Did he hear you?”

The chief looked embarrassed. “Ah, yeah. He’s, ah, overcome.”

“Luke?” I called.

“Bloody hell, don’t you start,” the chief said.

“Maggie!”

“Jesus, it’s like being in a teen flick.”

“Luke!”

“Oh, for the love of God, let them see each other.”

“Maggie,” Luke said, suddenly appearing above me. I reached up with my IV lined arm and gripped his hand.

“Hey!” I said.

“Maggie,” he repeated, laying his forehead against mine. “Fuck.”

He was crying, I realised. Holy shit. This big, bad farmer was crying.

“It’s OK,” I reassured him. “I’m OK.”

“You’re stuck in a fucking car.”

“Not anymore,” the chief said. “And she’d be out of it by now if you two could just control your hormones.”

Luke turned his head and growled at the man.

“OK,” the chief said slowly, “we’ll give you a minute. Don’t move, Sergeant.”

“Not going anywhere,” I offered.

“Funny. Bloody JAFAs.” But it was said with more affection than I’d heard the term spoken with before.

“Maggie,” Luke said, clearly unable to use bigger words.

“It was a ute,” I said. He blinked. “Black, that’s all I could see. No number plate, so I can’t be sure. But it looked like a Ford Ranger.”

“Fucking hell,” Luke spat, gripping my fingers almost too tightly.

I winced.

“Where do you hurt?” he demanded.

“My fingers?”

“Oh.” He eased his grip. “Where else?”

I catalogued my aches, they were dimming. Shouldn’t they get worse once adrenaline wears off?

“Um, not too bad actually. Now they’ve got my legs out, they’ve stopped hurting.”

He looked down into what was left of the driver’s side well.

“Shit.” Then he regained control of himself. “Your boots are fucked, but they look like they protected your feet. There’s some tears in your uniform, a little blood.”

I smiled up at him.

“What?”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome?”

“For not holding back.” I wasn’t sure if I meant his honesty in assessing my injuries - no one so far had done that, not even Matt - or whether I meant his attempts to reach me.

“Time’s up,” the chief said. “Kiss your girl and we’ll get her out, yeah?”

“Fuck off, Devon,” Luke growled back.

“Give him a shot of something,” the chief said to the paramedic.

“Ah,” the paramedic managed.

“Come shearing season, you’re on your own,” Luke muttered.

“Come shearing season, I’ll be raking in triple for my wool compared to yours and’ll be able to afford a fleet of shearers, so sod off.”

“Arsehole.”

“Prick.”

The chief slapped Luke on the shoulder in a friendly manner. Luke took one look down at me, lips thinned, and then leaned in and kissed me on the forehead.

“Jesus, if that’s what you call a kiss, then you’re in trouble. Sergeant,” he added, pushing Luke out of the way, “when you get tired of old limp lips here, cross over his western pastures and you’ll find my place. Don’t bother knocking, just come on in.”

“Sure thing, chief,” I said.

“Maggie,” Luke called over the rescue crews’ shoulders. I found his eyes above the throng of firemen. “I’m right here, babe.”

“No pet names,” I said on a gasp, as the brace they’d placed around my body shifted.

“Get used to it,” he called back.

I groaned. It could have been for his persistence or for the fact that being jostled around - albeit carefully - made aches that had dimmed flare back to life.

“If you hurt my woman, Devon McIntyre,” Luke growled, “I’m going to slash all of your tyres.”

The chief looked down at me and smiled. “Got yourself a winner there, Sergeant.”

“I know,” I said, voice a mere gasp.

“Hang in there,” he urged.

I bit my bottom lip. The brace tightened, my legs came free, blood rushed into extremities. I held back the scream that wanted out, aware that Luke was watching.

Then finally my back hit a stretcher, straps were quickly placed across me, and we started moving toward a waiting ambulance.

“One tough lady,” the fire chief said, handing off to the paramedic.

“Better believe it,” Luke replied, climbing up into the truck behind the stretcher.

“You’ll do all right, Sergeant,” the chief said. “You’ve got what it takes to handle Twizel.”

“Don’t know about that,” I said, feeling better again now that I was completely flat. And not trapped. And Luke was beside me. “Twizel’s a mystery.”

“No mystery to it,” the chief said, beginning to close the doors to the truck. “Just be yourself and everyone else will be.”

It was as if he didn’t realise they were all slightly bonkers.

Slightly bonkers and growing on me.

Chapter 44

How Do You Know?

Luke

I took Maggie home from Timaru Hospital the next day. I’d stayed with her overnight as they’d checked for concussion, after ascertaining she hadn’t broken any bones or suffered internal injuries. She’d been lucky, they’d said. I disagreed. She’d strained her thumbs, holding on to the steering wheel too tightly when she’d hit the tree. Had cuts over her lower legs from the mangled engine’s firewall, and a bruise across her chest where the seat belt had bit in. Her neck ached a little and she was dizzy when she stood too quickly, but she refused a wheelchair to the exit and walked. I walked beside her, ready to catch her if need be, proud that I didn’t have to.

Maggie was a fighter.

“What’s Matt say?” she asked, as I held the ute’s door open for her to climb into. She took her time, but managed it without wincing.

“All Red Tussock utes are accounted for. The only one with damage is Matt’s and that’s no different from when you last saw it. He’s searching the NZTA for black utes in the vicinity, but this is Mackenzie Country so both the style of vehicle and colour is popular.”

I closed the door on her frowning face and rushed to the driver’s side to continue the conversation.

“He’s also got Mac and Annmarie out on patrol,” I said, starting the truck up, “pulling over very single ute they come across and inspecting it.”

“The driver will have stashed it by now,” Maggie advised.

“Probably,” I agreed. “But he’ll make another mistake before long. Matt says he’s got too confident in his abilities to evade detection. Matt has a solid alibi, his own ute was right outside the homestead, he can’t be linked to your accident. If that was the guy’s intention all along, that is.”

“It’s been his motive so far,” she conceded, “but that doesn’t mean he didn’t alter it to suit his needs. 1080 was missing from the Mount Cook DOC office and sightings of a Red Tussock ute in the village have been confirmed. No license plate,” she added. “But more than one corroboration of there being a RED Ranger up there.”

Jesus. “Who the hell would head up to Mount Cook in one of our trucks?”

“Is there a way of telling which one was missing?” She didn’t sound too hopeful. We’d already been over this.

“No. But I think I might ground them all. Park ‘em up and lock the keys in my safe.”

“We know he’s got another truck, he’ll have access to more. It won’t stop him, but it will stop Red Tussock being tied to anymore vehicle related crimes.”

I nodded my head, already planning on parking the utes.

“Sounds like Matt’s back working,” Maggie asked carefully.

“He hasn’t touched a drop of whisky since Tuesday.”

“Good for him.”

“He’s cranky as shit, but then, that IPCA dickhead’s still at the station, watching everything he says and does.”

She let out a sigh, staring out of the window and watching the scenery fly by.

“He thinks I know something,” she said to the glass.

“Who? The IPCA dickhead?”

“No.” She narrowed her eyes at the snow accumulated on the side of the roadway. “The killer. He thinks I know more than I do.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, but something’s got him spooked. What happened on Tuesday that could have triggered last night?”

“Matt sobered up?”

“That could be a catalyst in making him angry; his plan’s not working as it should. He wants Matt off centre; alienated; disgracing himself. But that’s not why he drove me off the road.”

I grimaced at the reminder of what happened. ‘Driving off the road’ was a euphemism if ever there was one. The killer had tried to kill Maggie.

“What else?” she mused softly, tracing a line from one raindrop to another on the frosted window. I reached forward and turned up the heat.

“You found out about the 1080,” I suggested.

“Yeah, maybe he made a mistake up on Mount Cook. Maybe I didn’t ask the right people. I just stuck to the DOC staff, I should have knocked on a few doors.”

“You’re just one person, Maggie. Let Matt send someone else up there next time.”

She smiled; it was the fake one. She knew I didn’t want her driving that road any time soon.

“Matt order me a new car yet?” she asked.

“He wants you to take it easy for a few days. Recover, you know?”

“I’m fine.”

“Maggie.”

“I’m fine,” she snapped. Then let out a sigh. “I’m fine,” she said more softly. “Just…”

She needed to talk about it. Her brother, at a guess, hadn’t talked about a thing when it all went down at that Court House. He’d probably thought he had to hold it inside, be the tough cop he was expected to be. Not show any weakness. Be a man. But this was Maggie. I willed her to open up even as I sat silently, letting her find her feet.

She let out a long breath of air. “I was scared,” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” I said, knowing pressing her would make her clam up again.

“I thought I was going to die.”

“Ah, fuck, Maggie.”

“I don’t remember hitting the tree. He could have pulled over and come back and finished me. Why didn’t he finish me?”

“Someone else was on the road,” I said. “Headlights, maybe. He couldn’t stay. The call came in not long after you spun out. They reckon the engine was still running, bits of the tree still falling. He couldn’t come back.”

“Who found me?”

“Some hikers returning from a day on the mountain. They administered first aid and called for assistance.”

“Who the hell hikes Mount Cook in the winter?”

“Hardcore mountaineers. Matt’s done it. So’s Zach. They always used to compete with each other.”

“And Missy?”

I ducked my chin, scowling. “Yeah. They competed over her, too.” That wasn’t what she’d asked, I realised.

“Where’s Zach stationed?”

“All over. He’s military police.”

“Serving on the right side of the law’s in you Drake boys’ blood, huh?”

“What? Not all of us have a thing to prove.”

She laughed. “Finn’s a lawyer. Matt’s a senior sergeant. Zach’s in the military police. What about Justin? Any aspirations to fight the good fight?”

“Justin just wants to photograph shit and make good wine.”

“Someone’s gotta support the heroes with good wine,” she pointed out.

“Or whisky.”

“Maybe Matt should start brewing that.”

“He’d drink all his profits.” We both fell silent.

“He’ll be OK, Luke,” she finally said, reaching over and touching my thigh.

My hand came down off the steering wheel and engulfed her smaller one, fingers lacing together.

“How do you know?” I asked.

She didn’t. I was sure of it. She was just the kind of person who held out hope. Hope that good people won their battles. That her brother would start talking again and Matt would be proved innocent. That the twins weren’t doomed to a life of silence.

“I don’t,” she said, honestly. “But I’ll keep fighting for it, regardless.”

Chapter 45

Words Failed Me

Maggie

I watched the girls playing with their dolls on the lounge room floor. Not a sound came out of their mouths. They’d change their outfits, brush their hair, place sticker tattoos all over their plastic bodies, and make not a peep of noise.

Then Dani reached forward and grabbed Rachel’s doll and tore her last tattoo off.

Even fighting they didn’t make a sound. Rachel glared at Dani. Her twin sister glared back, the sticker scrunched up in her little fist. I waited to see how the argument would resolve itself, but all Rachel did was slowly nod her head.

Then they returned to redressing their dolls.

“Hey, there you are,” Luke said, walking into the lounge with two cups of coffee. “You girls keeping Maggie company?”

They ignored him, but I saw Rachel flick me a brief glance.

“We’ve had three catwalk shows, so far,” I told him, accepting the coffee cup. He carefully sat down beside me on the couch.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked, taking a sip from his own mug.

“Stir crazy,” I admitted. “I need to get out there.”

“Give it a day, Maggie. You’re black and blue all over, you’d scare the locals.”

“Har har,” I said, smirking into my cup. Truth was, I did ache all over. But sitting still would only make it worse.

I needed to start chasing down some leads.

“Has Matt managed to serve that warrant?” I asked.

“He said Alicia parted with her video surveillance tapes with the utmost decorum.” I snorted. “And then had the flying fish whack him on the head on his way out of her shop.”

I laughed. I liked Alicia Parsons. That woman had a certain style. Twizel-esque with a hint of class.

“Everett still at the station?”

“He’s shifted to the Musterer’s Hut.” Oh, dear. “Cornering Tanya’s customers as they sit down to their brunch.”

“Bet she’s not too happy about that,” I guessed.

“Yeah. There might have been a coffee bean or two thrown at his head.”

I sniggered.

“Any charges been brought against Matt yet?”

Luke shook his head and leaned back on the couch, placing an arm behind my back, staring at the twins. “No. Which Matt says is strange.”

“It is and it isn’t,” I told him. “Ordinarily, if they have charges to bring against an officer, they don’t muck around. But Everett likes to play a slow game, dragging it out, toying with his target.”

“That’s fucked in the head.”

“IPCA Senior Investigator Mark Everett is not exactly the most stable of men.”

Luke scratched at his beard. It was definitely edging toward ‘beard’ status more and more each day.

“Matt told me about your brother,” he finally said.

I ducked my head down and stared at my cup.

“Any change in his… behaviour?” he asked.

“He still won’t talk,” I admitted, feeling a lump appear in my throat. I glanced across the lounge toward the twins. “Do they go to school?”

“Mum home schools them. They got picked on too much at the local primary.”

“That’s a big responsibility,” I pointed out. Luke’s mother was well into her seventies.

“Yeah,” Luke agreed. “We’re thinking of hiring a special needs teacher for them. One with experience in this type of thing. But getting one to move to Twizel for any length of time is damn near impossible.”

And would cost a fortune. “I guess Timaru’s not set up for that sort of thing.”

“No,” Luke said quietly. “Matt would have to move to Christchurch.”

“Maybe a clean start would be a good thing,” I suggested.

“He needs to be in Mackenzie Country. It’s in his blood.”

“Like it’s in yours?”

He turned to look down at me, his coffee cup placed between his legs so his fingers could come up and brush my fringe back off my face. Then he wrapped his hand around the side of my neck, placing his fingers over my throat carefully, his thumb stroking my pulse point.

“Red Tussock is my birthright,” he said. “Where my heart beats and my soul lives. My feet are rooted in its soil. My blood flows through its rivers as though they are my veins. I could never leave, Maggie.”

I wouldn't want him to.

“Do you understand?” he said, his voice pleading.

I nodded my head and reached up to cup his jaw. “I understand.”

He stared into my eyes for a long moment, and then leaned forward and rested his forehead against mine.

“You smell of peaches,” he said softly. “Coffee cake and warm sunshine. You remind me of late summer afternoons as the sun sets behind Mount Glenmary. You’re like a sunset in my mind. Warm and inviting and so close I want to reach out and touch you. Always.” He let out a shuddering breath of air. “But like all sunsets, when I wake, you’ll be gone.

“Don’t leave, Maggie. Stay.”

“I’m not leaving,” I said. Not yet, anyway.

Deep, rich chocolate brown eyes opened and stared right into me.

“OK,” he said, and I knew he’d seen the lie on my face.

I wanted to reassure him. Part of me couldn’t imagine walking away from this man. From Red Tussock. But this was only ever meant to be a break. A chance for Michael to miss my weekly visits. To kick start his desire to communicate.

But since I’d been here, I’d received exactly one text message from him. And zero phone calls.

Six years was a long time to remain mute. I looked back down at the girls and prayed their fate did not match my brother’s. Prayed the Drakes could find their special needs teacher and convince her to stay.

Prayed for a world where trauma didn’t fuck with your head to such a degree you withdrew into yourself.

“Have they seen a psychologist?” I asked Luke.

“Several.”

“What happened that day, do you think?”

Luke looked at the girls, making sure they weren’t watching us. But how could you be certain their silence meant they weren’t aware? They didn’t interact like Michael did. Michael had even picked up sign language. He did text me, even if only once in four weeks.

The girls barely nodded their heads.

“I don’t know,” Luke said, whisper quiet. “I wish I did. But I can guess.”

I flicked my gaze off the girls and looked at Luke.

“Someone took them out of Missy’s car. Then forced them to watch as she drove over that cliff.”

My heart clenched. Words failed me. It was so easy to think that Missy had done it. Lost in a fugue of depression, she’d had the wherewithal to get her kids out of the car first before ending her own life. I’d read the autopsy report. She’d been alive when the car had hit the bottom of the ravine. Whether she’d been conscious or not, I didn’t know. I could only hope that she hadn’t been.

But the girls had.

Rachel chose that moment to look up from her silent playing, big brown eyes much like her father’s and uncle’s met mine.

They looked much older than six years.

Chapter 46

I’ve Seen This

Luke

Talking about the day Missy died had always been hard. Doing it in front of the twins was gut wrenching.

“You don’t think Missy did it, do you?” Maggie whispered beside me. Both of us acutely aware the girls could be listening in.

I wasn’t sure they missed much, but Maggie’s and my voices were barely audible from where we sat, and they were well across the lounge room.

I shook my head. “Not anymore.”

“Neither do I.” I turned my head to look at her. She was watching the girls with a determined look in her eyes. She wanted to solve this as much as Matt did. As much as we all did.

“That’s why he hired you, you know,” I said.

An arched brow was my only reply.

“The sergeant’s job could have gone to a career uniform, but the moment he saw your application, he pounced. He wanted you to get to know Twizel first. Get to know the locals. Him. Before he approached you, I think. And then the whisky hit and things got complicated again.”

“Complicated,” she said.

“He wants the truth. He’s just afraid of it.”

Maggie slowly nodded her head, not taking her eyes off Rachel and Dani. “Does he have any idea of who Missy’s lover was?”

“None.”

“Not even far fetched ones? Men she spoke to even once. Days of the week she tended to be absent from his life more than others.”

“You’d have to ask him.”

She huffed out an amused breath. “He’s not exactly been approachable.”

“He’s stopped drinking.”

“Then he’ll be erratic.”

“Give him a chance.”

Maggie flicked her eyes to mine and scowled. I couldn’t resist reaching up and cupping her chin, tipping her head back, staring down into her eyes.

“You know you want to,” I said.

“You’re a pest, Luke Drake,” she said on a soft smile. Maggie was born to be touched. Held. Contained.

My grip firmed, my palm flattening, then sliding down her neck, fingers wrapping around both sides. Her pulse thrumming.

I let her see my desire. Let her look in the face of the man before her. The man who wanted to do all manner of filthy things to her body.

“Fuck that accident,” I growled.

“I’m not broken,” she pointed out, smirking.

I shook my head. “You’re bruised. Sore.”

Maggie’s eyes flicked across the room to the twins, but they were fighting over a sticker or something. Her gaze came back to mine; smouldering.

“And horny,” she offered, making me laugh.

“Damn, woman,” I growled, shaking my head. “You make it impossible to be gentle.”

“Now, that’s a statement Freud would have a field day with,” she quipped.

I leaned forward, my lips coasting over her jaw, my teeth taking a nibble on her earlobe. Then I murmured against her hot skin, “I’ll give you twenty-four more hours, and then I’m tying you to my bed.”

“Promise?” The word was breathless. Her pulse had doubled. Her skin was coated in a fine sheen of sweat.

“First,” I whispered, “I’ll spread your legs, making sure my hands are far from your scrapes and scratches. Then I’ll bare that glorious pussy and take my visual fill of it. When you start squirming…” She’d started to squirm on the couch now. “…I’ll gently blow against it. Use my thumbs to open you for my tongue. I’ll lick you out until you shout my name. Then I’ll finger fuck you until you beg me to come. Then I’ll repeat it all again until you’re loose and sleepy and limp in my arms.”

“Tease,” she said, unevenly.

My hand slipped down between her breasts, over her quivering stomach, and landed on her hip, thumb stroking very close to the seam between her legs.

“Are you wet?” She glared at me. I chuckled. “Then be a good girl and get better.”

“Prick.”

I smiled, pulling back and checking on the girls. Damn baby sitting duty.

The front door opened, both ending my fantasy and making me hopeful it was Mum. I told Maggie I’d wait another twenty-four hours. That sounded like a fucking bad idea about now. I shifted on the couch, leaning forward to place both our empty cups on the coffee table, and took the opportunity to adjust my aching cock.

Matt walked into the room in full uniform. I hadn’t seen him in uniform for months. He looked like hell, hadn’t shaved this morning, and red rimmed his eyes, but they weren’t glassy and his gait was rock steady.

He caught sight of the twins and smiled, then immediately walked over to them, nodding a greeting to us, before he crouched down and kissed them both on the head. Rachel smiled. Dani stilled for a second and then returned to her doll. Matt stroked her head for a while longer and then stood up and turned toward us.

“Got something you should see,” he said, eyes on Maggie.

“Good, I was getting antsy.”

“Antsy?” I demanded. “Is that what you call it?”

Maggie offered me a glare, in complete police officer mode now.

“If you start calling me Mr Drake again,” I drawled, “be prepared for the fallout.”

“Twenty-four hours,” she said succinctly.

“I lied.” She rolled her eyes and then arched a brow at Matt.

“You two done?” he asked, heading toward the DVD player in the corner.

“Yes,” Maggie said at the same time I murmured, “Never.” A twitch of her lips told me she appreciated my humour.

Little did she know it was a vow.

I’d never be done with Maggie, I knew that now. Her accident on Mount Cook Road had sealed it, really. Not the accident itself, but my reaction to it. I thought she’d died and I couldn’t imagine Red Tussock without her on it.

I hadn’t lied about that. About Red Tussock being in my blood. My soul. But I wasn’t so sure my heart was completely Red Tussock’s anymore. Part of it belonged to a southern sunset that only Maggie seemed to be able to make.

My home had changed and all it took was a bloody JAFA.

Matt stepped back from the TV with the DVD remote in his hand. He thumbed play and Smokey’s appeared on the big screen. There was no sound, thankfully. Just the front door, the pathway, and the neon sign that read ‘Happy Hour.’

Maggie sat forward in her seat as James Whiting staggered out, emptying his guts all over the gutter.

“I’ve seen this,” she said. “You came out not long beforehand.” Her hand landed on my knee. I swept it up in mine, holding it tightly.

“Yeah, I’ve skipped that bit,” Matt said. “It’s the next part that’s intriguing.”

Within seconds, Charlie Davis walked out of the tavern. I sat forward in my seat. Our senior foreman lit a cigarette and then searched the street. Seeing what he wanted, he wandered off out of the scene.

“Can we follow him?” I asked, as Maggie stood up from the couch and took a step toward the twins.

My eyes tracked her line of sight. Matt’s slowly did the same.

Dani was standing up, fists clenched at her sides, shaking.

Pee ran down her left leg.

Chapter 47

And Red Tussock Utes

Maggie

“It’s all right, baby girl,” Matt was saying, rocking a still mute Dani in his lap. Luke was holding Rachel who stared at her sister without an ounce of expression on her face.

My gaze came back to the TV, which had been switched off.

Charlie Davis. It made sense. He had access to the station. Drove a Red Tussock ute. Smoked cigarettes. Found the sheep. And Missy would have known him. All that aside, though, even with the dim lighting on the street in the video and the way the shadows played over his face hiding his features, there was no denying Dani’s reaction to seeing him right now. I wondered why Alicia hadn’t shown me this. I wondered if it was all a game to the souvenir shop owner. She must have known. But instead she’d switched the view to another camera angle and shown me the ute picking up Whiting.

I cocked my head as Matt and Luke said soothing words to the twins, my eyes staring unseeing at the blank TV screen.

“Have you got all the discs?” I asked Matt.

“Not now, Maggie,” he growled. I understood, really I did, but something was niggling at me.

“It might be best to take them out of the room,” I said carefully.

“Where do you suggest I take them?” Matt demanded, hugging Dani to his chest almost too tightly. “He’s been everywhere on the bloody station.”

“Not in my room,” Luke offered. “I’ll grab a basin of water and a washcloth, you take the girls up there.”

Matt stared at him for a long moment, looking a little lost. Then slowly he nodded his head. Reaching out a hand to Rachel, he gripped both daughters and left the room.

Luke turned to look down at me.

“Charlie’s worked for my family for twenty years. Started out as a young farm labourer. Attended our Christmas parties.” He ran a hand through his hair in utter frustration. “I’ll kill him,” he whispered. “I’ll fucking kill the bastard.”

I took the steps necessary to reach him and gripped his hand. “First, the girls.”

He nodded.

“Then the lynching.” I’d meant it as a joke; a pitiful attempt to get him to loosen up. He just scowled harder and nodded his head, as if lynching was quite acceptable in these parts.

Maybe it was. This was Twizel. When Luke went to go after his brother, I squeezed his hand, halting all motion. He tipped his head down and looked at me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. He was hurting. They all were. This was going to hurt something fierce.

“Maggie,” he said, pulling me close and wrapping me up in his arms. “If he was driving that ute,” he said against my hair, “that ran you off the road, there is no hope for him.”

He was warning me. The twins made him sick to the stomach, made his heart break apart. Matt had his loyalty as a brother; no telling what that sort of bond would do.

But my accident - my near death - was what would put the final nail in Charlie’s coffin.

I closed my eyes and clung to him tighter. I didn’t want to let him go. I didn’t want to risk him. But Matt called out and Luke pulled away, and then he was gone.

For some reason it left me desperate.

I rushed to the TV and switched it back on, then replayed the DVD. The same images came up. Smokey’s. Whiting. Gutter. Charlie Davis. I paused the screen and stared at the image of the man who had loved Missy. Who had killed James Whiting to frame Matt. Who had stolen 1080 and poisoned sheep. Who had spread rumours and called in the IPCA. Who had run me off the road when he thought I knew something.

I watched the footage again and again trying to look for anything that would make the sick feeling inside my gut go away. Had he pulled Missy over on Mount Cook Road? Had he somehow knocked her unconscious in a rage? Dragged the twins out of the ute, because even psychotic killers have a line they draw in the sand? Then made them watch him push their mother off into a ravine?

Had this man done it? With his broad shoulders and strong muscles, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. His tattoos showing.

I looked across the room to the dolls still lying on the floor. One of them in a pool of urine. All the sticker tattoos, every single one of them, had been taken off. Only bare plastic ‘skin’ under their fashion outfits.

I stared back at the screen and took in Charlie’s tattoos.

It all made sense.

But why did I feel I was missing something?

I kept playing the disc; it showed more people exiting the pub. Then cut away to another camera angle. This time, Whiting getting into the Red Tussock truck. I still couldn’t see the whole license plate. Nor the driver. I replayed the scene. Then replayed it again.

Then sat back on my heels and frowned at the DVD player.

The time stamp on the segments of video coverage were chronological. Whiting exiting Smokey’s, followed by Charlie. Then when the camera angle changed the clock started again. This time showing a time after Whiting exited Smokey’s but before Charlie did.

James Whiting got into the Red Tussock ute before Charlie Davis left the pub.

He didn’t do it. I felt shocked. He’d looked so good on paper. Made sense. I played the sequences again to be sure. Then picked up my cell phone and dialled Directory. A few seconds later, Alicia Parson’s crisp British accent came down the line.

“Sergeant, what a pleasant surprise,” she said, after I’d identified myself.

“Cut the crap, Alicia, you were expecting my call.”

She laughed, a low, throaty chuckle. “I would have been disappointed had you not.”

“It wasn’t Charlie Davis,” I said, laying it out there.

“It was not.”

“You know who,” I said, anger making my voice sound like a growl.

“I have no idea,” she offered politely.

“You see everything, Alicia,” I pointed out. “You watch it all. You know something.”

“Maybe.”

“Then spill.”

“That’s not how the game is played, Sergeant.”

“This isn’t a game. We’re talking about a man’s death. The innocence of two others. We’re talking about Missy Drake,” I added, lowering my voice and glancing toward the open door to the room.

“Ah, so you’ve put at least that together. Good for you, Sergeant. I knew you had it in you.”

“Who did she spend time with, Alicia?” I asked, ignoring the patronising tone. “Who did you see her with?”

“Bear in mind my static cameras are limited to Main Street,” she advised.

I scowled at the floor. Then had a thought. “Is the salmon the first flying fish you’ve ever had?” I asked.

She laughed, a genuinely amused sound. She was delighted I was putting it all together.

I was revising my earlier belief that I liked her.

“It is,” she said, dashing my hopes. “But I have three drones.”

Of course, she did. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

“I don’t use them all the time, of course,” she said genially. “But occasionally they’re good for sightings on arterial routes and their tributaries.” Who said things like that?

“What on earth did you do you before you sold stuffed kiwis?” I demanded.

“Now, that would be telling, wouldn’t it, Sergeant?” she said.

OK. A puzzle for another day. “Tell me. Please,” I added for good measure. “Who did you see Missy Drake with?”

“The better question, Sergeant, is where?”

“Don’t play games with me, Alicia. This is important.”

“Life is important, wouldn’t you say?”

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. I’d play. I’d have to. She held all the cards. The warrant had been specifically for that Friday night. Missy had been long dead.

“Where did you see Missy Drake, Alicia?” I asked.

“Tasman Road,” she replied smugly.

“That’s the road the police station is on,” I pointed out. “Of course you’d see her there.”

“Don’t be so one dimensional, Sergeant. There’s more than one business on that street.”

I racked my brain, trying to picture the road I drove down practically every day. It was harder than it sounded.

The police station. The RSA. SuperLiquor. Top Hut Bar & Bistro.

The mechanic’s shop.

Son of a bitch.

“Tattoos and cigarettes,” I said.

Alicia laughed, then added, “And Red Tussock utes.”

Chapter 48

We’ll Do That

Luke

I walked back into the lounge with Matt on my heels. The twins had taken a while to calm, but they were both sound asleep in my bed now. Matt had punched a hole in the wall in the bathroom when he’d gone in there to wash his hands. I hadn’t said a word when I found him washing blood off his knuckles.

There’d be more blood flowing before the sun set today.

Mac and Annmarie were talking to Maggie. Annmarie had her cell phone to her ear and was relaying part of her conversation to the others. Mac had a phone to his ear too, while Maggie was writing things down on a large sheet of paper.

It was command central. This was Maggie in detective mode.

I wondered if she’d miss it. Once this was over and Charlie was dead. I wondered if she’d leave, as I was sure she wanted to leave, and go back to her old job. CIB would be exciting, especially in the big city. How could Twizel compare?

How could I if I planned to save my brother?

Maggie stood upright and stretched her back. She was still aching from the accident, and bending over coffee tables was not the best way to recover. But her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed with life and she looked utterly stunning. I took the steps needed to reach her side and began to massage her shoulders.

“I’m heading out,” Matt said at the open door, a scowl on his face as he surveyed the organised chaos of fighting crime.

“Wait!” Maggie shouted after him, pulling away from my touch. But he’d already stormed back into the hall.

“You can’t stop me, Maggie,” he ground out, throwing open the front door hard enough to make it bang against the wall.

“I can and I will,” she replied firmly.

Matt spun around and advanced on her smaller form, finger pointed at her chest.

“This is not Auckland,” he growled.

“This is not the fucking wild west, either,” she growled back. “Pull your head in, Senior Sergeant, and listen to what I have to say.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, almost pleading. “He stole my wife! He stole my kids’ mother! We trusted him!”

“He’s right, Maggie,” I said softly. “Charlie was one of the family.”

“Well, just as well it wasn’t…” she started, just as the man himself - Charlie fucking Davis - stepped onto the porch.

Matt let out a shout of rage. Charlie made a pathetic squawking sound, his cigarette dropping from his lips, falling through the cracks of the boards. And then they were rolling off the porch, flying through the air, fists swinging, legs kicking, fingernails scratching, as the rest of us ran out of the house.

“Matt!” Mac yelled. “Get off him! You’re being a bloody idiot!”

Matt ignored him. He and Charlie rolled toward Matt’s ute in a tangle of limbs and a roar of accusations, then banged into the right front wheel. Matt took hold of Charlie’s head, his face contorted in rage, and whacked it against the tyre rim. Charlie yelled and threw a punch. Matt delivered a head butt.

I wanted to help my brother, I really did, but he needed this. If he tired, I’d finish Charlie off, I silently promised. But Matt got first dibs on drawing blood. It was his wife, his life, that Charlie had fucked with. Red Tussock’s claim was well down the list.

They rolled again, this time under the ute and then out the other side. Annmarie was holding Mac back, who had already received a kick to the chin when he’d tried to separate them, and Maggie was missing. I glanced up at my bedroom window and spotted the twins.

Torn between going to them and making them step away from this sight, and staying near Matt to protect his back, I stood there like a fucking twit.

Then Maggie stormed out of the house, her gun in her hand, and fired three shots at the ground within feet of the still fighting men.

“Motherfucker!” Mac yelled. “You could have hit them!” Maggie looked wild.

Matt rolled away from Charlie and blinked up at her. She held her gun pointed in the vague direction of his leg.

“Get up, Senior Sergeant,” she ordered, voice strained. “Get the fuck up, now!”

“You dumb bitch,” he said, stunned that she’d fired. I was stunned too, but I stepped toward Maggie’s side.

“Just get up, Matt,” I said. “It’s over.” For now.

“Your fucking woman is batshit crazy!” Matt exclaimed, but rose to his feet as Charlie groaned on the ground.

Maggie laughed. It was a little sharp. “I’m batshit crazy?” she said, shaking her head.

“Matt, “Annmarie said carefully, walking over tentatively to my brother. “It wasn’t Charlie.”

The world slowed down and then simply stopped moving.

I stared at Matt and he stared at me, and then we both turned and stared at Charlie.

“What?” our foreman demanded, spitting a wad of blood out beside him. “Let me guess… you fucked up again, didn’t you, you fucking no good loser drunk. Not enough to piss all over Red Tussock, but you gotta piss all over me, too, now?”

“Shit,” Matt said, sinking to his knees, then back onto his arse. Looking dejected. He breathed heavily for a long moment, his face already swelling. His right eye drawing shut. Charlie had landed a few good blows, by the look of it.

“It wasn’t Charlie,” Maggie repeated, holstering her gun. I realised she’d grabbed it from the office. Somehow fucking opened my gun safe. I was picking she’d used bolt cutters to cut the fucking lock off.

I smiled.

She scowled back at me.

My woman is fierce and quite capable.

“Who is it?” Matt demanded.

Maggie crossed her arms over her chest and turned her scowl on him.

“Sergeant,” Matt growled in warning.

“No,” she said.

“Maggie,” he tried and she let out a breath of air so hard it lifted her fringe off her forehead.

“Jesus Christ, Matt,” she exclaimed. “You went off half cocked after an innocent man.What the hell would you do with the guilty one?”

I saw the answer in his eyes. He’d kill him. I was right there with that sentiment.

And then Maggie said. “Look above me.”

“What?” Matt snapped, already raising his eyes to the second storey of the homestead. His face paled.

“And that’s only two reasons why you need to calm down and let me handle this,” Maggie said quietly.

“Damn you, Maggie Blackmore.”

“Why did you hire me?” Maggie asked.

Matt glared at her.

“Because I’m a city cop,” she told him. “A former CIB detective. Because you knew I’d be the only one here who would do this by the book.”

She looked toward Mac. “Tell me I’m lying.” He slowly shook his head. I realised, Mac would kill the bastard, too.

Her gaze met mine, something sad and heart wrenching on her face. Something that made my chest tight. Made shame wash my skin in too hot tingles.

“You too,” she said. I closed my eyes, but nodded my head.

“And if you called in Justin, he’d be the same,” she guessed. “Hell, Sheila would probably smother the fucker with her muumuu.”

I tried not to smile.

“You’re all a little crazy, you know that?” she said. “A little touched in the head.”

What the fuck?

“But I find myself liking the unusual, lately. Falling for all the bizarre. So, trust me.” She looked at each one of us in turn. “Can you do that?”

I’d trust her with my life.

I looked at Matt.

I’d trusted her all along with my brother’s.

“We’ll do that,” I said.

Chapter 49

Do You Really Want To Toy With Me Again?

Maggie

I watched the mechanic’s shop from behind the blinds at the police station.

“Told you he was a no good piece of shit,” Sheila said. I didn’t reply.

Marinkovich’s Garage was open for business. A VW Golf in one bay, up on a lift, a Craggy Range Station ute parked in the other. There was a young guy working on the VW, but Markinovich was nowhere to be seen.

And more importantly, neither was his big black mechanic’s truck. The one that looked like a Red Tussock Ford Ranger.

“When did you last see him?” I asked Sheila.

She frowned, considering her answer. “Yesterday. Yeah, it was yesterday afternoon.”

“What was he driving?”

“A van. A white one.”

I raised my eyebrows at her. “Seen it before?”

“I don’t watch him all the time, you know? I do have a job to do.”

“Sheila,” I said in warning.

She huffed out a breath and said, “No, I haven’t seen it before.”

I turned back to the window and watched the unimpressive scene across the street.

“Got an address for me yet, Annmarie?” I called out.

“Just found it,” she said, emerging from behind the divider. “He lives behind the golf course, on Ostler Road.”

“Not a lot out there,” I said. “Storage units, fuelling and dump stations, wood supplies. Big lots, nothing residential.”

“Yeah, I Google Mapped it. Looks like he lives in a converted two storey shed next to some privately owned storage units.”

I held my hand out for the address and pulled out my cell phone. Twenty minutes later I had search warrants for the garage across the street, the storage facility and Marinkovich’s address. The judge and I were becoming quite friendly.

“How do you want to do this?” Annmarie asked.

“Ideally, I’d hit all three locations at once.”

“We can’t,” she said simply. “Not without Mac and the senior sergeant.”

“We couldn’t even if we had them,” I pointed out. I’d left Matt and Mac back with Luke at Red Tussock. The thought of having them anywhere near Marinkovich gave me hives. I wasn’t sure how they were fairing out there, but the sooner I got this done, the better for everyone’s state of mind.

“We do it logically,” I said. “Garage. Home. Storage sheds.”

“It’s gonna be a long day,” Annmarie pointed out.

“Suit up,” I instructed. “I’ll unlock the gun safe.”

Her brow arched and then an excited glint entered her eyes, animating her entire face. “Sure thing, Sarge!” she said, and hightailed it out to the locker room.

“She’s still so new,” Sheila commented.

“She’s a qualified and trained police officer. And I won’t let anything happen to her,” I said.

Sheila held my stare with a momma bear one of her own. “Be sure you don’t, Maggie Blackmore,” she declared.

As if I didn’t have enough pressure on me today.

I swiped my phone open again and found the number for the closest police station to ours. It wasn’t ideal. The less people involved the better, but I’d put them on standby. I hadn’t met anyone at the Omarama Station yet, but I outlined what was about to go down, omitting a few pertinent facts, and put the senior sergeant’s cell phone number on speed dial.

Looking back across the road, I stared at the garage. I’d served search warrants before, of course. But usually with a squad of personnel to back me up. This time I had a probationary officer and myself. Serving three warrants on the same man, consecutively.

We’d be lucky if he didn’t flee the county by the time we rolled out of the garage.

I turned back when Annmarie walked into reception and nodded my head at her wide eyed, eager look, then started toward where Matt kept the service weapons under lock and key. I hadn’t even left the reception area when the door squeaked open, crisp winter air rushing in on stomping feet.

“Ah, Sergeant!” Senior Investigator Everett said. “So glad I caught you.”

I held back the sigh that wanted out - barely - and turned to face him.

“What can I do for you, Senior Investigator?”

He seemed pleased I was playing by the rules today. I just wanted the day to be over already.

“I’ve found some rather disturbing discrepancies in the filing system here and I wondered if you could help me fill the gaps.”

Of course he’d found discrepancies. I’d confiscated several files so he wouldn’t read them.

“That is disconcerting,” I commented mildly. “But I can’t assist you right now.”

“Why not?” the annoying man demanded.

I held up the search warrants Sheila had printed out. “I have police business to attend to.”

“This is police business. The business of clearing everybody’s name in Twizel.”

“Everybody’s?” I asked steadily.

“Well, it’s obvious the files relate to cases the senior sergeant has worked on. But that doesn’t mean the senior sergeant has removed them from their rightful location.”

I couldn’t believe this man.

“What are you trying to prove, Everett?” I asked. “That every cop in New Zealand is crooked? You're making a pile of horse shit out of roses,” I pointed out.

“I’d hardly call officers ‘roses’, Sergeant.”

“We’ve all got thorns, Everett. Even you.” Although I’d call him more of a weed than a rose. Maybe bramble or gorse, something prickly and noxious.

“Very amusing,” Everett said. “But I’m watching you very closely, Sergeant. In fact, I think I’ll accompany you.”

Oh, hell no. I shook my head. “I can’t allow a civilian to be involved in this operation.”

“I have clearance.”

“From the Twizel Board of the Mackenzie County Council?” I asked archly.

“Who else?”

“Prove it,” I said. “Show me your mandate.”

He humphed and straightened his shirt sleeves. “You don’t believe me?”

“I’ve never trusted you, Everett. And I’m not about to now.”

“Phone them,” he said quickly. “Go on. Give them a call and check it out.”

I stared at him for a long moment and then slowly smiled. I had no idea who was on the local Council Board, but if Everett had permission to investigate from them, he’d have whipped out the email by now.

“Sheila,” I said, not taking my eyes off the insipid man before me. “Get me the number of someone on the local Board.”

“Of course, Sergeant,” she said from behind me.

Everett twitched slightly.

“You really are a piece of work, Sergeant,” he snarled. “You didn’t like how I ran your brother’s investigation…”

“No one did.”

“… and you obstructed me then, almost losing your job over your uncalled for exploits.”

“They were called for.”

“Do you really want to toy with me again?”

“It’s not toying if it’s justified, Everett.”

“You are walking a fine line between justice and obstruction, Sergeant. Maybe it will be your name on the next investigation I run.”

“Go ahead,” I said. “I have nothing to hide.”

“Nothing? I wouldn’t be so sure, Sergeant. Your brother’s unfortunate PTSD symptoms provided a level of protection from reprimand six years ago. But this time you don’t have a mute to save you.”

Nasty, vile, evil little man. I took a step toward him as Sheila called out, “Got it!”

And then the mechanic’s shop across the road exploded.

Chapter 50

Who Else Would I Contact?

Luke

Tasman Road was in lockdown. It was Devon McIntyre who’d phoned me. He’d been called in on the volunteer fire brigade to contain the fires that had started. Police tape cordoned off one end of the road, but it wasn’t manned. I was guessing the other end would have been the same.

Maggie wasn’t answering her phone. And Matt couldn’t get through to the station. I watched as Mac and Matt lifted the tape and stepped underneath it. I made to follow.

Matt turned around and looked at me. I gave him my most determined stare. He nodded. And then I slipped under the tape as well.

Marinkovich’s Garage looked like a blackened hole. The police station had soot all over the weatherboards and the windows had been blown out. An ambulance sat outside, across the street from the now smouldering shell of the mechanic’s shop. I could see shadows moving inside.

“Matt,” I called, nodding toward the ambulance.

“I’ll check it,” he said, holding up a hand for me to stay back.

Fuck that. I followed and looked over his shoulder as he opened the rear door to the truck after giving it a sharp rap.

“It’s Senior Sergeant Drake,” he announced.

The paramedic from Maggie’s accident was leaning over a supine form. For a second, that night on Mount Cook Road returned, consuming my thoughts, clenching my heart. Then I noticed the shiny shoes poking out from beneath the white blanket.

“What have you got?” Matt asked.

“Shrapnel to the back of his head. Glass,” the paramedic explained, “from when the explosion blew the windows of the police station in.”

“Anyone else hurt?”

“Couple of scrapes and bruises, maybe ringing in the ears of your guys.” He looked out of the side window of the ambulance at the Garage. “Not sure about over there. You’d have to ask the fire chief.”

“And this guy?” Matt asked.

“Oh, he’ll be fine.”

“I am not fine, young man!” a familiar, obnoxious voice said. “I’m bleeding!”

“And conscious,” the paramedic drawled.

Matt smiled and closed the door before Everett really got going.

“Where’s Maggie?” I demanded.

Matt looked toward the burned out shell of the building across the street. “From what little I know of Sergeant Blackmore, she’ll be in there somewhere.”

Bloody woman. I followed Matt toward one of the firemen, my eyes scanning constantly for Maggie.

I spotted Mac bending down over Annmarie as she sat on the side of the road a little ways along. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and Sheila was holding her hand, but otherwise she just looked riled. My bet, she was arguing with Mac about getting up and helping Maggie in amongst what was left of the fire.

“Where’s Devon?” Matt asked the young fireman.

“In there. With the body.”

Matt stilled. I stopped breathing. My mind told me it couldn’t be Maggie - why would she have been there and not Annmarie? - but I hadn’t seen her yet, so my heart gave me a multitude of reasons to start yelling.

“Jesus,” Matt said, wiping a hand over his face. “Do we know who yet?”

The fireman shrugged his shoulders. “No idea. Maybe the chief can answer that for you.”

Matt nodded his head, then turned to look back at me. “You up for this?”

“Don’t ask me to stay out of that building,” I growled.

“OK, just… keep it together.” I nodded.

We stepped over charred wood and twisted metal, and burn marks on the pavement that had large gouges. I glanced back at the police station and noted some of the soot was masking more grievous damage. I was betting a few nuts and wrenches had gone flying. Everett was lucky to only be bleeding from glass fragments.

“Good God,” Matt said, looking at the carnage. “This is…” his voice trailed off.

“Military grade explosives,” Maggie said into the stunned silence.

I turned to see her, almost tripping over myself to reach her side. She gripped my arm once I made it, holding my gaze with a steady one of her own. It said a lot, that look. It told me she was holding it together. That she was mad as hell and determined to get to the bottom of this. But, also, if I so much as wrapped her up in my arms she’d crumble.

“You OK?” I rasped.

“Fine,” she replied.

“Later,” I promised, giving her a pertinent look. She nodded her head and released my arm.

It took everything in me to step back and let her do her job.

“Military grade?” Matt queried, once he saw she was focused.

“Not your standard fertiliser bomb, that’s for sure,” she supplied.

“Why not just a gas leak? Could have been a propane bottle explosion.”

Maggie shook her head. “Fuse wires and timer,” she nodded over to where Devon stood looking down at a deep crater.

“Something survived this?” I asked, dumbfounded.

Maggie’s face lost all emotion. “One body. Over there.” She nodded toward a car lift, the small vehicle that would have been on it leaning at an angle against the wall.

“Marinkovich?” Matt snarled. It would be too easy a death for the fucker.

Maggie shook her head. “No positive ID as yet, but moments before this happened, I only spotted his assistant working over here.”

“Shit,” Matt said, sounding like the world was crushing down on his shoulders. “He was just a young kid. From Pukaki.”

Maggie looked down at the ground, lost in her own thoughts.

“You sure this is intentional?” Matt asked.

Maggie looked up again and then surveyed the room. “The chief is pretty sure.”

At the sound of his title, Devon McIntyre pulled himself away from his assessment and strolled toward us.

“Shit on a stick, boys,” he said. “But this sucks.”

“Yeah,” Matt and I said in unison.

“What can you tell me?” Matt asked.

“Never seen anything like it in person,” Devon said. “But I sure as hell have talked to Zach enough times to know what it is.” Our brother did like to blow things up from time to time.

Thank God he was better at investigating military incidents. Or at least the army seemed to think so and put him there.

“Looks like military issue, but I can’t be sure until I make a few phone calls,” Devon said.

“Don’t limit yourself to just the NZ Army,” Maggie said. Devon swung to look at her.

“Who else would I contact?”

Maggie pursed her lips and looked around the garage. The damage was extensive. Marinkovich’s office was gone, the bomb almost centred there. But so were the two bays and the storage room. Maggie’s eyes, though, were all for the former office.

“Croatia,” she said. “Check Croatian military ordinance.”

Matt caught her eye and then looked at what was left of the office.

“He’s covering his tracks.” Maggie nodded. Matt looked across the street to the police station. “He met her here.” Maggie didn’t say a word.

Matt’s already bruised fist went through the charred remains of a workbench, ash and charcoal flying through the air.

Chapter 51

Thanks

Maggie

The station was full of people. Thankfully none of them were IPCA Investigator Mark Everett. I placed a cup of coffee down in front of Senior Sergeant Malcolm Carter of Omarama Police and took a sip of my own.

“OK,” he said, catching Matt’s eye. “We’ll handle the house, if you handle the storage sheds.”

Matt hadn’t been happy about being left out of the main attraction. But if Missy Drake had met Ivan Marinkovich in his home, I did not want Matt anywhere near there. The storage sheds were bad enough. We’d determined he owned one, so that was where Matt, Annmarie and Mac were heading.

I was sticking close to Carter’s arse, watching over his shoulder. I didn’t for a second think we’d catch Marinkovich red handed. But there could be something at the address that pointed the finger. Marinkovich’s past was a murky quagmire of misdirection. His identity didn’t seem false, but it also wasn’t legit either. A lot of people who fled the Yugoslav War started their lives all over again with no formal identification. If he’d been a refugee, he might have taken on a new identity once he reached another country’s borders.

Of course, I was putting my money on Sheila having got it right from the start. Marinkovich was ex-military. I was holding judgement on him being a sleeper cell, though, but the guy certainly had a lot to answer for.

“All right, we’ll move out in five,” Matt said. “If he’s capable of blowing up his own mechanic’s shop, he’s capable of anything. Don’t lower your guard. Stick with your team. And expect anything.”

“I’ll just add,” Carter said, “if you see anything that looks dodgy, say… explosives or a ticking timer, sound the alarm and get the hell out of there. No mucking around. We pull back and call in the army.”

“Agreed,” Matt said.

“Then let’s do this,” Carter replied. They shared a look and then everyone piled outside, going to their respective teams.

“Maggie,” Matt called. I hesitated halfway between the station and Carter’s vehicle. I still didn’t have one, so I’d called shotgun on Carter’s car.

“Yeah?” I said as Matt approached.

“Thanks,” he said simply. “Regardless of what happens today. Thank you for what you’ve done.”

“It’s my job, Matt.”

“No,” he said on a smile so similar to Luke’s I could only stare. “It’s your calling, Maggie Blackmore. Believing the best in people despite the obvious. Never stopping to dig for the truth even when it’s buried so far down it doesn’t seem worth it.”

“You’re worth it,” I said. “Rachel and Dani are, too.” Missy was as well, but I didn’t say it.

I’d always speak for the dead.

“Yes,” he said. “They are. That’s why…” he stopped, looked toward Carter who was waiting by his open car door, and then scrubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“You’re going to be OK, Matt,” I said softly, leaning closer to deliver the words. I caught his eye. “Sometimes you have to have a hole to climb out of to appreciate the fresh air.”

“Some hole.”

“Some are bigger than others,” I agreed.

“Let’s do this, yeah?” Carter called out. Matt nodded.

“Take care, Sergeant,” Matt said.

“You too,” I replied and then jogged to Carter’s car.

Chapter 52

Copy

Luke

I watched Maggie and Matt share a word on the scorched lawn in front of the station and then they were gone. My chest ached. For the first time in my life I regretted not going to police college with Matt when he’d first suggested it. Being the eldest born son, it’d always been expected that I’d follow in the old man’s footsteps. Matt, Justin, Zach and Finn had been free to pursue whatever they wanted.

Dad would have understood if I’d hankered for something else. Or rather, he’d have accepted it. And Justin would have been just as capable of filling the station manager shoes as any one of us. But there was this unspoken rule, this belief, that I’d be the one to take over.

Hell, Dad started grooming me for the job from the age of three. My first memories are of the shearing shed, the smell of lanolin, and the buzz of the blades.

I stared out at the deserted street and wished in that moment that I hadn’t fallen in love with the woollies. With Red Tussock.

And then I sucked it up and pulled out my phone. Dad didn’t answer his cell, so I tried their landline at the retirement village. No go there either.

An unsettling feeling entered my gut.

Just then Sheila turned up the police radio and we caught word of the first warrant served. Both the Omarama crew along with Maggie and Matt’s team were striking at the same time. But it was Carter’s voice over the airwaves we heard first.

“OM1. Comms.”

“Comms. OM1. Go ahead,” the dispatcher in Christchurch answered.

“10-7.”

“Copy.”

Then silence. I waited for Matt’s voice. It took so long to come, I’d started sweating.

“TZ1. Comms. 10-7.” Thank fuck.

“Comms. TZ1. Copy. OM1 10-7. Over.”

“Copy.”

“They’re on site,” Sheila whispered. “They’ll go in now.”

We waited.

I had no idea what was happening to Maggie. So, I paced. And Sheila wrung her hands. And I kicked one of the plastic waiting area chairs. And Sheila shuffled the community flyers, replacing them in their stand in alphabetical order.

Sweat coated my skin. A tingling started up in my fingers. This would be what it would be like. If she stayed. If she agreed to be mine forever. I’d always known Matt’s job held risks. When Grayson got shot we were on tenterhooks for months. And although there was always a low level hum of fear for my brother. Right now, for Maggie, it raged.

She was good at her job. I knew that. She was level headed under pressure. She’d turned up here, taken one look at Twizel, and figured it all out. Despite our quirks and our small town characteristics, despite a drunken boss and a murder case within the first month of arriving, Maggie had stolen all of our hearts. Not just mine.

Sheila adored her. Annmarie worshipped her. Matt respected her.

I was in love with her.

I sent a prayer up to the heavens that she’d make it home tonight. Once this was over, I was going to do everything in my power to convince Maggie Blackmore to stay. Twizel needed her.

And so did I.

“TZ1. Comms,” Matt’s voice came over the radio. I stilled in my pacing. Sheila dropped several pamphlets.

“Comms. TZ1. Go ahead.”

“One vehicle in storage. Black Ford Ranger. Damaged.”

“Copy.”

“White paint transfer.”

Son of a bitch. They had him. He’d sideswiped Maggie.

“OM1. Comms.” I held my breath.

“Comms. OM1. Go ahead.”

“No one home at the address. Signs of a rapid departure.”

He was fleeing. Bugger!

“Copy.”

“We’ll be 10-3 in five.”

I didn’t hear the dispatcher’s answer; my cell phone had started to buzz in my pocket. I hauled it out, checked the screen, seeing Dad’s name, and swiped to open the call.

“Good timing, we’ve just heard back from Matt,” I said in way of greeting.

“Has he found my surprise yet?” a strongly accented voice demanded.

Chills washed down my spine and I slowly pulled the phone away from my ear, checking the caller. Dad. It said ‘Dad’.

I brought it back up to my ear and growled, “What have you done with my father?”

Chapter 53

We’re Here If You Need Us

Maggie

There were pictures of Missy on his bedroom wall. All over it. Like a shrine. Pictures of her shopping at the grocery store. Of her walking into the Twizel Police Station. Of her with the twins. With Matt. With her in-laws.

Pictures of her naked in bed and smiling.

I stared at the carefully pinned images and couldn’t quite figure out why.

“He blew up the garage,” I said, stunned.

“He wasn’t covering his tracks,” Carter agreed from beside me.

I stared at a photo of Missy Drake, hair blowing in the wind, Mount Cook behind her.

“Why leave this here for us to find?”

“He’s a sociopathic sadist,” Carter said. “Revelling in it. He expected Matt to be the one to walk in here first.”

“Revenge,” I said. “It’s all about revenge.”

“Yeah. He blames Matt for Missy’s death. He blames you for uncovering his identity. The bomb at the garage was designed to cause as much collateral damage as possible. Maybe he thought you’d be serving the warrant by then.” I would have been if Everett hadn’t waylaid me. “But he had a different surprise lined up for Matt.”

“This,” I said, my chest aching. We both stared at the collage before us.

“Yeah. This.”

“Matt will want to see it.”

Carter let out a sigh. “I can’t stop him, Sergeant. But is he up to it? I’ve heard… things.”

I turned and looked the senior sergeant in the eyes.

“He knows his job, sir. He’s good at it. He’s just had a bad few months.”

“Don’t doubt it. But we live under a cloud of suspicion at the best of times. Our every move watched and commented on. One slip up and it’s over. Your boy is sliding.”

Not if I could help it. I nodded.

“OK, your call,” Carter said and walked out of the room to check on the others. I pulled my cell phone out and texted Matt.

It took him all of a minute to arrive.

I was leaning against the wall of the hallway, outside Marinkovich’s bedroom. Matt bounded up the creaking wooden steps and came to an abrupt halt before me.

“What did you find?” he demanded. Mac appeared over his shoulder, his mirrored shades tucked into his vest pocket, his jaw clenched, his eyes hard on mine.

“It was him, Matt,” I said and watched as all emotion was shut down. “He’s a sadist, you understand that?” He didn’t move a muscle. “Not to her, I don’t think. There’s no evidence of that. But you.” I shook my head. “You he’s fucking with.”

Mac took a step closer.

“You can go in there,” I said carefully. “But you won’t like it. And that’s what he wants. He wants you off guard. He wants you broken.”

“I can’t not go in there, Maggie,” Matt said. I nodded my head in understanding.

My eyes caught Mac’s. He stepped up to Matt’s side.

“I’m right here with you, boss,” he said quietly.

“I think I need to do this alone,” Matt replied, voice rough with such depth of emotion.

“OK,” Mac said. “We’re here if you need us.”

Matt walked into the room and everything fell silent. The guys downstairs. Our police radios. The birds in the trees outside.

Silence has a way of making you feel. Fear. Wonder. Heartache.

I stood in silence with Andrew McQueen, a hard nosed southern cop, and felt my heart break as Mac’s did beside me.

And Matthew Drake silently mourned his wife.

Chapter 54

What’s Wrong?

Luke

“Nothing yet,” Marinkovich said. “I’m waiting on your brother.”

“What do you want?” I demanded.

He didn’t answer.

“Tell me,” he said instead. “Did he lose it? Did he walk in there and stare at the life Missy kept hidden from him and wonder if I was better?”

What the fuck was he talking about?

“I would have put a camera up, so I could watch it again and again at my leisure. But that new kuja cop got her search warrants in record time. Never mind. This is better.”

I needed to keep him talking. Find out where he was and what he wanted without making him flip out. He sounded calm enough. Hell, he sounded emotionless. But it’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for. The lamb that doesn’t bleat. The stag that charges.

“What’s better?” I asked.

“He took something of mine,” Marinkovich growled. “He didn’t deserve her. So, I’m paying back the favour.”

“Where’s my father?” I demanded.

“Tell Matt,” Marinkovich said. “That I’m waiting.”

The phone went dead.

“Jesus!” I shouted, almost hurling the damn thing across the reception area.

Sheila let out a little squeak and I swung around to face her. I’d forgotten she was even there. I’d completely blanked out the world around me. I stared at the reception desk of the Twizel Police Station and racked my mind.

Marinkovich had Dad. Maybe even Mum. Which meant…

“Fucking hell,” I said, swiping the phone open again. I dialled Justin.

“Hey, this Justin. Leave a message. You know you want to.”

I swiped the phone closed and dialled the vineyard.

Five torturous minutes later, I realised just how bad it was. I stared at the now blank screen on my phone and knew I had only one option. Taking a deep breath of air, I pressed the button, raising the phone to my ear.

I caught Sheila’s eye. She looked ashen. I felt as lightheaded as she appeared.

Maggie answered on the third ring.

“Hey,” she said, making it suddenly easier to breathe.

“Hey,” I replied, closing my eyes and ducking my chin to my chest, sighing.

“What’s wrong?” came her immediate, high-alert, answer.

“Is Matt with you?”

“Um, kind of,” she hedged.

“Maggie?”

“He’s, well, he’s in Marinkovich’s room looking over the fucker’s shrine to Missy.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Marinkovich wasn’t here,” she added. “Just this message.”

“Is Matt OK?”

“Holding it together,” she said quietly.

I swallowed. I didn’t know how to start.

“What’s wrong?” Maggie said again. How did this woman get me? How did she see through my bullshit to what was inside?

“Ah, fuck, Maggie,” I said. “Marinkovich just called me from Dad’s mobile.”

Chapter 55

Not Yet

Maggie

“He did what? Tell me everything,” I demanded. Mac came up from his lean against the wall opposite me, eyes hard, hands in pockets. He glanced toward the still open doorway to Marinkovich’s bedroom, and I nodded my head in the same direction.

He moved off to stand in the opening, keeping an eye on me and our still silent boss.

“He just called my cell phone,” Luke said, sounding shocked. “I can’t get hold of Justin either. And the staff at the retirement village said Mum and the girls were with Dad when he left there this morning.”

Oh, God, this was bad.

“You did good checking,” I said, keeping my voice level. “Have you tried the station?”

“Not yet. Do you think he’s there? With them? Should I get Charlie to swing by the homestead?”

“No,” I answered immediately. We needed to contain this. “We’ve got this, Luke. Just hang tight, I’ll call you back.”

“Maggie, I’m not hanging tight,” he said, and hung up.

God damn son of a bitch.

Matt walked out of the room then, looking stoic and red eyed. “What’s happening?” he asked, shoulders hunched, back bowed.

I stared at him. Mac cocked an eyebrow at me when I didn’t say anything for too long.

“Sergeant?” Matt queried, standing a little taller. “What’s going on?”

I let out a slow, long breath, then lifted my chin.

“We’ve got a problem.”

It kind of warped into a military operation then. Carter caught wind of the hostage situation and considering he was senior to me and Matt’s family was involved, he took over. Which, all things considered, I was actually quite relieved about.

“We’ll go in via this back access road,” Omarama’s senior sergeant was saying. “He’ll be watching for vehicles on the main drive and there’s absolutely no cover there should he start picking us off.”

“You could also come in from the north ridge,” Matt advised. No one had asked him to leave. It didn’t seem right, let alone possible. “You’d need horses, but he wouldn’t see you coming until you were right on top of him.”

“Who can ride?” Carter asked. Mac and Annmarie both put up their hands, plus a constable from Omarama. “Horses?” Carter asked Matt.

“Devon McIntyre will set you up. Station to the west. You can cross over to the north ridge from his place,” he said to Mac.

“Got it,” Mac replied.

“Then go!” Carter ordered, and they were off.

“The rest of us can come in from the rear, passing the main shed here,” Carter advised, pointing to a hastily drawn map of Red Tussock.

“We need his focus elsewhere,” I said, indicating the driveway.

“Anyone on that thing will be picked off before they make it within spitting distance of the homestead,” Carter advised.

“Without the distraction, both those approaching from section one’s equipment shed and the north ridge won’t make it,” I argued.

“She’s right,” Matt said, giving me a contemplative look. “The cover’s better for longer sou’-west, but not all the way to the house.”

“Damn it!” Carter said. “It’s a fucking nightmare whichever way we approach it.”

“He’s already fixated on me,” I offered, trying to breathe steadily through my nose and act like I had this “I wouldn’t have to get within firing range to catch his eye. Once he caught sight of me, he’d be unwilling to look elsewhere.”

“Maggie,” Matt said softly.

“I’ve pissed him off too.”

“Not as much as me and he doesn’t want me dead.”

“Not yet. But the minute he sees you, he could put a bullet in one of your family.” Matt blanched. “He wants you to suffer, Matt. More than he wants me to be dead. I’m just someone who’s called his bluff and his ego’s been hurt. He and I’ll have a nice, long, insult ridden conversation, while you lot,” I looked at Carter in particular - I doubted Matt would be allowed anywhere near the homestead - “get in the house and neutralise him.”

“It’s about as good a plan as we’ve got,” Carter said.

And I knew I had them. I just wasn’t so sure I could pull it off and not end up dead.

Chapter 56

I Needed My Heart To Stop Bleeding

Luke

Matt walked into the station just as I was walking out. He was carrying a rifle.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Where do you think?” I replied, pushing past him and heading toward my ute.

“Just hold up,” he called, chasing after me. His hand landed on my shoulder and halted any further progress. “I need to grab some ammo and then I’ll come with.”

“You don’t even know where I’m going,” I pointed out.

He snorted. “You’re my brother,” was all he said. “Just hang tight, OK? She’ll need cover.”

He spun on his heel and headed back toward the station before I could get him to clarify.

I knew Maggie would be in the thick of it at Red Tussock. That’s why I had every intention of heading there. What I’d do once I got there, I hadn’t quite decided. It seemed, though, that Matt had it figured out.

It was strange to see him back in command of himself and his job again. Sure, we hadn’t dealt with the IPCA and Markinovich had fucked things up with Red Tussock. And there was Mum and Dad, Justin and the twins to think about. But I hadn’t seen Matt this focused for months.

Finn had said Maggie might be the one to get him out of his funk. I just hadn’t realised her presence alone, asking questions, turning over boulders, digging in the dirt, would do it. A small smile edged the corner of my lips; it had no right to be there. Not right now when so much was up in the air. But the thought of Maggie alone seemed to make me want to grin like a teenage boy.

My hands itched to touch her, my arms ached to hold her. My heart beat just for her. I wanted a moment for everything to slow down. For the world to stop spinning out of control and for Maggie to be standing before me. Her face tipped up to mine, her lips waiting to be ravished. Her hair tied back and begging for my fingers to entwine.

I was shit scared I wouldn’t get that chance. Everything was happening too quickly. And once it was over, for good or for bad, Maggie would leave and head back to Auckland. Head back to CIB and her mute brother.

My chest ached; I rubbed it. My head hurt; I closed my eyes. I hadn’t planned to fall in love with the new police sergeant. I hadn’t planned to do anything more than just fuck her.

It was all twisted up like a tangle of brambles. Every way I turned, I scratched the hell out of my body. I was bleeding on the inside and the more my heart beat the more I bled.

For Maggie.

Matt emerged from the station and strode toward me.

“We’ll go in through the front gate,” he said. “Maggie will have beaten us there by now, but she had instructions to hold off on getting too close to the building.”

“She’s going in alone?” I demanded, swinging the driver’s side door of my truck open. Matt rounded the hood and took the passenger side.

“Three pronged approach. Maggie’s the distraction.”

“You’re letting my woman be the bait?” I all but shouted at him across the roof of the vehicle.

Matt raised his eyebrows at me. “I objected, but I’m not exactly in charge anymore.”

“Bullshit,” I snapped. “You’re still senior sergeant of this station, even if Omarama has taken control. You could have vetoed it.”

“Maggie’s a big girl,” Matt said carefully. “She knows what she’s doing.”

But she didn’t know I was in love with her. She didn’t know she was making me bleed.

“Fuck you, Matt,” I said, slamming the door closed behind me.

He took a second, and then finally entered the ute, placing his rifle on the floorboard beside him. Three boxes of ammo were stashed in the footwell. I shook my head. Matt had always been one for overkill, even when we’d been kids.

I started the truck and pulled out onto the road. Maggie had done Twizel to Red Tussock in twenty minutes. I was aiming for fifteen.

I made it in twelve. Fuck Matt and his white knuckles. I needed my heart to stop bleeding.

Chapter 57

Just The Beating Of My Heart Inside My Chest

Maggie

Nothing stirred in the homestead. Not a curtain. Not a shadow of movement. Not a sound. For the first time since I’d been coming here, Red Tussock felt abandoned.

We’d ordered all station staff to exit the property by the back roads out past the main shed. In theory, the only people on the farm were either armed police officers, Ivan Marinkovich, or the hostages.

I closed my eyes briefly as I took another measured step closer to the front door. I had to keep reminding myself that Mr and Mrs Drake, Rachel and Dani, and Justin were just hostages. If I let my mind wander to who they actually were, my heart kept breaking.

I sucked in a breath of air and felt like I was drowning. Marinkovich hadn’t been covering his tracks today. The implication was devastating.

The bomb at the garage practically had his signature written all over it, leading us to discover his former association with the OSRH. Or Oružane snage Republike Hrvatske: The military service of the Republic of Croatia.

The storage unit rented under his own name had the black Ford Ranger ute that had run me off the road. Complete with white paint transfer which would, I was sure, match the paint of my police issued sedan.

His home held a shrine to his former lover. Evidence of their affair. Photographs dating back six months prior to Missy’s death. Every picture proved his guilt. Signed his arrest warrant.

Fuck, he’d even had leftover 1080 in his garden shed.

Packets of his cigarettes and been taken into evidence. The ash found in Whiting’s wallet would be matched against the brand of smokes he favoured. It didn’t look good for Ivan Marinkovich.

Which left me with one question.

If he’d hidden out here in Mackenzie Country for the past twenty years without anyone, other than Sheila, suspecting anything about him, why throw in the towel now? He could have run. He could have misdirected; I didn’t for a second think he didn’t have those kinds of skills.

But instead he’d left bread crumbs the size of VW beetles. Or, as the case may be, Ford Ranger vehicles.

Matt had confirmed he’d been working on the Red Tussock Rangers for the past few weeks. Doing some service related maintenance. As well as some on site work on the station’s back up generator up in the main shed.

We had motive.

We had access.

We had more than circumstantial evidence.

And still he hadn’t run.

I took another step toward the house, my eyes scanning the facade for any signs of inhabitants. The front door was open, as if someone had left in a hurry. Maybe one of the station staff when they got the evacuation phone call.

Maybe Marinkovich.

I shook my head and sucked in another breath of air. My fingers itched to draw my firearm. Perspiration dotted my brow, making my fringe stick to skin. A tingling started up between my shoulder blades, making me look farther afield than just the building before me.

The front pastures provided very little in the way of coverage. I’d parked my borrowed police ute behind the last row of trees and walked in on foot down the driveway. If Marinkovich was back there in the tree line, I was screwed. But I hadn’t seen or heard anything, and I’d been paying attention.

I’d also long ago passed the point of no return. If Marinkovich was in the house, his bullet would reach me.

I hesitated. Just for a second. More academic in nature than for any practical reason. And then walked toward the steps leading up to the porch of the house.

Nothing moved.

No sounds were made.

Just the beating of my heart inside my chest.

Chapter 58

But Matt Wasn’t Far Behind

Luke

“What the fuck is she doing?” Matt demanded. He was lying on his stomach in the fallen leaves of an oak tree, his rifle sights on the house and Maggie.

“She’s going in,” I said, stating the fucking obvious. “Why is she going in? Where’s the others?”

Where was fucking Marinkovich?

Matt blinked, sweat dribbling down the side of his temple, his finger rock steady above the trigger, but not quite on it. He narrowed his eye as he peered through the scope, the rifle shifting slightly as he took in each window.

“I don’t see movement inside,” he said quietly.

Maggie, was all that was on repeat inside my head.

She climbed the steps to the porch.

“Her gun’s out,” Matt advised.

Maggie.

She cocked her head, then stepped to the side, placing her back against the front wall of the homestead, just to the left hand side of the open front door.

“Did she hear something?”

Maggie.

She crouched down and peered around the frame, leading with her gun held in both hands. She cupped the fist gripping the weapon with her palm, the hold secure and steady.

“She’s going in,” Matt said.

Maggie.

His rifle shifted, his eye glued to the scope. He checked first one side of the house then the other. Then the roof and back to the front door.

By the time he’d done that, Maggie was gone from sight.

Maggie.

“She’s inside,” he said, taking his hand away from the rifle and pulling out a cell phone. He swiped the screen and brought it his ear, then held it between his cheek and shoulder, while his hand went back to the rifle.

The sight centred on the front door again.

“Maggie’s gone inside the house,” he said into the phone.

Maggie.

I could hear Mac’s voice as he replied.

“What the fuck?”

“Exactly. Is she in contact with you?”

“She has been. But she didn’t say jack shit about entering the building.”

“Fuck. I don’t know whether she heard something or not.”

“Where the hell are you?” Mac demanded.

“Tree line.”

“Fucking rifle in your hands, Matt?” he queried.

“Might be. Is Maggie talking to you yet?”

“Can’t raise her over the radio. She’s probably got hers on silence.”

“I’ll give her two minutes and then I’m going in,” Matt advised.

“Just hang tight, we’ll be there in five. Shit,” he said, loud enough for Matt to wince, but he didn’t make a move to drop either the rifle or the cell phone. “We’ve just hit a snag.”

“What type of snag?” Matt asked.

“The type of snag where the only path leading down toward the homestead has been blown away to non-traversable rubble.”

Matt was silent.

Maggie.

“It’s a trap,” he said, pushing up from the ground, grabbing his cell phone, and shouldering his rifle.

I was out of the trees before him.

But Matt wasn’t far behind.

Chapter 59

Just Don’t Die, Maggie

Maggie

The house was empty. No sign of struggles or a rushed departure. The front door was the only anomaly and that could have been explained simply enough.

I walked back down the stairs and rechecked the lounge and kitchen one last time, then strode through the front door coming face to face with a hunting rifle.

My gun came up. The rifle went down. And Matt Drake swore loudly.

“It’s clear,” I said, holstering my weapon, then spotting Luke behind the senior sergeant.

His eyes drilled into mine, a novel’s worth of words reflected in the bitter chocolate. He was angry. I was in trouble. He had every intention of throwing me over his knees and spanking my arse.

I blinked back up at him, amused I could read so much in just that one heated stare. But not impressed with the message I’d just unravelled.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

“I live here,” Luke snapped back.

“You know what I mean,” I growled, as Matt pulled his cell phone out and took a step away to place a call. I trusted he was letting the others know. They’d be here soon, but where Marinkovich was, I hadn’t a clue.

I pushed that aside for now to deal with the bigger threat.

Luke had taken a step toward me.

His chest bumped up against mine, but I refused to take a step backward. I cocked my head at him and arched my brow.

“You’re unarmed,” I pointed out. “Unqualified,” I added. “And uninvited.” The last was cruel, but damn it, he could have been hurt. Killed even. I couldn’t imagine that scenario without breaking out in a cold sweat.

He, at least, wore a police vest. Matt’s doing, at a guess. But being anywhere near here was not helping my piece of mind one little bit.

When had this man become so important?

Luke’s hand came up and long fingers wrapped around my pony tail carefully. He gently tilted my head back, his movements measured. The control required not to tug, not to pull too tightly when so riled, was immeasurable. He was granite before me, rock solid, face hard.

“I know you’ve got a job to do,” he said in a low growl which sent inappropriate shivers right through my body. “I know you’re very good at it. But I’ve just spent several hours pacing the floor of the Twizel Police Station listening to one syllable words over the scanner and thinking dire thoughts and unacceptable outcomes.”

It was not what I’d expected to come out of that mesmerising mouth.

“Luke,” I said, my body softening. I couldn’t decide if it was his admission or the proximity of his body that made me relax into his hold. Made me give up some of my control and let him take the weight a little.

Or it could have been the way he wrapped my pony tail around his hand and secured me in one swift motion. Made me feel safe and sexy and wanted. So very much wanted.

“What were you thinking?” he demanded. “Marinkovich could have been laying a trap.”

It had crossed my mind. But…

“The property needed to be cleared. He’s not here,” I pointed out.

Luke didn’t release his hold on my hair.

“You placed yourself in unnecessary risk,” he growled. “You walked into an unknown situation without adequate back up.”

“Carter and Mac will be here soon.”

“Mac’s been held up,” he said. “Marinkovich knew you’d all be coming in from that direction and blew the fucking track to Kingdom Come.”

Shit. He was playing us.

“Maggie,” Luke said, and so much pain was echoed in that one word. In my name on his lips right then.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered, and my heart cracked. “I’m falling for you,” he added, barely breathing. “I’m fucking falling in love with you. You’ve stormed into my world and turned it on its head. I rise in the morning with you on my mind. I go to sleep basking in your sunset. I’ve spent every moment of every day since I walked up on you in that pasture wanting to devour your body. Your heart. Your mind. To claim you. To make you mine. To own you. For-fucking-ever, you understand?”

Holy shit. I just managed to nod my head.

“You almost died on Mount Cook Road and I couldn’t imagine a world without you in it,” he whispered. “Then you had a bomb go off across the street from where you work and I damn well couldn’t function. Are you getting this yet, Maggie? Do understand why I’m here and why I’m not leaving and why I’m going to hound you to stay safe every single day of the rest of your life?”

“Luke,” I said, my heart melting. “This is my job. It’s what I do. I’m good at it.”

His forehead came down and pressed against mine, his eyes closed and his nostrils flared as he breathed deeply.

“Just…” he started. “Just don’t die, Maggie,” he pleaded.

“I don’t plan to.”

“Maggie,” he whispered.

And it filled me up and scoured me out and left me wanting more and aching for less. This big, tough farmer practically on his knees before me, loving me the only way he knew how.

And I realised I was loving him back.

Chapter 60

Son Of A Bitch

Luke

I couldn’t step back. I couldn’t release my hold of her hair, her body. I kept breathing, only because I could smell Maggie. I kept living, only because she was in my arms.

I hated this.

I craved it.

It was driving me crazy.

“Fuck!” Matt suddenly said, his cell phone down from his ear and dangerously close to being crushed in his hand.

I pulled back from Maggie enough to look at my brother, but I did not let her go. I couldn’t. I’d never let her go now. She was well and truly fucked.

And so was I.

“What is it this time?” Maggie said in frustration.

“Carter’s bogged down halfway between here and the main shed,” Matt growled, starting to pace. “Fucking rusty nails on the road and they didn’t see them until every single vehicle ran them over and tore the shit out of their tyres.”

“Marinkovich,” I said, letting a slow, heated breath of air out.

“He’s playing us,” Maggie announced, she didn’t seem at all surprised by it.

“Where the hell is he?” Matt demanded, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He was cracking, I realised. Too much pressure and too little hope.

He was cracking and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

Maggie stepped away from me and I let her. Only because she was going to my brother and he looked about the worst I’d seen him in all of the six months prior.

“He knows a lot about you,” Maggie advised, walking around Matt’s still frame until she was facing him. Forcing him to face her. “Knows where you live. He could be at your house.”

Matt shook his head. “He wasn’t an hour ago.” He held up the rifle, still gripped in his hand. “I picked this up and checked it out.”

Maggie arched her brow. “Without back up?” Her eyes darted to my face, brow arched. I scowled and crossed my arms over my chest.

“The property needed to be cleared,” Matt said, repeating her earlier words. And proving my brother had been listening to Maggie’s and my conversation. Maggie realised that too and blushed.

It was gorgeous on her, but I didn’t much like the fact that she was embarrassed because of the dickhead. I crossed the porch and wrapped my hand around the back of her neck, squeezing lightly. Then gave Matt a fuck you glare.

Matt shook his head and huffed out a breath and said, voice lost, “He’s got my little girls.”

Maggie’s whole body deflated. I wanted to wrap her up and take her away. Far from this fucked up mess. But I couldn’t leave my brothers. Leave Mum and Dad, Rachel and Dani. I was trapped.

As much as Matt was.

“Where else would he go?” I said.

Maggie shrugged. “What did he say to you on the phone again?” she asked.

I went back over the conversation. The thought of him using Dad’s cell made fire rage inside my gut, the flare of heat wanting a way out.

“He said something about waiting on Matt,” I advised, forcing a calmness I didn't feel.

“What else? Tell me everything.”

I glanced at Matt, but he was back in control. He nodded his head for me to continue.

“Well,” I said stalling. I don’t usual fucking stall, but this hurt. “He asked if Matt lost it.” Matt scowled. “Something about seeing Missy’s life, the life…” Ah, fuck, this sucked.

“The life I didn’t know she had,” Matt finished for me.

I stared at my brother and saw his pain. I actually saw it. I didn’t think that was possible. To see such emotional pain as plain as day written on a man’s face.

And there was nothing I could do to make it better.

“Yeah,” I said, past a lump the size of Canterbury in my throat.

“What else,” Maggie urged softly. I watched Matt. Matt watched Maggie. He couldn’t look at me when I said the words.

I cleared my throat. “He thinks you took something that belonged to him,” I said.

“Missy,” Maggie offered. Matt nodded.

Then looked me directly in the eyes.

I felt it then. His pain. I felt it as though it was mine.

“He’s paying back the favour,” I somehow managed to say aloud.

“Son of a bitch,” Maggie whispered as I watched my brother die a little more inside.

Chapter 61

Yes It Does

Maggie

Marinkovich was mad. I’d suspected as much, now I definitely knew. Missy’s death had undoubtedly been caused by him. Directly or indirectly, I didn’t know. But someone drove her over that ridge. Someone forced her to abandon her daughters on the side of a lonely road.

Had he been there? I was guessing yes. Had he simply flipped out over something? We may never know.

But he was finishing what he’d started that fateful day. I just wasn’t sure what his endgame was. Revenge. Certainly. Murder? Fucked if I knew, but the evidence was damning.

“He’s unstable,” I said, almost to myself. But Matt and Luke heard me.

“You’re only just figuring this out?” Matt demanded.

“That’s all well and good, but where is he?” Luke asked, bringing us back to the matter at hand.

“Fuck,” Matt swore and kicked at the porch railing.

“There has to be somewhere that means something to you, Matt,” I said.

“There’s a hundred places on this station alone that meant something to me growing up,” Matt replied, frustration and fear making his voice rough.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’ll be something more recent. Somewhere that amuses him. Somewhere that plays to his sadistic side.” I chewed on my bottom lip.

“Somewhere Mac and Carter are cut off from,” Luke supplied.

I swung back toward him. “Exactly.” Then spun toward Matt. “What fits that description?”

Matt looked at Luke. Luke stared back at him.

“Fuck,” they both said in unison.

“Where?” I demanded.

“The old tool shed,” Luke murmured. Matt turned his back on us.

“What’s in the tool shed?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Luke immediately said.

“Yes it does,” Matt offered, staring out across the pastures.

I looked at Luke; he wasn’t giving me a thing; protecting his brother.

I looked back at Matt; his shoulders were hunched; his spine weighted under so much pressure.

He let out a sigh. Ran a hand through his hair. And then in a guilt laden voice said, “It’s where I go to die but never quite manage it.”

There’s not much you can to say to that. The pain was real. So fucking real. Raw, as if his skin was flayed. Part of me was embarrassed for him. A bigger part of me wanted to wrap my arms around his shoulders and tell him it would all be OK.

But I’ve been doing this for a while now. Comforting where comfort is not wanted. Michael was full of pain, too. And a hug doesn’t make it evaporate.

Not this kind of pain. This soul deep, bone weary, heart breaking ache.

It’s not your fault, I thought. But sometimes it is.

She knew what she was doing when she had the affair. But did she?

Life goes on. No it doesn’t. It stops when they die. It ceases when your world is torn asunder. It freezes when the ice starts to invade and your body slows down as the world around you continues to turn, uncaring for your plight. For your heartache.

“Life sucks,” I said instead. “It fucking hurts,” I offered. “Let’s go get the bastard.”

Matt raised red rimmed eyes to my face and nodded. He swiped up his rifle and marched down the steps of the porch. I watched him. Feeling his pain and knowing it was only a shadow of the real thing.

You can’t walk in the shoes of another man. You can only step where he has, the impression already been made. I walked behind Senior Sergeant Matt Drake and prayed where he tread tonight would not lead to more pain.

Somehow, I doubted it.

Chapter 62

We Were So Fucking Screwed

Luke

I was in wonder of Maggie Blackmore. Totally and utterly in awe. And quite inappropriately consumed with thoughts of how much I wanted her. To stay. To be mine. To be there every night when I came home from the pastures.

I tried to focus. God knew I needed to. Now was not the time to get all romantic. But having only just discovered that I did actually have a romantic bone in my body, it was kind of getting hard to ignore it.

But I needed to. I needed to pay attention. Keep my wits about me. Cover Maggie’s beautiful, shapely arse. Not salivate over biting it.

I closed my eyes and sucked in a breath of air and prayed to all that is holy that I didn’t fuck this up. Too much was riding on it. Too fucking much.

“What’s wrong with you?” Maggie whispered from beside me. We were in the tall grass that surrounded Matt’s drinking shed. Suicide shed. I still had trouble processing that.

But seeing is believing. And I saw how close he was last time I was here.

And hearing is everything. Matt had just admitted how close he had come to ending it.

My heart ached. My mind reeled. I was a cesspit of wild fucking emotions.

“Luke?” Maggie pressed.

“I’m OK,” I said to reassure her.

“You’re a million miles away.” I wanted to be. With her. “I need you here. Paying attention. This could go one of two ways.”

“Two ways?” I pressed. Maggie’s voice was helping me focus. Pushing out the unwanted thoughts. Or was that wanted thoughts; it depended what thoughts my mind jumped to.

“One,” Maggie whispered, eyes on the space between where we lay on our stomachs and the mouldy old ramshackle shed, “he shoots me as soon as I stand up.” Great. “Two,” she added, not even pausing for breath, “he wants an audience and I live a little longer.”

“Which way do you think it will go?”

She shrugged. Gave me one last long look. And then threw a pebble at the tin siding of the shed.

The door swung open slightly, but seeing into the darkness within was impossible from outside. The sun beat down on our heads. The wind whisked up snow flurries along the ranges. The grass stalks rustled as they swayed all around us.

“Ivan Marinkovich!” Maggie called out. “This is Sergeant Blackmore of the Twizel Police. I’m unarmed.” A situation I did not approve of. “I just want to talk. Nothing else. Just talk. Can you do that?”

I felt sick to my stomach. Bile coated my tongue. Dirt smeared my sweaty palms. My head pounded with the rapid beat of my heart.

“Where’s Matt Drake?”

“He’s not here, Ivan,” Maggie immediately replied. “I’m going to stand up.” Vomit pooled in my mouth. I swallowed it viciously. “Please don’t shoot me,” Maggie said, a note of humour in her voice.

How could she be joking with this fuckwit?

She started to move. My hand gripped her shoulder; I couldn’t have stopped myself if I had tried.

“Let me go,” she whispered. “We agreed on this.” I shook my head. “Luke. Let me go.”

I closed my eyes, held my breath, and forced each one of my fingers to release, one by one.

It fucking hurt.

Maggie stood up, arms spread, palms facing the open door of the shed.

“I’m going to turn around slowly,” she said, voice rock solid. “Let you see all of me. Ready?”

There was no answer.

Maggie slowly began her turn.

“You know,” she said conversationally, still turning, still with raised arms, spread fingers, a ticking time bomb watching from the darkness. “You’ve led me on quite a chase. You had me fooled. Did they train you for that?”

“Shut up!” His accent was strong. Stronger than it had been on the phone. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I wanted to tell Maggie. Warn her.

I could do nothing.

“OK,” Maggie said. “Why don’t you talk. Tell me what it is you want.”

She was facing the shed again. She took a step; just a small one. Hardly noticeable really.

And Marinkovich’s arm snaked out of the opening in the doorway, holding something tightly.

I thought he was about to fire a gun. I thought Maggie’s movements had set off a cascade of events I’d remember for the rest of my life. I thought I was about to lose her.

“Easy,” Maggie warned. For me or Marinkovich, I wasn’t sure. “What’s that?” she asked.

I studied the object in Marinkovich’s hand. It wasn’t a gun. It wasn’t a weapon I was familiar with. But Maggie was barely breathing.

“I will only speak to Senior Sergeant Matt Drake,” Marinkovich snarled. “Get him here or I let go.”

“Deadman’s switch,” Maggie murmured.

For me. For Matt. For the others listening in on the open radio airwaves.

Louder, she added, “Do you really want to do that? You’ve worked so hard. Put in so much effort. Can’t you wait a little longer? Matt’s delayed, but I can get him here. Just rest your arm a little. Use two hands. You’re kind of making me nervous.”

“That’s the intention,” Marinkovich drawled.

“But it’s Matt you want,” Maggie reminded him.

“It doesn’t matter. He will see the fall out.”

“You dead.” Maggie chuckled. How could she fucking chuckle? Even pretend chuckle? “I’m sure he’d love to see that.”

“You crazy or something?” Marinkovich demanded. I was wandering that myself, really.

Crazy or brilliant.

“How do I know you’re not alone?” Maggie asked. “So far, I’ve seen your arm. A black hole. And a rundown shed. Who’s all in there with you?”

“Who do you think, kuja?”

“Let me see them.”

“Why? So you can do something when my guard is lowered. It will never lower.”

“You want Matt Drake here,” Maggie said. “Then let me see who’s with you.”

“Get Matt Drake!” Marinkovich yelled.

Maggie.

“When I see the hostages.” Maggie’s voice was whipcord harsh. A voice I hadn’t heard her use before. Even I straightened my back a little. Fuck knows what it did to the sadist in there. “Tit for tat, Ivan. Show me inside the shed and I’ll call Matt right now. Get him here.”

Nothing happened for so long, I thought Maggie’s bluff had landed on deaf ears. Then slowly the door opened. A light was switched on inside the shed. Illuminating five gagged and bound bodies, huddling against the wall just beside the doorway. Mum. Dad. Justin. Oh fuck me, the twins. Tears streaming down their grubby faces. Little bodies shaking.

Their eyes kept flicking up to Marinkovich. Then to Maggie. Then back again to the man who had ruined their lives. They couldn’t see me. They didn’t know I was there. I wanted to call out to them. Tell them I was here and they would be OK and it would all be over soon. I swear.

But it wasn’t going to be over soon. Well, not in the way we wanted. Beside them all stood a bundle of gas bottles or scuba tanks. I couldn’t really tell. There were wires in different colours. Liquid in upside down jars. And a big fucking clock.

It was counting down. The deadman’s switch would be irrelevant in exactly seven minutes and thirteen seconds.

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialled the only person I could think of. I just prayed the army let him answer.

We were so fucking screwed.

Chapter 63

For A Second There Was Silence

Maggie

Marinkovich grabbed hold of Mr Drake and hauled him upright. The old man stood ramrod straight, his eyes on mine. His body rock solid. He must have been terrified, but he didn’t show it. I held his stare and nodded my head. Just slightly. Then let my eyes sweep across him to the target.

The first thing I registered was just how alike he and Charlie Davis were. The tattoos were as illegible, big black ink in thick lines, running down both arms from up under his t-shirt sleeve to his knuckles. His hair was cut in the same too short fashion. Brown matching his eyes. His frame was broad, his stature on the shorter side. All like Charlie Davis. In the right light, at the right angle, this man could pass for Red Tussock’s head foreman.

Or the head foreman could pass for this man.

I looked at the twins. They were gagged, like the adults were gagged. Had they talked? Had they screamed? Had they actually made a sound when confronted with their real nightmare and not a facsimile?

I wanted to kill him. I let go of the rage and looked Ivan Marinkovich in the eyes.

“Now you’ve seen them,” he snarled. “Get Drake.”

I nodded my head. “A deal’s a deal,” I said. “I’m going to take out my cell phone. It’s in my front right pocket.”

“Use your left hand. Two fingers only. Or the old man gets a bullet in his head.”

I checked what I could see of Marinkovich, but he was using Mr Drake as a shield. I didn’t for a second think he wasn’t armed with more than the remote to the bomb. But I couldn’t actually see a gun. For all I knew, he had five rigged up inside the shed, aimed at each hostage, capable of firing at the flick of a switch. My view was limited and I didn’t like it.

Reaching across my breast, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and held it up for Marinkovich to see.

“On speaker,” he growled.

This was why Matt had held back.

I swiped the phone, dialling Matt’s number, and pressed the icon to put the call on speaker.

“This is Drake,” he announced, acting as though he hadn’t been listening into what was happening over a radio.

“Senior Sergeant,” I said. “Maggie Blackmore. I’ve found them.”

“Jesus, Maggie. Where?” He was good at playing the game.

“You’re on speaker phone,” I said. His acting, though, might not stand up to prolonged assessment. “Marinkovich is here and wants to see you.”

“Are they OK?”

“Get him here!” Marinkovich growled.

“Maggie!” Matt called out in not so faked alarm.

“The old shed in sector five,” I said swiftly. “He’s got a bomb, Matt.”

“That’s enough” Marinkovich snapped. “He has five minutes.”

I lowered the phone and ended the call.

“He’s on his way,” I said. “How about you let me check on the kids.”

“Fuck off.”

“They’re just kids.”

“I said fuck off.”

“Just one,” I said. “Dani,” I added. Dani had always appeared more fragile to me than Rachel. “Just let me check on Dani. A show of good faith.”

“I have no interest in showing you good faith, kuja.”

“It all adds up, Ivan. Do something good now and it might make a difference at the end.”

“The end will see them all dead and Matt Drake suffering.”

“You don’t want to do that,” I said, taking a small step closer. Luke was now several feet back from where I currently stood. “You didn’t six months ago. On Mount Cook Road,” I added.

“Fuck off.”

“What happened that day?” I pressed. “Matt’s on the way,” I hurried to reassure him, when he showed signs of impatience. “It’s just you and me talking. That’s all. I’m curious. What happened that day?”

“Curiosity,” Marinkovich said, “killed the kuja cop.” Twenty years in Twizel and the dickhead was bastardising colloquial sayings.

I shrugged my shoulders, managing another step closer. The shed was only six feet away. Mr Drake watched me with an intensity that told me he was cracking. The strain on an old man his age was starting to take its toll.

I struggled with gaining more information, condemning Marinkovich for a crime committed six months ago, or protecting a hostage today.

Mr Drake won.

“OK,” I said. “It’s OK. How about we all sit down?”

“Don’t move,” Marinkovich snarled.

“Ivan,” I urged. “Let Mr Drake get off his feet. You and I can still talk. I’m unarmed,” I reminded him.

“And where are your snipers?”

“Stuck on the north ridge, where you trapped them.”

He laughed. “I’ve had time to learn this station. I’ve walked its borders with Missy.”

No fucking way. He was lying. Maybe he knew Matt was listening in. Maybe he just hoped he was. Either way, this man was still toying with us.

I checked Mr Drake with a quick flick of my eyes, determined he was still hanging in there, and then asked, “What else did you and Missy do?”

“Fucked.”

OK, walked into that one. I back peddled.

“Where did you go, I mean.”

“I fucked her here once.” He was fixating. Not listening to my words. Regressing into memory.

“Romantic,” I said. “Did you follow her onto Mount Cook Road that day?”

“I fucked her in their bed when the twins were playing in their lounge room.”

Jesus Christ, I needed to get this man’s focus elsewhere.

“I saw the pictures at your house.”

“Fucked her there, too.”

“She looked happy. Did you make her happy, Ivan?”

“Happier than him.” Thank you, Lord.

“Why was she sad?”

“He was always working.”

“But you weren’t.”

“I had time for Missy. Matt Drake did not.”

“Did you love her?”

“We fucked. She had a tight cunt and a tighter ass. Her mouth was made for fucking.”

I smiled. I knew what he was doing. He knew what he was doing.

“Not going to work, Ivan. I’ve heard it all before.”

“Have you been fucked in the ass before, Sergeant? Choked on someone’s cock? Had a man stuff your cunt so full, you thought you’d split apart?”

“We’re not talking about me,” I said conversationally, stealing another foot of ground. I had to play this his way. He was stubborn, mentally unstable, and emotionally withdrawn.

Not to mention a sexual sadist, no longer considered just a regular one.

“Did you fuck her the day she was up Mount Cook Road, Ivan?” Sorry, Matt.

He stilled. His eyes boring into mine.

“Or did she run?” I asked. “Did you chase her, Ivan? Hunt her down? Make her pay?”

“You want to know what I did?” he said softly. “Ask the twins.”

And then he pulled Mr Drake backwards into the depths of the shed and slammed the door.

For a second there was silence.

And then the sharp report of a gun.

Chapter 64

How Much?

Luke

Maggie’s whole body jerked at the sound of the gun going off inside the shed. Muffled noises could be heard following it. Her sharp intake of breaths resounded out on the too still air. Then she took three purposefully steps towards the shed and halted.

“What are you doing, Ivan?” she called out as if merely inquiring about his current hobbies. Not who in my family he had just shot. “Don’t play coy, it’s not your style,” she added.

Laughter could be heard coming from inside the shed. I clenched my hands, fisted them by my head, kept my eyes glued fast to the door. I wanted him dead so fucking much.

“What’s happening?” Zach said in my ear.

“He fired a gun inside the shed,” I barely whispered back.

“Heard it. He was bluffing.”

“How the fuck do you know that?” I growled, moving my watering gaze to Maggie.

“He wants Matt to suffer. But he wants your sergeant to watch. Tell me, did she fall for it?”

No, she fucking didn’t. I smiled. “Not a chance.”

“Good girl.”

The door to the shed swung open. I could see Mum and Dad and Justin, but I could no longer see the twins. Mum was crying. Justin and Dad were glaring at someone out of our view, clearly Marinkovich. Then Justin flicked his eyes to Maggie and slightly shook his head.

I let a breath of air out I hadn’t realised I was still holding.

“Can’t see the twins,” I whispered to Zach down the crackling line. “But Justin just signalled everything is status quo.”

Zach grunted.

“You think you know me, kuja?” Marinkovich said. “You think you have this all figured out?”

“Not at all,” Maggie assured him. “This is your stage, Ivan. I’m just a guest.”

“Take off your vest,” he instructed.

“Why?” she didn’t even bat an eyelash.

“Show of good faith.”

“The vest won’t protect me from here,” Maggie pointed out, making me grind my teeth and emit a low growl.

“Easy,” Zach murmured down the line. “Don’t blow your cover yet. How long left on that timer?”

I looked back into the shed and narrowed my eyes.

“Four minutes.”

“She needs to make a move.”

“Matt’s here. He’s waiting for her signal.”

“This is going to happen fast, bro. You ready?”

“Fucking A.”

Marinkovich was laughing again, standing behind Dad like a fucking coward. “Tell you what,” he said. “Take off your vest and I’ll let you have the old man.”

Dad shook his head, his eyes on Maggie, pleading.

Maggie studied Marinkovich, as if she was considering his offer. My heart was so fucking loud inside my chest I couldn’t hear a word she uttered.

But it must have been a warning, because in the next second Matt walked out of the tree line, and stalked across the pasture toward the shed, and Marinkovich didn’t fire.

“Tick tock, tick tock,” the arsehole said.

“Marinkovich,” Matt growled. “Give me my family.”

“Yeah, that’ll work,” Zach mumbled in my ear.

“I’ll make a deal with you, rogonja. We’ll play a game and some of them get to live.”

“Don’t you want to live, Ivan?” Maggie asked.

He sneered at her. “Death is only the beginning.”

“You think Missy’s waiting for you?” she asked. Her eyes darted to Matt, but only for a split second. They were back on Marinkovich again. Rock steady.

“She tasted so fucking good, rogonja.” He leered at Matt, running a hand down his front and cupping his cock. We couldn’t see it, Dad was shielding the fucker. But his intent was clear.

“I’m going to kill you,” Matt said. Marinkovich threw back his head and laughed.

Then his eyes swept across the shed to the timer.

“Three minutes to save a life,” he said. “Three minutes for you to choose. I’ll give you one,” he offered. “It’s only fair. I did fuck your wife a hundred times. She gave fucking good head, too. I feel I owe you, rogonja. A whore’s pimp should get paid, don’t you think?”

“Fucking hell,” I whispered.

“Jesus,” Zach agreed.

“You fucking bastard,” Matt said on a rasped breath of air.

“You’ve had your fun, Ivan,” Maggie said. How had she gotten so close all of a sudden? Marinkovich wasn’t even watching her, his eyes all for Matt. And the distress he was causing. He was lapping it up. Basking in it. A gleam in his eyes told me his enjoyment went beyond the emotional. The psychological.

This was turning the fucker on.

“Not yet, kuja,” Marinkovich said. “Your turn will come.” Not if I could help it. “It’s the senior sergeant’s chance to shine.” He said Matt’s title like it was a joke. “Make a choice,” he said. “Two minutes.”

Fucking hell. “Zach,” I said in warning.

“She needs to make a move now. I can’t talk you through this with less than a minute on the clock.”

“Which one will you save?” Marinkovich said. “The father? The mother? Or the brother? Or will you do the impossible and pick only one daughter?”

“Ivan,” Maggie said, voice beyond calm. “You want this to play out. Stop the clock.”

“Oh,” the lunatic said. “That’s just for show. Did you like it?”

“Fuck,” Zach whispered in my ear. “That might complicate things.”

“Good one,” Maggie offered. “But I’d be happier if you stopped it anyway.”

“And we’re all here to make the police happy,” Marinkovich snarled, his eyes still on Matt and thankfully not on Maggie and just how close she had gotten. “Pick a kid and I’ll stop the clock.”

Matt looked… distraught. There was no other word for it. He was beside himself; playing right into Marinkovich’s hands. He reached up and gripped his hair, his eyes big and round, his face ashen.

“I can’t,” he said, voice broken. “I can’t. Please. Make it stop.”

“Wrong answer,” Marinkovich said calmly, and then pulled a knife and stabbed my father.

Maggie was moving before I’d even sucked in a breath of air. Matt was firing before she’d reached his side. Marinkovich was on the ground before I realised Dad wasn’t hurt.

I had no fucking idea where the knife had gone, but the deadman’s switch was now in my woman’s hands.

Maggie gripped the fucking thing as if it was a ticking time bomb. Which, in a way, it was. Dad rolled out of the way as Matt rushed in and kicked Marinkovich’s body. Making sure he was dead or separating him from any weapons, I’m not sure.

And then I was up and running, my legs cramping from being so still for so long, and Maggie was shouting at me to hurry, and Zach was issuing commands in my ear, and the timer ran down.

I reached the bomb when it hit ten seconds. Matt was grabbing the kids and running out the shed door, one under each arm. Justin was struggling to stand with his hands tied behind his back, his fingers gripping Mum’s blouse attempting to make her get up off the dirt packed floor. She was sobbing, he wouldn’t make it.

“Red wire! Red wire!” Zach shouted in my ear.

Five seconds.

“There is no fucking red wire!” I shouted back.

Three seconds.

“What colours?”

Two seconds.

“There’s no fucking wires at all.”

“Yank it off, then!”

One second.

I reached forward and tugged on the clock face as the timer counted down to zero.

A ripping sound followed, then a crack of plastic as I held the fucking thing too hard. But no bomb.

“Jesus,” I said, sucking in air like I was drowning.

“What happened?” Zach demanded. “Did you get it off?”

“Yes, I fucking got it off. Otherwise I’d be fucking dead. And you would’ve heard a fucking loud bang all the way over in Afghanistan.”

“I’m in Tekapo.”

“You’re what?” I yelled. “You’re in fucking Tekapo? Tekapo Military Camp?”

“What else is in Tekapo? Stars?”

“What the fuck are you doing in Tekapo?” I demanded.

“Luke?” Maggie’s voice cut through my hysteria.

“What?” I said, spinning around and offering her a glare. Then I saw her shaking hands. “Jesus fucking Christ. Maggie,” I said.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Don’t know why, but I can’t seem to stop shaking while I’m holding this thing. Can your brother help?”

“He’s in fucking Tekapo,” I said, as if that was relevant right now.

“I gathered that,” Maggie offered with a small smile. “The whole station gathered that,” she added, holding up the deadman’s switch to remind me.

“Babe,” I said softly.

“No pet names,” she whispered back.

I’d call her whatever she wanted for the rest of her goddamned life if she stayed.

I looked down at Justin, who had just managed to get his hands untied. He was releasing Mum’s hands and helping her up off the dirt. Dad was standing beside Maggie as if he was going to protect her with his life.

“Go,” I said to all of them. “Get out of here.”

Justin nodded his head and started to pull Mum from the shed. Dad looked at Maggie and then looked at me and then back at Maggie.

“Go,” Maggie said. “We don’t know if taking the remote out of range would trigger it.”

“Fuck,” the old man muttered, his gag already reomoved. Then he turned around and spat on Marinkovich’s body.

“Is he dead?” I asked.

“Not dead enough,” Dad muttered.

My eyes met Maggie’s. I saw the hollowness there. She hadn't fired the gun, but she’d played a part in a man’s death.

“The sick fucker killed Missy,” I said in a growl full of meaning. “He killed James Whiting. That kid from Pukaki. Tried to kill you. Threatened the lives of my family. Fucked with Red Tussock. He doesn’t deserve your guilt, Maggie.”

“No,” she said, looking down at Marinkovich’s body. “But he did deserve life in prison getting fucked in the arse every day.”

Zach whistled. “Can’t wait to meet her,” he said cheerfully. “We gonna do this thing?”

“Tekapo,” I said flatly. “And you couldn’t even pay a visit?”

“No reason to until now,” he quipped. “Lock her up and throw away the key, big brother. I’m coming home.”

“If there’s a home to fucking come back to,” I growled, turning and looking down at the contraption before me.

“Let’s do this,” Maggie said at my side. I opened my mouth to tell her to at least stand back. Five feet would save her, wouldn’t it? When she added, “I haven’t had this much fun in ages. I think Twizel is growing on me.”

“You do?” I asked, trying not to smile. “How much?”

She looked up at me, stole my breath, my heart, my fucking brain, and smirked.

That sort of behaviour deserved a spanking.

“So much,” she said, cutting through my imaginings, “that I think I might stay.”

“You just ‘think’?” I pressed, holding my breath, my heart refusing to beat, the world fucking stilling all around me.

She smiled.

It reached her eyes.

Finally.

Epilogue

Maggie

Two Weeks Later

The sun drifted lazily toward Mount Glenmary, oranges and reds and purples painting the sky. Monet would have liked Mackenzie Country. I lifted my beer bottle to my lips and took a sip, my eyes stuck fast on the splendour before me.

God did live here, I decided. Why else would a place in the middle of high country New Zealand call to so many people from so many different walks of life? Twizel was a hotbed, all right. But not only for scandal.

The door to the homestead opened on well oiled hinges behind me, but I heard the swish of air as Luke stepped out onto the back porch. I didn’t take my eyes off Glenmary. I couldn’t. But when he sat down next to me on the old sofa I’d commandeered and threw a blanket over my knees to keep me warm, I couldn’t prevent my lips from smiling.

A long, calloused finger landed under my chin and my face was urged toward him.

“Don’t hide that smile from me, Maggie,” Luke murmured. “I’m extremely possessive of each one.”

“Because they’re so rare?” I queried.

“Because they make my heart pound.”

I shook my head, almost rolling my eyes at him, then his hand wrapped around my throat, thumb stoking over my pulse point.

“They make your heart pound, too,” Luke said in a low rumble. “Thundering,” he added, his eyes watching the movement of my pulse under my skin.

Or watching the way his work roughened hands looked against my neck.

My body responded immediately; it always did. My breaths caught in my chest. My nipples hardened. Moisture pooled between my legs. Slowly, so very slowly, Luke raised his gaze from my neck to my lips, then made his way up my face to my eyes.

For a long moment the world hung suspended.

Then he said in that voice that sends chills down my spine, “Maggie.”

I opened my mouth; his gaze darted downwards. And then my cell phone rang loud and clear on the late afternoon air.

“Don’t answer it,” Luke growled. But my eyes had already shot down to where the phone was sitting beside me, screen up, a name I had never thought I’d see again flashing across it.

“It’s Michael,” I said, stunned. Phoning me.

Luke’s hand slipped away from my throat immediately; I missed it. I suddenly felt too bare. I stared at the phone, my heart really pounding now, and then reached out a shaking hand to lift it up. Luke sat silently beside me; a solid presence; a suspended promise; a weight in the air.

I licked my lips and swiped the call open, then held the phone to my ear.

“Hello,” I said. “Michael?”

There was a long pause and then in a voice so weak and scratchy I had to strain to hear it, my brother said, “What the fuck are you doing down there?”

“I live down here,” I said indignantly, as if I’d had casual conversations about my life choices with my brother every day for the past six years.

“Bombs, Maggie?” he said, his voice getting stronger. “Fucking bombs?”

“Luke deactivated it,” I pointed out. “With the help of his highly trained army brother.”

“And that’s not the only thing,” Michael said, “I read in the paper that your police senior sergeant was under investigation. What the hell, Maggie?”

“He’s been cleared,” I said, sitting forward. “That IPCA prick, Mark Everett, started an unsanctioned investigation. He’d been going more and more rogue over the past few years and it all came to a head down here.”

“Six years,” Michael stressed. “He’d been going rogue for six years.”

“Six years,” I said more softly. “Michael…”

“How did you do it?” he said, cutting me off. “How did you prove he was rogue?”

I let him deflect from the real issue. “I didn’t really. An old Police College friend of mine up in Christchurch had been keeping tabs on the IPCA for years. She had enough evidence to put the final nail in his coffin. Well, after he fucked up down here.”

“And the Croatian?” Michael asked. “Ex-military, I heard.”

I ran my fingers through my fringe and sat back, realising Luke’s arm was lying along the back of the sofa now. His hand came down on my shoulder, thumb stroking over the side of my neck.

I let out a soft breath of air, staring at the dipping sun as it set over Mount Glenmary. God was definitely here.

“Yeah,” I said finally. “Nothing to prove he still was connected to them, but he had military grade explosives and clearly advanced espionage skills.”

Michael whistled. “You did good, sis,” he said after a beat. “Are you OK?”

I wanted to ask if he was. I wanted to ask if this was the first time he’d talked in six years. Had he simply read about what had happened down here in the newspaper and picked up the phone out of habit and concern, talking before he remembered he didn’t anymore?

I wanted to ask so many things.

I realised the answers were irrelevant.

“I’m OK, Michael,” I said.

“When are you coming back?”

Luke stiffened beside me and then as if he realised what he’d done, he purposefully relaxed. His thumb stroked my skin soothingly, but this time I wondered if the motion was to soothe him instead.

It was the hardest and also easiest thing I’d ever said.

“I’m staying in Twizel,” I told my brother, clutching the phone as if I could clutch his hand. “I like it here,” I added. “It’s beautiful, Michael. You should see it.” I looked across the back pastures of Red Tussock Station toward the ranges that bordered Drake land. Toward Mount Glenmary. “The sun kisses the mountains,” I said. “As if they’re blessed by God Himself. The air is crisp and the rivers run deep. The snow is like a thousand gems sparkling.”

“And the people?” Michael asked. “Do they treat you right?”

I turned and looked at Luke. He held my gaze, my body wanting to jump right into that deep chocolate brown that stared back.

“They’re a little unusual,” I whispered. Luke arched a brow. “Small town folk, you know?” A twitch to his lips now. “There’s this woman in town who spies on everyone. She has a flying fish camera. A salmon.”

Michael laughed. “Tell me more.”

“OK,” I said, still holding Luke’s steadfast gaze. “The local vicar rides a Harley Davidson.”

“No shit?”

“The barman at the tavern is a pirate.”

He was really laughing now. A tear spilled down my cheek. Luke reached up and slowly swiped at it. His eyes never leaving mine.

“The chemist is French,” I added, my voice sounding a little thick. “The DOC scientist drives a convertible in winter. The doctor’s a good ole boy who drinks and cusses but also doesn’t take shit.”

“Sounds like Twin Peaks.”

I smiled. Luke’s eyes swirled with something eager; something hungry; something full of lust and love.

“They’re good people, Michael,” I said. “Salt of the earth.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s one I particularly like.”

“What’s his name?”

“Luke,” I said, and finally, finally, Luke’s hand returned to my neck.

“He treat you right, sis? Or do I need to come down there and beat the crap outta him?”

Luke’s thumb swept over my pulse rhythmically. Slow. Patient. A promise.

“He’s everything I never knew I needed,” I said.

Luke’s lips parted. He looked a little stunned. And then he was pressing his hard chest against my softer body, his free hand wrapped up in my pony tail, my head getting tipped back as his lips ran along my jaw and down my neck.

Hungrily. Desperately.

Michael sighed down the phone; it was getting harder to concentrate on more than Luke’s hands and lips and teeth and tongue and hot, hot, body.

“I guess I won’t see you for a while, then,” my brother said.

“You could… you could visit,” I managed to get out between panted breaths.

“I could,” my brother agreed. “I might,” he offered. “Maggie?” he said after I didn’t reply.

“Yeah?”

“Love you, sis.”

My breath shuddered.

“Love you too, Michael.” The line went dead, the cell phone dropped from my hand, and then I was flat on my back and Luke was kissing me.

If God lived anywhere, it would be here, I realised. In the arms of this man, under his lips, wrapped up in his touch, secure in his love.

“Maggie,” he said, voice gruff. “Maggie,” he repeated on a groan of desire.

“I’m here,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere,” I added.

“Fuck.” And then my shirt was coming off and his shirt got discarded and our hands ran over soft flesh and chased goosebumps. Lips wrapped around a hard nipple, fingers scratched over rippling muscles. Moans drifted free on the Mackenzie Country air.

The sun slowly slipped behind Mount Glenmary as Luke thrust deep inside me. My back arched. My neck exposed to his teeth. His hand fisted in my hair, holding me tight. Holding me just right. Holding me there.

“Mine,” he said. “From the moment I saw you, you were mine.” Each rock of his hips confirmed it. Each bite. Each lick. Each soft stroke of his thumb over my pulse point. Each heated gaze that met mine and held it. Never wavering.

“Say it,” he growled, rolling his hips in a delicious circle. “Say it,” he demanded on a hard and fast thrust.

“Luke,” I said on a gasp.

And then he was turning us, his back hitting the sofa, my knees landing either side of his hips, his palms kneading my breasts, fingers and thumbs pinching nipples. Hard

“Ride me, Maggie,” he growled from beneath me. “Ride me hard and make me come.”

He did things to me, this man. This man who demanded unapologetically. Who asked things of me I was more than willing to give. He made me let go of everything that was unimportant and made me feel everything that was. He held me tight and also let me fly free of it all.

I hadn’t realised I needed that. I needed him. I hadn’t realised that coming to a small town in the high country of New Zealand would complete me. Would seal a hole that had been torn open inside my heart.

Luke’s hand swept up my body, between my bouncing breasts, and wrapped around my neck. I tipped my head down as far as he let me, met his gaze, and fell apart.

Luke caught me. Like he’d been catching me since I arrived here. Like he’d catch me from now on, I was sure.

“Maggie,” he groaned as he followed me over the edge. Our bodies shuddering, our breaths mingling, our skin slick against one another.

He reached down and grabbed the blanket that had fallen off the sofa, draping it over my back, covering us in a warm cocoon, creating our own little slice of Nirvana.

“Don’t move,” he said, wrapping his arms around me and nuzzling my neck. “Not yet,” he whispered, kissing above my pulse again and again and again.

“Never,” I promised and his grip tightened.

The sun disappeared, the stars came out, an inky black sky with hints of green and purple. The Southern Lights danced as if they too could feel how special the moment was.

I came looking for an escape when I headed to Twizel. I’d found adventure and mystery and love.

And I’d found Luke Drake.

“You’re mine,” I whispered, so quietly I was sure he hadn’t heard me.

And then he said, “And I’m never letting you go.”

I smiled. I knew it had touched my eyes.

Touched my heart. Touched everything.

Just like Luke Drake.

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