Page 192 of Crossed Wires: The Complete Series

“Everything’s all right, Mrs. Sullivan.” Keith’s relaxed answer made Marc stiffen. He hid his surprised expression by readjusting his hat. “Just needed a quick word with Hunter if that’s okay? Wondering if Big Mac’s been to see him ’bout…’bout the south mob’s drenching tomorrow? We weren’t sure the Bayticol was in date and we wanted to check if there was another batch somewhere in the main shed. Just in case.”

Steady light-blue eyes held firm on Keith’s face. Marc shifted his feet, glad he wasn’t under such intense scrutiny. Hazel Sullivan may be sixty-four years old, but her mind was still as sharp as a tack.

“The drench is in date, Keith. You were driving the ute when we both went into Cobar last month to collect it, remember?”

Keith swiped his hat from his head, giving her a chagrined smile. Marc noticed for the first time he’d cleaned the blood from his knuckles at some point. “Shit, that’s right. Sorry. Is Hunter about? Has Ronald come to see him? I know it’s late but?—”

“I haven’t seen Mr. McNamara all day and Hunter and Annie have gone into Cobar for the night. Dinner with the mayor.” Hazel pulled a face. “I don’t think either were fussed about going, but they’ve been putting if off for so long I think the poor man’s sense of pride couldn’t take another rescheduling. I told them to check in to the Town and Country Motor Inn, stay the night. Dylan and Monet are due back in a week and I suspect Hunter’s getting an itch between his shoulders. I caught him surfing a website today called ‘World’s Best Honeymoon Locations’.” Her eyes sparkled, and Marc was overcome with relief that Keith had kept from her their reason for calling so late.

He didn’t want to destroy Hazel’s joy at the idea of another family wedding with the possibility one of her hands was being a dick.

Shooting Keith a sideways glance, he knew his best mate was thinking the same thing.

What the hell did they do next? Big Mac hadn’t come to the main house, which meant he could be anywhere now.

Marc’s heart thumped hard and fast in his throat.

Anywhere.

He was about to say his farewells for the evening when Hazel’s eyes narrowed. “How is Ms. Shaw this evening? I thought you two boys were taking her into Cobar tonight?”

“She’s got a killer headache,” Keith answered, his expression regretful. “We were heading ’round to see her when we finished up here.”

“Poor lass.” Hazel waved her hand at them both. “Hurry on then. Shoo. Tell her she is more than welcome to spend the night here in the main house if she wants.”

“Will do, ma’am,” Marc nodded, already retreating.

“Are you sure you haven’t seen Big Mac tonight, Hazel? There hasn’t been a knock at the door?”

Marc stiffened at Keith’s question.

Hazel shook her head. “No, no knock. I must admit, I think Mr. McNamara is trying to stay clear of Hunter, going by the way Hunter was muttering about him under his breath this afternoon.”

Marc’s pulse thumped. He watched Keith tip his hat to their boss before saying goodnight.

“Remember to tell Ms. Shaw to let me know if she needs anything,” Hazel called as they crossed back to the ute.

Gut knotting, Marc yanked open the passenger side and dropped into his seat. “Fuck,” he whispered, keeping the unease from his face until Hazel closed the homestead door.

“All right then.” Keith slid into the driver’s seat and reached for the key in the ignition. “So we do it this way. Drop me off at Harper’s and go see if you can find McNamara around the traps. See if he’s taken off in his truck or the communal ute. See if any of the other blokes know where he is. I’ll camp out under that old ghost gum opposite the cottage and keep an eye on it, just to be sure he isn’t a complete fuckwit and goes back there.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Marc buckled his seat belt. “And if I do find him?”

Keith’s expression turned deadly as he started the ute. “Don’t let him go.”

* * *

Being outside at night in the Outback had always been a special time for Keith. The sky was hypnotic, its never-ending black expanse the backdrop to a spectacular display of the heavens. Stars no city folk ever saw with the naked eye twinkled above, as if sharing the secret of their beauty with but a few. A privileged few who knew life away from the hustle of the big smoke was so much more enriching.

Keith had spent many nights on Farpoint Creek lying on his back, gazing up at the stars, picking out the Southern Cross, the Saucepan, the celestial shadow known as the Emu. Wondering how those denied the stars by the ubiquitous lights of the city could ever find peace at night.

Yet now, sitting with his back pressed against the ancient ghost gum tree opposite Amy’s cottage, the thinnest sliver of a new moon hanging high in the midnight sky above him, peace was far from his mind or soul.

Rage simmered through his blood. Rage and worry.

Marc had dropped him off at the head of the track leading to Amy’s a few hours ago. He’d told the younger man not to do anything stupid if he found McNamara. He knew Marc was just as angry with the wanker, but Marc was less volatile than Keith. If Marc found Big Mac, there’d be little bloodshed. If Keith found him…

He flexed and coiled his right fist, keeping his stare on the front left window of the cottage. His right hand had never truly recovered from the beating he’d given the bloke hassling Amy years ago. Torn tendons and five hairline fractures in the metacarpal bones meant his right hand was weaker than it should be. Weak enough for him to lose his grip every time he rode a rodeo bull. Weak enough for it to ache on cold, wet nights.