LITMIR.BIZ

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      ‘You got off the highway on the way over, right? Turned for the coast?’

      ‘My focus is town to town.’

      He practically gaped. ‘One of the most spectacular natural wonders in the world was just a half-hour drive away.’

      ‘And half an hour back. That was an hour sooner I could have made it to the next town.’

      His brows dipped over grey eyes. ‘You’ve got to get out more.’

      ‘I’m on the job.’

      ‘Yeah, me, too, but you have to live as well. What about weekends?’

      The criticism rankled. ‘Not all of us are on the cushy public servant schedule. An hour—a day—could mean the difference between running across someone who knew Travis and not.’

      Or even running into Trav himself.

      ‘What if they came through an hour after you left, and pausing to look at something pretty could have meant your paths crossed?’

      Did he think she hadn’t tortured herself with those thoughts late at night? The endless what-ifs?

      ‘An hour afterwards and they’ll see a poster. An hour before and they’d have no idea their shift buddy is a missing person.’ At least that was what she told herself. Sternly.

      Marshall blinked at her.

      ‘You don’t understand.’ How could he?

      ‘Wouldn’t it be faster to just email the posters around the country? Ask the post offices to put them up for you.’

      ‘It’s not just about the posters. It’s about talking to people. Hunting down leads. Making an impression.’

      Hoping to God the impression would stick.

      ‘The kind you nearly made this afternoon?’

      ‘Whatever it takes.’

      Their meals arrived and the next minute was filled with making space on the table and receiving their drinks.

      ‘Anyway, weren’t we supposed to be talking about something else?’ Eve said brightly, crunching into a chip. ‘Where are you headed next?’

      ‘Up to Kalgoorlie, then Southern Cross.’

      North. Complete opposite to her.

      ‘You?’ His gaze was neutral enough.

      ‘Esperance. Ravensthorpe. With a side trip out to Israelite Bay.’ Jeez—why didn’t she just draw him her route on a serviette? ‘I’m getting low on posters after the Nullabor run. Need an MP’s office.’

      His newly groomed head tipped.

      ‘MP’s offices are obliged by law to print missing-person posters on request,’ she explained. ‘And there’s one in Esperance.’

      ‘Convenient.’

      She glared at her chicken. ‘It’s the least they could do.’

      And pretty much all they did. Though they were usually carefully sympathetic.

      ‘It must be hard,’ he murmured between mouthfuls. ‘Hitting brick walls everywhere you go.’

      ‘I’d rather hit them out here than stuck back in Melbourne. At least I can be productive here.’

      Sitting at home and relying on others to do something to find her brother had nearly killed her.

      ‘Did you leave a big family behind?’

      Instantly her mind flashed to her father’s grief-stricken face as the only person he had left in the world drove off towards the horizon. ‘Just my dad.’

      ‘No mum?’

      She sat up straighter in her seat. If Christine-of-the-dagger was off the table for discussion, her drunk mother certainly was. Clearly, the lines in her face were as good as a barometric map. Because Marshall let the subject well and truly drop.

      ‘Well, guess this is our first and last dinner, then,’ he said cheerfully, toasting her with a forkful of mashed potato and peas. There was nothing more in that than pure observation. Nothing enough that she felt confident in answering without worrying it would sound like an invitation.

      ‘You never know, we might bump into each other again.’

      But, really, how likely was that once they headed off towards opposite points on the compass? The only reason they’d met up this once was because there was only one road in and out of the south half of this vast state and he’d crashed into an emu right in the middle of it.

      Thoughtful eyes studied her face, then turned back to his meal.

      * * *

      ‘So you’re not from Sydney, originally?’

      Marshall pushed his empty plate away and groaned inwardly. Who knew talking about nothing could be so tiring? This had to be the greatest number of words he’d spoken to anyone in weeks. But it was his fault as much as hers. No dagger tattoo and no missing brother. That was what he’d stipulated. She’d held up her end of the bargain, even though she was clearly itching to know more.

      Precisely why he didn’t do dinners with women.

      Conversation.

      He’d much rather get straight to the sex part. Although that was clearly off the table with Eve. So it really made a man wonder why the heck he’d said yes to Eve’s ‘not a date’ invitation. Maybe even he got lonely.

      And maybe they were now wearing long coats in Hades.

      ‘Brisbane.’

      ‘How old were you when you moved?’ she chatted on, oblivious to the rapid congealing of his thoughts. Oblivious to the dangerous territory she’d accidentally stumbled into. Thoughts of his brother, their mother and how tough he’d found Sydney as an adolescent.

      ‘Twelve.’

      The word squeezed past his suddenly tight throat. The logical part of him knew it was just polite conversation, but the part of him that was suddenly as taut as a crossbow loaded a whole lot more onto her innocent chatter. Twelve was a crap age to be yanked away from your friends and the school where you were finding your feet and thrust into one of the poorest suburbs of one of the biggest cities in the country. But—for the woman who’d only pumped out a second son for the public benefits—moving states to chase a more generous single-parent allowance was a no-brainer. No matter who it disrupted.

      Not that any of that money had ever found its way to him and Rick. They were just a means to an end.

      ‘What was that like?’

      Being your mother’s meal ticket or watching your older brother forge himself a career as the local drug-mover?

      ‘It was okay.’

      Uh-oh...here it came. Verbal shutdown. Probably just as well, given the direction his mind was going.

      She watched him steadily, those dark eyes knowing something was up even if she didn’t know exactly what. ‘Uh-huh...’

      Which was code for Your turn next, Oscar Wilde. But he couldn’t think of a single thing to say, witty or otherwise. So he folded his serviette and gave his chair the slightest of backward pushes.

      ‘Well...’

      ‘What just happened?’ Eve asked, watching him with curiosity but not judgment. And not moving an inch.

      ‘It’s getting late.’

      ‘It’s eight-thirty.’

      Seriously? Only an hour? It felt like eternity.

      ‘I’m heading out at sunrise. So I can get to Lake Lefroy before it gets too hot.’

      And back to blissful

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