Her Knight in the Outback. Nikki Logan

that came with feeling relief when their son’s remains were found in a gully at the bottom of a popular hiking mountain. Closure. That became the goal somewhere around the ten-month mark.

      Emotional euthanasia.

      Maybe one day that would be her—loathing herself for being grateful that the question mark that stalked her twenty-four-seven was now gone because her brother was. But there was no way she could explain any of that to someone outside the network. Regular people just didn’t get it. It was just so much easier to smile and nod.

      ‘Yes. Great.’

      Silence clunked somewhat awkwardly on the table between them.

      ‘Did you get out to Israelite Bay yet?’ he finally asked.

      ‘I’ll probably do that tomorrow or Wednesday.’

      His clear eyes narrowed. ‘Listen. I have an idea. You need to travel out to the bay and I need to head out to Cape Arid and Middle Island to survey them for a possible new weather station. Why don’t we team up, head out together? Two birds, one stone.’

      More together time in which to struggle with conversation and obsess about his tattoos. Was that wise?

      ‘I’ll only slow you down. I need to do poster drops at all roadhouses, caravan parks and campsites between here and there.’

      ‘That’s okay. As far as the office is concerned, I have a couple of days while the truck mess is cleared up. We can take our time.’

      Why did he seem so very reluctant? Almost as if he was speaking against his will. She scrunched her nose as a prelude to an I don’t think so.

      But he beat her to it. ‘Middle Island is off-limits to the public. You can’t go there without a permit.’

      ‘And you have a permit?’

      ‘I do.’

      ‘Have you forgotten that this isn’t a tourist trip for me?’

      ‘You’ll get your work done on the way, and then you’ll just keep me company for mine.’

      ‘I can get my work done by myself and be back in Esperance by nightfall.’

      ‘Or you can give yourself a few hours off and see a bit of this country that you’re totally missing.’

      ‘And why should I be excited by Middle Island?’

      ‘A restricted island could be a great place for someone to hide out if they don’t want to be discovered.’

      The moment the words left his mouth, colour peaked high on his jaw.

      ‘Sorry—’ he winced as she sucked in a breath ‘—that was... God, I’m sorry. I just thought you might enjoy a bit of downtime. That it might be good for you.’

      But his words had had their effect. If you needed a permit and Marshall had one, then she’d be crazy not to tag along. What if she let her natural reticence stop her and Trav was there, camping and lying low?

      ‘I’ll let you ride on my bike,’ he said, as though that made it better. As if it was some kind of prize.

      Instantly her gut curled into a fist. ‘Motorbikes kill people.’

      ‘People kill people,’ he dismissed. ‘Have you ever ridden on one?’

      If riding tandem with a woman in the midst of a mid-life crisis counted. ‘My mother had a 250cc.’

      ‘Really? Cool.’

      Yeah, that was what she and Travis had thought, right up until the day it killed their mother and nearly him.

      ‘But you haven’t really ridden until you’ve been on a 1200.’

      ‘No, thanks.’

      ‘Come on... Wouldn’t you like to know what it’s like to have all that power between your legs?’

      ‘If this is a line, it’s spectacularly cheesy.’

      He ignored that. ‘Or the freedom of tearing along at one hundred clicks with nothing between you and the road?’

      ‘You call that freedom, I call that terror.’

      ‘How will you know until you try it?’

      ‘I’m not interested in trying it.’

      He totally failed at masking his disappointment. ‘Then you can tail me in the bus. We’ll convoy. It’ll still be fun.’

      Famous last words. Something told her the fun would run out, for him, round about the time she pulled into her third rest stop for the day, to pin up posters.

      ‘There’s also a good caravan park out there, according to the travel guides. You can watch a west coast sunset.’

      ‘I’ve seen plenty of sunsets.’

      ‘Not with me,’ he said on a sexy grin.

      Something about his intensity really wiggled down under her skin. Tantalising and zingy. ‘Why are you so eager for me to do this?’

      Grey eyes grew earnest. ‘Because you’re missing everything. The entire country. The moments of joy that give life its colour.’

      ‘You should really moonlight in greeting-card messages.’

      ‘Come on, Eve. You have to go there, anyway, it’s just a few hours of detour.’

      ‘And what if Trav comes through in those few hours?’ It sounded ridiculous but it was the fear she lived with every moment of every day.

      ‘Then he’ll see one of dozens of posters and know you’re looking for him.’

      The simple truth of that ached. Every decision she made ached. Each one could bring her closer to her brother or push her further away. It made decision-making pure agony. But this one came with a whole bundle of extra considerations. Marshall-shaped considerations. And the thought of sitting and watching a sunset with him even managed to alleviate some of that ache.

      A surprising amount.

      She sighed. ‘What time?’

      ‘How long are you set up here for?’

      ‘I have permission to be on the waterfront until noon.’

      ‘Five past noon, then?’

      So eager. Did he truly think she was that parched for some life experience? It galled her to give him all the points. ‘Ten past.’

      His smile transformed his face, the way it always did.

      ‘Done.’

      ‘And we’re sleeping separately. You know...just for the record.’

      ‘Hey, I’m just buying you a sunset, lady.’ His shrug was adorable. And totally disarming.

      ‘Now go, Weatherman—you’re scaring off my leads with all that leather.’

      Her lips said ‘go’ but her heart said stay. Whispered it, really. But she’d become proficient in drowning out the fancies of her heart. And its fears. Neither were particularly productive in keeping her on track in finding Travis. A nice neutral...nothing...was the best way to proceed.

      Emotionally blank, psychologically focused.

      Which wasn’t to say that Marshall Sullivan couldn’t be a useful distraction from all the voices in her head and heart.

      And a pleasant one.

      And a short one.

      * * *

      They drove the two hundred kilometres east in a weird kind of convoy. Eve chugging along in her ancient bus and him, unable to stand the slow pace, roaring off ahead and pulling over at the turn-off to every conceivable human touch point until she caught up, whacked up a poster and headed out again. Rest