A beat-up blue station wagon drove into view on the other side of the river, followed by a white Hilux ute. Cade lowered his weapon and shouted. The drivers got out and waved before inflating a dinghy and launching it into the water. Then the stouter of the two rowed across the muddy brown ditch and scrambled up the riverbank towards them.
Pippa recognised the man’s Mohawk and the Iron Cross tattoo on his bull neck. Dylan, one of Cade’s new friends from the mine. He’d been to the house a few times, joining in on the mysterious computer sessions in the spare room. Drinking too much. Murmuring obscenities to her when no one else was listening.
He marched up to Cade, grinning, and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You did it, mate. Didn’t think you had the guts, but I have to hand it to you.’
