Ryder pushed off down the slope, his weight on his downhill ski despite how unnatural it felt. He made a wide turn, picking up too much speed before he remembered his edges. Pointing his skis a little uphill, he transferred his weight and made another wide radius turn. Someone shot past in a blur and Ryder’s nerves tingled as he tightened his grip on his poles. Colliding with someone at speed would put him in a hospital bed quick smart.

Aside from the physical risk, it had made sense for him to meet Sterling in Thredbo. He was staying at the Golden Wattle, the ski lodge in Thredbo that Vanessa’s sister Eva managed, while he was attending court in Queanbeyan. Eva’s ski lodge was a convenient midpoint between the court and Sterling’s Khancoban operation.

After a few more turns the run levelled out to a gentler slope. Confident on the easier gradient, Ryder glanced around but the area was deserted save for a ski instructor surrounded by a group of primary-school-aged kids. Reaching up, he slid open the vent on his helmet. The ski apparel was another reason for them to meet on the mountain—the helmets, goggles and face coverings made it almost impossible for anyone watching to recognise them.

Ryder relaxed, his body no longer needing his full concentration to stay upright. He exited the trees halfway down a wide run and traversed to the other side, careful not to miss the narrow trail that would take him through the trees again, and down the slope to the Golden Wattle Lodge.

Vanessa was outside the lodge near the bottom-floor exit, her back to Ryder as he skied across the clearing. Dressed in her red ski-patroller’s uniform, her hair pulled up in its usual high ponytail, she was moving between a couple of trestle tables she’d set up in the snow. As he came to a stop beside her, she looked around and took out her earbuds.

‘Hi. How did you go?’

To anyone within earshot, the question was a simple enquiry about how he’d handled the conditions, but Vanessa was fully aware he had a member of his squad undercover, and the movements and responsibilities that went with it.

Ryder clicked out of his bindings and leaned over to pick up his skis. ‘I didn’t stack it, so on the whole pretty good,’ he said, his thighs burning from the continuous snowplough he’d used to get him safely down the last section of track in one piece.

‘I told you we’d get those old footballer knees loosened up,’ she said with a smile.

‘Careful, not so much with the old. What are you up to?’

‘Waxing my skis. I don’t start until eleven and they needed it. Want me to do yours?’