Jack stared at her. “So nobody's coming to shut us down tonight?”
“Not on that application. If someone develops legitimate evidence, they'll have to follow the law like anybody else. But the material you've given us raised serious concerns about the complaint that was being pushed.”
Ethan let out a breath he'd been holding for hours. Jack turned to him. “You did that,” he said.
“We did,” Ethan answered automatically.
“No. People helped, and the deputy did his job, and Agent Doyle made the calls. But you kept the records and you had the courage to explain what was happening.” Jack held his gaze. “Take a little credit without putting the whole world on your shoulders.”
Ethan struggled to answer. His stepfather's voice was there in his memory, telling him he was worth less than the money paid for his care. He'd lived with the sentence so long it felt as though it belonged to his own thoughts. Here was another older man asking him to acknowledge something good he'd accomplished. He took a breath and whispered, “I did something.”
Jack nodded. “You did.”
“I kept the proof.”
“And you used it right.”
Ethan's eyes filled again. Jack pretended not to notice while Padre started clapping softly. Soon several nearby riders joined him. Ethan laughed through his tears and shook his head. He wasn't magically healed by applause, and he wasn't suddenly free of every fear. But he had found a small place inside himself where Russell's verdict no longer had the final word.
At nine, the first out-of-town riders began planning where to sleep. Padre suggested a nearby campground and arranged for everyone to leave the road clear. The grills were winding down when a compact sedan appeared at the far edge of the lot. It stopped beyond the motorcycles, and a man stepped out alone. His gray suit jacket hung open, his tie was missing, and his face looked older than it had that morning.
Ethan recognized Marcus Vane before anyone spoke. Jack saw him too and began walking toward the entrance, but the man kept his hands visible and stopped when he saw the riders turn. There was no smile this time. No offer in an envelope. Vane looked like somebody who had spent an hour deciding whether he was more afraid to arrive or to stay away.
“I need to speak to the federal investigator,” he called.
Doyle came forward from beside her car. “You can speak to me, but be aware I'm an investigator and what you say may be relevant to a criminal case. If you're asking about a cooperation agreement, we do that through attorneys and prosecutors, not in a parking lot.”
Vane gave a short, miserable laugh. “I don't need a deal in the parking lot. I need somebody to hear that Caldwell's going to hurt people if nobody stops him.”
Jack moved beside Ethan. “Why would we believe you?”