“I should've seen it.”
Chloe did not ask what he meant.
“Sullivan.”
She leaned against the counter.
“You trusted him.”
“I ignored things.”
That was different.
Miller sighed.
“He was aggressive.”
“Yes.”
“Complaints.”
“Yes.”
“I told myself small towns need deputies who aren't afraid of confrontation.”
Chloe said nothing.
“I confused aggression with confidence.”
He looked at her.
“That nearly got somebody killed.”
Chloe thought of Bear.
Then of Sullivan reaching toward his gun in the diner.
“Yes.”
Miller looked down.
“I owe you an apology.”
“For what?”
“For letting you stand there and figure out my deputy before I did.”
Chloe's anger rose unexpectedly.
“You don't owe me an apology for being slow.”
Miller looked up.
“You owe every person who complained about him before Bear.”
He absorbed that.
Then nodded.
“You're right.”
Chloe refilled his coffee.
No charge.
Not forgiveness.
Just coffee.
Bear remained hospitalized for eleven days.
For the first three, he was unconscious.
Dutch and several club members stayed nearby in rotating shifts.
Their motorcycles outside the hospital became local news.
State police increased patrols.
Nothing happened.
No retaliation.
No invasion.
No violent showdown.
Only waiting.
On the fourth day, Bear woke.
His first coherent sentence reportedly involved asking whether his motorcycle was repairable.
Dutch later told Chloe that and, for the first time, actually laughed.
Bear remembered leaving the diner.
Remembered noticing headlights behind him.
Remembered a law-enforcement-style vehicle.
Remembered being forced toward the shoulder.
After that, fragments.
A uniform.
A voice.
A blow.
He remembered Sullivan's face only partially.
But combined with the forensic evidence, video timeline, vehicle data, and Sullivan's own contradictory statements, investigators had far more than a wounded man's memory.
When Bear was well enough, Dutch brought him back to the Copper Skillet.
It was almost six weeks later.
The wind had turned colder.
Chloe was working lunch.
The front door opened.
Bear walked in slowly.
He had lost weight.
One arm was in a sling.
A healing mark ran near his hairline.
But he was alive.
Chloe stopped mid-pour.
Bear looked around.
“Cherry pie?”
Her eyes filled immediately.
Pete emerged from the kitchen.
“Well, look what crawled back.”
Bear grinned.
“You missed me?”
“Your fifty-dollar tips.”
Bear sat at the same stool.
Dutch took the one beside him.
Chloe brought coffee.
Then pie.
Bear looked at her.
“I hear you found something of mine.”
Chloe glanced at Dutch.
The ring had been released from evidence after documentation.
Dutch reached into his vest.
Placed it on the counter.
Bear stared.
For the first time, the giant man looked genuinely emotional.
He picked it up.