Because leaving something that valuable in a parking lot felt wrong.
She assumed Bear might notice it missing.
Maybe he would call.
Maybe he would come back.
Maybe Pete could keep it in the safe.
Those were ordinary-person solutions.
Chloe still believed she was dealing with an ordinary lost object.
She locked the diner and drove home.
Their rental house sat at the edge of town behind a chain-link fence that leaned outward near the mailbox.
One bedroom belonged to Chloe.
One to Jackson.
The kitchen table belonged mostly to mechanical parts Jackson promised he would remove and rarely did.
At 2:35 a.m., he was seated beneath the kitchen light with a disassembled carburetor in front of him.
“Why are you still awake?” Chloe asked.
Jackson looked up.
“Why do you look like you saw somebody get murdered?”
“Can you not say things like that at two in the morning?”
“Can you answer the question?”
Chloe locked the deadbolt.
Then the chain.
Jackson's eyebrows rose.
“What happened?”
She reached into her apron.
Placed the ring on the table.
The sound it made changed Jackson's expression before he fully saw it.
Dense metal against Formica.
Thunk.
He stared.
Then leaned back.
“Chloe.”
“What?”
He did not touch it.
“Where did you get that?”
“A customer dropped it.”
“What customer?”
“Motorcycle guy.”
Jackson closed his eyes.
“Oh, no.”
“He was from Oakland.”
Jackson opened his eyes again.
“Please tell me that's not what I think it is.”
“I don't know what you think it is.”
He picked up a screwdriver and cautiously turned the ring with the tip.
“You didn't steal this?”
“No.”
“You didn't take it off him?”
“Jackson.”
“I need you to answer.”
“I found it in the parking lot after he left.”
Jackson leaned closer.
The fear on his face disturbed Chloe more than the ring itself.
She had seen him burn his arm on an exhaust manifold and continue working.
She had seen him face down an intoxicated customer twice his size.
She had seen him identify their mother's body.
Jackson did not scare easily.
Now he looked scared.
“This isn't regular jewelry.”
“I figured that out.”
“The club markings matter.”
“Okay.”
“No. Chloe, listen.”
He pushed his chair back.
“In biker-club culture, something like this can mean status. Identity. Brotherhood. Depending on where it came from, people can take losing it very seriously.”
“I was going to give it to Sheriff Miller tomorrow.”
“No.”
Jackson's answer came so quickly she flinched.
“Why not?”
“Because you don't know what story comes with it yet.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means if the guy dropped it, returning it is easy. If somebody took it from him, suddenly you're holding something connected to whatever happened.”
Chloe stared at the ring.
“It was under his bike.”
“I believe you.”
“Then what's the problem?”
“Other people don't know that.”
Jackson got up.
He paced once through the tiny kitchen.
“What was he like?”
“Quiet.”
“Drunk?”
“No.”
“Angry?”
“Not really.”
“Anybody with him?”
“No.”
“Anybody watching?”
“Two truckers.”
“Locals?”
“Didn't recognize them.”
Jackson looked toward the dark window.
Chloe crossed her arms.