Chloe rubbed her palms against her jeans and tried to put together the pieces she already knew. Richard had been unusually angry the week the missing biker's story appeared in the paper. He had taken calls outside and forbidden her to listen. An old photograph of the motorcycle had briefly appeared on local news, but she had not paid attention to the details. Now the same machine lay broken beside her, its hidden compartment open and a possible bullet embedded in its altered frame.
"Richard handled the search," she said. "He was proud of it. He told people he knew the canyon better than anybody. He used to say those bikers should have taken the warning and left town."
Jack looked at her with a tired, grim expression. "We did leave town," he said. "Not because we believed him. Because there was nothing left to search that they would let us near. He was a deputy and we were the people they'd already decided were guilty of something."
A rider named Luis, who had been documenting the scene, returned from farther down the road. "We've got a service signal on the ridge. I can reach people outside the county. Jack, we should make a call now, before Croft gets here."
"Call the people who can keep the evidence out of his hands," Jack said. "And tell them we have a witness who needs protection. Not a suspect. A witness."
Chloe's head snapped up. "Don't give them my name," she said. "He'll hear it over the radio. He always does."
Jack considered that. "We'll ask for someone outside the local department and explain the safety problem. We can start with what we've found. Nobody is putting you alone in Croft's custody."
Miller nodded toward the far end of the line. "There are roads out of here that don't go through his town. We can get her somewhere warm first if that's what she wants."
Chloe opened her mouth to agree. She wanted warmth, a locked door, and a telephone that did not belong to Richard. For a second the possibility seemed close enough to reach. Then she heard a different engine rising above the cooling clicks of the parked motorcycles.
It was sharper than the V-twins, a strained mechanical whine accompanied by the rush of tires moving too fast on open pavement. She turned toward the western horizon. Far beyond the riders, red and blue lights appeared over a low rise, blinking against the stars. They vanished for a moment behind the next hill and returned larger.
"Richard," she breathed.
Jack looked down the road. The red-blue pattern was unmistakable, and the speed of the approaching vehicle suggested its driver had little interest in normal traffic. Mace took one step toward the motorcycles. Chloe rose so quickly that the stool tipped backward into the dirt.
"He's found me," she said. Her voice broke on the second word. "He found me."