The deputy's hand hovered at his holster. Every rider in the circle seemed to go still. Chloe watched the scene as if from far away, suddenly aware of the extraordinary danger of a firearm in a crowded roadside confrontation. Mace spoke from Jack's left, his voice steady rather than loud. "Nobody here wants that weapon out," he said. "Don't turn a bad situation into something nobody can reverse."
Jack gave a small signal. Headlights flashed off along the first row, leaving only the SUV's emergency lights and the beam from Richard's flashlight. For an instant the darkness seemed to swallow the motorcycles. Richard looked around as though searching for a route through men he could no longer see clearly. Then Jack's headlight came on, followed by the machine to his left, then the one to his right, and finally a broad cascade of lights spreading across the road.
The desert filled with white glare. Ninety-seven motorcycles stood visible in two sweeping lines, their riders neither advancing nor retreating. Richard's face turned pale. Chloe understood that the display was meant to show him the scale of the witnesses and the impossibility of quietly taking her away. It was intimidation, and she could not pretend otherwise. But it also gave her one moment in which the man who had always seemed untouchable could see that the world contained people who were not afraid of his badge.
"Jack O'Connor," Richard said, recognition finally breaking through his bravado. "I should've known. I warned you people three years ago to leave this alone."
"You told us the investigation was over," Jack replied. "I never promised to stop remembering him."
Richard's shoulders sank a fraction. "Preacher should've minded his own business. He got into something that had nothing to do with him."
Jack's expression went hard. "What did he get into?"
The deputy looked toward the broken motorcycle, then toward the hills. His eyes moved rapidly, calculating again. "I don't know," he said. "I didn't say anything."
"You did," Chloe said quietly. "You said he should have minded his own business. You know what happened to him."
Richard's breath came faster. "Shut your mouth."
Chloe did not move. She could not make herself feel brave, but she could finally make herself stay. The fear was still there, tremendous and familiar. It had simply become one thing among others rather than the only thing in the world. She lifted the wrench until its worn steel caught the headlights.
"This belonged to my dad," she said. "You told me everything he left was garbage. You were wrong about that. And you're wrong if you think I'm going back with you."
Richard's face twisted. He looked away from her and toward Jack, as though speaking to another man might restore the authority he had lost. "The sheriff knew," he blurted. "You think I was making decisions like that on my own?"
Jack remained still. "What decisions?"
"The transfers," Richard said. "The money. The vehicles coming through that old way station. Preacher found out. He went asking questions, talking about taking photographs and bringing people in from outside. The sheriff said we couldn't let it happen."