“What does Richard have to do with it?”
Jack looked at her.
“He was one of the deputies who handled the scene.”
Her face drained.
Jack continued.
“His name was on the recovery report.”
“But there was no recovery.”
“Exactly.”
The sergeant-at-arms said:
“Croft told us the bike couldn’t be retrieved.”
Chloe looked toward the highway.
Richard.
The man who controlled every room she entered.
The man who told her his badge meant nobody would ever believe her.
Maybe his violence had never stopped at their front door.
Then an engine sounded in the distance.
Different from motorcycles.
Higher.
Faster.
A vehicle being pushed hard.
Chloe spun around.
Red and blue lights appeared beyond the hill.
“No.”
She began backing away.
Jack followed her gaze.
The white sheriff’s SUV came into view.
“It’s him.”
Chloe’s breathing accelerated.
“He found me.”
Jack stood.
Ninety-seven men watched the approaching cruiser.
Chloe grabbed Jack’s arm without realizing it.
“He’ll take me back.”
Jack looked at her hand.
Then her face.
“No.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand enough.”
“He’s the police.”
Jack glanced toward the ruined Shovelhead.
“Tonight, that badge has questions attached to it.”
Chloe looked around at the riders.
Fear shifted into a different fear.
“You’re not going to kill him.”
The sergeant-at-arms looked at her.
Jack raised a hand before anyone answered.
“No.”
His voice was absolute.
Chloe searched his face.
“You mean it?”
Jack nodded.
“If Preacher was murdered, we spent three years wanting revenge.”
He looked toward the lights.
“But revenge destroys evidence.”
He glanced at the projectile still lodged in the motorcycle.
“And right now that bike is worth more to the truth than Croft’s blood is to anybody here.”
That answer surprised Chloe.
The SUV approached.
Jack gave quick instructions.
“No one touches Croft.”
Several men looked unhappy.
Jack’s voice hardened.
“No one.”
He pointed toward two riders.
“Get cameras.”
To another:
“Find a working phone or radio link and contact state authorities.”
Then he looked at Chloe.
“Stay behind me.”
The sheriff’s SUV braked fifty yards away.
Dust exploded around it.
The driver door flew open.
Richard Croft stepped out.
He was still in uniform.
Shirt half untucked.
Face flushed.
Chloe could smell alcohol even from several yards away when the wind shifted.
Richard saw her.
His expression changed from relief to rage.
“Chloe!”
She moved behind Jack.
Richard started forward.
“You get over here right now.”
Nobody moved.
Then Richard realized how many motorcycles surrounded the shoulder.
His pace slowed.
“What the hell is this?”
Jack stepped into the light.
Richard squinted.
Recognition appeared.
“Oh.”
Jack said nothing.
Richard’s hand drifted toward his holster.
“You people need to clear the road.”
Jack’s eyes remained on him.
“The road is open.”
“I’m conducting official business.”
He pointed at Chloe.
“That runaway is under my custody.”
Chloe’s voice broke.
“I’m nineteen.”
Richard ignored her.