"If Graham knows we're up here, he'll come."
"Then let the people coming with badges deal with it."
He looked away, and Sarah could see his old instincts pulling against the new decision he had made to cooperate. He had spent years resolving threats through the club, never involving an outsider unless every other option had failed. She was asking him to do the opposite at the one moment when his life was most directly in danger.
A voice came from the dark below, amplified slightly by the shape of the hillside. It was deep and rough, and the single word it spoke seemed to change Wyatt's entire posture.
"Cross."
Sarah moved to a narrow view of the salvage yard. At least six men had entered the property, their shapes moving through the strips of fading light. They were carrying weapons, though from that distance Sarah could not identify what each man held. Behind them, a heavier figure stood near a dark truck with the confidence of someone accustomed to sending other people forward first.
"Graham," Wyatt said.
Sarah could hear the name in his voice the way one hears a familiar tune played wrong. Noel rose carefully and came to stand beside her, looking down over the yard. The old man did not try to pretend he could solve the problem with a tool or a brave speech.
"Call again," he said. "Tell them how many."
Sarah did. The dispatcher noted the update and asked whether they could remain out of sight and avoid making contact. Sarah answered yes. She held on to that simple instruction while Graham's voice rolled through the dark from below.
"I know you're on the property, little brother. You've always liked a place full of junk. Come out and we can settle this without making it anybody else's problem."
Wyatt did not answer. Graham continued, his voice loud enough to carry but not loud enough to reveal whether he was calm. He promised Wyatt would be allowed to leave if he stopped talking to investigators, and he offered Sarah money to forget what she had seen. When no answer came, the promises turned sour.
"I know you've got the woman up there," Graham called. "She doesn't deserve to die for your stubbornness."
Sarah felt her pulse quicken. She had known danger was coming, but hearing her life discussed as a bargaining chip by a stranger standing on her land brought a different kind of anger. She pressed the phone against her ear and repeated the threat to the dispatcher.
"Stay inside," the dispatcher said. "Do not engage."
Sarah obeyed. Below, the men approached the diner and began kicking through doors and windows that had already endured half a century of wind and heat. Glass broke, a chair skidded across concrete, and somebody shouted that the building was empty. Sarah saw one of them drag the CLOSED sign from the door and throw it into the lot.