Cole looked toward the workshop again. "Mara decides whether she comes. Her son isn't a package we're transporting."
"Agreed," Voss said immediately. "And if she refuses, we make another plan that doesn't put either of them at risk."
The answer mattered. Cole watched Voss for a moment, then nodded. "Give me a few minutes."
Inside, Mara was standing near the heater while Eli made careful circles in the dust on the workbench with one finger. Warren was pretending not to listen, though Cole knew the entire conversation would be memorable to a man whose evenings ordinarily involved failed alternators and customers who argued about estimates.
"The caller was Darla Reeves," Cole told them. "The woman who made the compass patches. She's alive, and she has been gathering evidence about what happened to Evan. The riders are people she sent. They say Evan is alive and protected."
Mara braced one hand against the workbench. Cole watched the information enter her face, watched hope struggle against the habit of refusing to trust good news. She had learned over eight years how dangerous hope could be. It arrived with warmth, but when it proved false it left her colder than before.
"You believe them?" she asked.
"I believe enough to hear Darla in person. I know she exists. I know Evan trusted her. And Voss told me something about the patches she couldn't have learned from a newspaper."
"Where is he?"
"They won't tell me yet. Darla can. They want us to go to her tonight. Forty minutes. A private place away from the highway."
"On motorcycles?" Mara glanced toward Eli.
Cole hesitated. He had spent his life riding, and he knew enough about weather, children, and tired drivers to dislike taking a nine-year-old through the dark if there was another option. Warren, who had been listening without appearing to, cleared his throat.
"I've got a pickup I use for local parts," the mechanic said. "Heater works, seat belts work, and I can drive it if you tell me where. Wouldn't mind being useful for once instead of looking at broken machinery all night."
Mara looked at him with surprise. "You don't know us."
"I know your kid thanked me for checking the fuel line. Most grown men don't thank me after I've spent an hour finding why their truck won't start. That's enough to offer a ride."
Voss came to the workshop door when Cole waved her over. They discussed the alternatives without raising their voices. Darla's location was remote, and the roads were wet; a heated vehicle was more sensible for a child. The older rider, Marcus, offered to bring his small truck from a nearby garage, with a child-appropriate seat belt and room for Mara and Eli. Warren agreed to keep Mara's broken truck in his bay until the part arrived, and to contact Della if any unfamiliar visitors asked questions.
Eli looked disappointed when he heard he would not be riding a motorcycle immediately. "Dad said he'd take me someday."