Two pages contained Caleb's precise handwriting, an old property address, and notes about a recurring transfer route. A third sheet bore Norah's more angled script and a recently written date, four days from now, above the same address. The mother and father had left pieces of the same puzzle across different years, and their son had carried the connecting pages without telling a soul. Rhett felt the cold behind his ribs that came whenever a threat finally acquired a recognizable shape.
"Where did you find them?" he asked. Eli pointed to the notebook cover. "They were inside a pocket under the lining when I found the notebook with Mom's things. I didn't see the date at first.
I thought it was an old list." He looked at the handwriting with a raw, unguarded longing that made him seem thirteen again. "I think my mom wrote that part after my dad died. I think she's alive."
Rhett slid the watch toward him. "It was your father's," he said. "He trusted me to keep it safe. I believe he wanted you to have it when the time was right." Eli picked it up with both hands, but did not put it on. He simply held the weight of it as though testing whether an object could carry a person across four missing years.
A sharp tone sounded from Jace's monitoring desk. He looked toward the screens and straightened. A sedan was moving slowly along the service road beyond the compound, its headlights turned off in the rain. The vehicle stopped near the outer fence and remained motionless, close enough to watch the clubhouse windows.
Rhett stood. He put one hand on the table beside Eli, steadying himself against the sudden anger rising beneath his fear. "Go with Jace to the back room," he said. "Stay away from the windows. Nobody gets near you without my say-so." Eli stared at the dark monitor showing the sedan and whispered, "They followed me."
Rhett had no answer that would make the boy feel safe yet. He could promise that the Iron Ledger would act, but Caleb had made promises, too, and Eli knew what promises cost when good intentions met dangerous men. So Rhett offered something smaller and more immediate. "You came to the right door," he said. "Now let me find out who's outside it."
The sedan remained parked beyond the fence while Rhett crossed the wet gravel with Deak several paces behind him. Mara watched from beneath the workshop overhang, her phone ready to call for help if the stranger became threatening. No one carried a weapon openly, and Rhett made certain the security lights were functioning before approaching. After the boy's arrival, the club had no interest in creating another confrontation that could be misreported by people with powerful friends.
Rhett stopped at the driver's window. "You're on private property," he said. The glass lowered to reveal a man in his mid-forties wearing a plain gray jacket and an expression that had been carefully trained not to give away much. "I know," the stranger replied, lifting both empty hands before reaching slowly for a business card. "My name is Grant Foley. I'm an independent investigator."