Cole had laughed.
“You leaving the club?”
Michael shook his head.
“Just keep it.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“I said nothing.”
Cole grabbed him.
“Who did this?”
Michael pulled away.
Then his expression changed.
Fear.
Not for himself.
“For Sarah?”
Michael looked toward the door.
Cole asked:
“What happened to Sarah?”
“Nothing.”
“Noah?”
“He’s fine.”
“Then what?”
Michael reached beneath his shirt.
Removed the guardian bell from a leather cord around his neck.
Usually it hung beneath his motorcycle.
After selling the bike, he had kept it.
He pressed it into Cole’s palm.
“If anything happens to me, don’t open it.”
Cole frowned.
“Open what?”
“The bell.”
Cole laughed.
“What’s inside?”
“Nothing unless Noah finds you.”
Cole thought he had misheard.
“What?”
Michael leaned closer.
“Don’t open it unless my son finds you.”
“Michael—”
“Promise me.”
“You’re scaring the hell out of me.”
“Promise.”
Cole stared.
Then nodded.
“I promise.”
Michael looked relieved.
That frightened Cole more.
He hugged him.
Michael whispered:
“Tell him I didn’t leave him.”
Cole’s eyes opened.
The garage returned.
Noah stood right in front of him.
Cole’s voice cracked.
“That’s what he said.”
Noah looked confused.
“Tell who?”
Cole’s throat tightened.
“You.”
Sarah covered her mouth.
Noah said nothing.
Cole looked down at the little bell.
“I thought he was scared.”
“I thought maybe he’d gotten into trouble.”
“I thought he’d come back the next day and explain everything.”
“He never did.”
Sarah’s voice was barely audible.
“What’s inside?”
Cole stared.
“I never opened it.”
The bald biker frowned.
“You’ve had that thing six years.”
“I made a promise.”
Sarah looked at Noah.
Noah looked at the bell.
Then said:
“Dad said only if I found you.”
Cole nodded.
His hand shook harder.
There was a narrow seam along the bottom.
So fine he had always assumed it was decorative.
Now he noticed two tiny indentations beside it.
He pulled a small pocketknife from his belt.
Sarah immediately tensed.
Cole saw.
He closed the blade.
Used the metal edge instead.
Carefully inserted it into the seam.
Twisted.
Click.
The bottom loosened.
Every person in the garage had stopped working.
Cole turned the brass cap.
Something tiny fell into his palm.
A key.
Not bigger than a house key cut in half.
Steel.
Old.
A number engraved on one side.
The bald biker stepped closer.
“Cole.”
Cole stared.
Sarah asked:
“What?”
Cole did not answer.
“What does that number mean?”
He looked toward the back of the property.