“Why did you walk out here?”
She looked at the motorcycle.
“Because they were stealing it.”
“It isn't your motorcycle.”
“No.”
“You don't know me.”
“No.”
“Then why risk getting hurt?”
Rebecca’s grip tightened.
She did not want to answer.
Cole noticed.
“Kid?”
Rebecca looked at the patch on his vest.
Her throat suddenly felt dry.
“My dad had one like that.”
Cole stopped breathing for a beat.
Mason’s expression changed too.
“What?”
Rebecca immediately regretted speaking.
“Nothing.”
She lowered the bat.
“Forget it.”
Cole looked down at his patch.
Then back at her.
“Your father belonged to Iron Valley?”
“I don't know.”
“You just said—”
“I said I saw the patch.”
“Where?”
Rebecca turned toward the diner.
“I need to work.”
Cole stepped aside rather than block her.
But his voice followed.
“What's your dad's name?”
Rebecca stopped.
Her shoulders stiffened.
She did not turn around.
“I don't know.”
Cole stared.
“You don't know your father's name?”
Rebecca finally looked back.
“I know what my mother called him.”
“What?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“Evan.”
Cole went completely still.
Mason whispered something Rebecca could not hear.
Cole’s face had changed so dramatically that she felt suddenly frightened again.
“What?”
Cole said nothing.
Rebecca looked between them.
“What?”
Mason stared at Cole.
Cole whispered, “No.”
Rebecca tightened her grip on the bat again.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Cole took one slow step forward.
“You have a picture?”
Rebecca’s heart jumped.
“How do you know?”
“Do you?”
She did.
It lived in the front pocket of her backpack.
A photograph she had carried for years despite the corners going soft and the colors fading.
Rebecca backed toward the diner.
“I should go.”
Cole did not move.
“Rebecca.”
She froze.
“How do you know my name?”
He pointed toward the diner window.
“Your name tag.”
She looked down.
Of course.
Cole rubbed one hand across his beard.
“I'm not trying to scare you.”
“You're doing a bad job.”
Mason almost smiled.
Cole ignored him.
“If you have the photograph, I'd like to see it.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew an Evan.”
Rebecca stared.
The rainwater dripped from the awning.
Somewhere down the highway, a truck changed gears.
“You knew him?”
“Maybe.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“No.”
Cole’s eyes were fixed on hers now.
Rebecca suddenly understood that he was nervous.
A man twice her size.
A biker.
A stranger who looked like very little frightened him.
And somehow her question did.
Rebecca went inside.
Cole did not follow.
That mattered.
She walked behind the counter, opened her backpack, and pulled out the photograph.
Her mother had given it to her when Rebecca was ten.
Not willingly.
Rebecca had found it hidden between old tax papers and demanded to know why there was a photograph of a young man holding her as a baby.
Her mother had taken it away.
Rebecca cried.
Three days later, the picture appeared on her pillow.
Nothing else.
No explanation.
Only the photograph.