He noticed Sophie immediately.
Everyone did.
An eleven-year-old girl with a backpack walking directly toward the most expensive motorcycle in the lot was difficult to ignore.
Bear lowered his cup.
Sophie stopped beside the black Harley.
She crouched.
Her mother hurried after her.
“Sweetheart, get up.”
Sophie leaned lower.
The silver mark was more visible now.
A pale crescent beneath the fork brace.
Her stomach tightened.
The photograph.
Grandpa’s workshop.
The crushed motorcycle behind the county impound fence.
She remembered all of it.
“Sophie.”
Her mother reached for her shoulder.
The girl whispered, “I need a flashlight.”
“What?”
“A flashlight.”
Before her mother could answer, Sophie dropped onto both knees.
Then one hand.
Then crawled beneath the motorcycle.
The entire lot went quiet.
Bear stared.
One biker muttered:
“What the hell?”
Another stood.
Sophie slid farther under the bike until her shoulders nearly disappeared beneath the engine.
Her mother’s face drained.
“Sophie Lane, get out from under there right now.”
The girl reached toward the front assembly.
Not touching.
Looking.
There.
The line continued around the hidden side.
Her heart began racing.
Exactly like the notebook.
Exactly.
Footsteps thundered across the gravel.
Two bikers reached her simultaneously.
One grabbed her left ankle.
The other caught the right.
“Hey!”
Sophie yelped as they pulled her backward.
Her wrench slipped from her hand.
It clattered across the stones.
Her shoulder scraped lightly against gravel before she rolled onto her back.
Her mother screamed.
“She’s eleven! Keep your hands off her!”
Every conversation stopped.
Twenty riders turned.
Sophie’s mother shoved between the two men and her daughter.
One biker immediately raised his hands.
“Ma’am, she was under the bike.”
“She’s a child!”
“We didn’t hurt her.”
“You dragged her by the ankles!”
Bear crossed the lot.
He did not run.
He did not need to.
People moved when he approached.
Sophie sat up.
Her palms stung.
Her mother crouched beside her.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Did they hurt you?”
“No.”
“Then we are leaving.”
Sophie looked past her mother.
At Bear.
At the motorcycle.
“No.”
Her mother stared.
“Sophie.”
The girl pushed herself upright.
Bear stopped six feet away.
He looked down at her.
“What were you doing under my bike?”
Her mother stepped in front.
“She wasn't stealing anything.”
“I didn't say she was.”
“She didn't damage anything.”
“I didn’t say that either.”
Bear’s voice was deep, controlled.
That frightened Sophie less than shouting would have.
He looked around her mother.
“Kid.”
Sophie met his eyes.
“You were messing with my steering?”
“No.”
One biker laughed softly.
Bear did not.
“What were you doing?”
Sophie’s throat felt dry.
“Trying to keep you from riding away.”