Her mother immediately said:
“We do not know that.”
“But Grandpa knew.”
“We don’t know what he knew.”
“He wrote his name.”
“Sophie.”
Bear closed the notebook.
Slowly.
“Your mother’s right.”
Sophie looked betrayed.
Bear continued:
“A name isn’t proof.”
“But the crack—”
“Is proof my bike doesn’t move until we know exactly what happened.”
He handed the notebook back carefully.
Then looked toward the two men who had dragged Sophie from beneath the bike.
Both looked uncomfortable.
Bear said:
“Apologize.”
One biker frowned.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
The first man removed his sunglasses.
He crouched to Sophie’s eye level.
“Kid.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We thought you were messing with the bike.”
The second man did the same.
“Shouldn't have dragged you like that.”
Sophie looked at them.
Then toward Bear.
“Okay.”
Her mother did not look nearly as forgiving.
Bear understood.
He said:
“They were protecting someone they care about.”
Her mother answered:
“So was she.”
Bear looked toward Sophie.
“Yes.”
“She was.”
He turned toward the club mechanic.
“Get every bike Voss touched this morning off the road.”
The mechanic’s face changed.
“He checked seven.”
Bear’s jaw tightened.
“Seven?”
“Yes.”
“Mine.”
“Rook’s.”
“Danny’s.”
“Little Joe’s.”
“Two visitors from Lexington.”
“And the memorial bike.”
Bear stared.
“What memorial bike?”
The gray-bearded rider answered:
“Frank’s.”
Sophie looked up sharply.
“Frank who?”
Nobody responded.
Bear’s eyes slowly moved toward the girl.
He looked at her notebook.
Then at her mother.
“What was your father’s full name?”
Sophie’s mother stiffened.
“Why?”
Bear repeated:
“Please.”
She hesitated.
Then:
“Frank Lane.”
Every rider within earshot changed.
Not recognition exactly.
Something deeper.
Bear stared at Sophie.
The eleven-year-old girl sensed it instantly.
“What?”
Bear whispered:
“Your grandfather was Frank Lane?”
Sophie nodded.
“You knew him?”
Bear looked around at his men.
Several had removed their hats.
One older biker lowered his head.
Sophie’s mother stared.
“What is going on?”
Bear turned.
“Frank rode with us.”
Sophie’s mouth opened.
“No.”
Bear nodded.
“Long time ago.”
“Before you were born.”
Sophie looked at her mother.
Her mother looked just as shocked.
“My father hated motorcycle clubs.”
A gray-bearded rider laughed softly.
“He hated most motorcycle clubs.”
Bear corrected:
“He hated stupidity.”
Several men almost smiled.
Bear continued.
“He helped build this club before leaving.”
Sophie’s mother shook her head.
“No.”
“My father never said anything.”
Bear looked toward the notebook.
“He probably had reasons.”
Sophie asked:
“Why did he leave?”
That question erased the faint smiles.
Bear’s expression darkened.
“Because of Leon Voss.”
Silence.
Sophie felt every hair on her arms rise.
Her mother whispered:
“You know him?”
Bear looked toward the road.
“Yes.”