Noah smiled slightly.
Caleb touched his cheek.
“You don't keep people alive by watching them every second.”
“How do you?”
“You love them while they're here.”
Noah thought.
“That's it?”
“That's the hard part.”
The roadside attack should have disappeared into paperwork.
It did not.
Two weeks after Caleb began treatment, Detective Sarah Cole called.
They had identified the injured man from the gas station as Harold Bennett.
Sixty-two.
Mechanic.
No criminal record.
Recovering well.
The attackers had not been random.
That part changed everything.
Caleb sat at the kitchen table while Mara listened from the sink.
“What do you mean?”
Detective Cole spoke through speakerphone.
“Mr. Bennett had information in his wallet.”
“What kind?”
“Documents.”
Caleb remembered the black wallet dropping.
Remembered one attacker grabbing it.
“What documents?”
“We’re still investigating.”
Caleb leaned back.
“Then why tell me?”
“Because Mr. Bennett asked to speak with you.”
Mara shook her head immediately.
Caleb saw.
“No.”
She mouthed.
Caleb ignored her.
“About what?”
“He says you saved his life.”
“I slowed down three idiots.”
“He believes they would've killed him.”
Mara turned off the faucet.
The kitchen became quiet.
Detective Cole continued.
“He also says the attack may connect to a motorcycle shop.”
Caleb frowned.
“What shop?”
“Ridgeway Customs.”
Caleb knew it.
Everybody who rode in that part of Arizona knew Ridgeway.
Custom engines.
Restorations.
Club work.
Expensive.
Reputation mixed.
Caleb had bought parts there twice.
Mara looked worried.
“What does that have to do with him?”
“Mr. Bennett did bookkeeping for them.”
Caleb felt something colder than fear.
“What did he find?”
“Financial records.”
The detective paused.
“We can't discuss details yet.”
Caleb stared at the phone.
“Why were three men trying to take his wallet?”
“That remains under investigation.”
“Come on.”
“Mr. Mercer.”
“Caleb.”
“Caleb, you've already done enough.”
Mara pointed at the phone as if the detective had become her ally.
“Listen to her.”
Caleb ignored both.
“When does Bennett want to talk?”
Mara closed her eyes.
Harold Bennett visited the house the following Saturday.
Caleb had lost some weight.
Not much.
Enough that his riding vest hung differently.
His hair remained.
His beard remained.
For now.
Harold arrived carrying an apple pie.
Caleb looked at it.
“You almost get murdered and bring me dessert?”
Harold smiled.
“Southern manners survive trauma.”
He moved carefully.
A fading scar crossed his scalp.
His shoulder remained in a sling.
Noah watched from behind Mara.
Harold noticed him.
“You must be the famous son.”
Noah frowned.
“Famous?”
“Your dad talked about you while waiting for the ambulance.”
Caleb looked surprised.
“I did?”
“Repeatedly.”
Mara smiled.
“What did he say?”
Caleb interrupted:
“Nobody needs transcripts.”
Harold laughed.
Noah stepped closer.
“Was it your blood?”
Harold looked confused.