I had kept that black Harley-Davidson longer than some of the men in my club had been riding.
It wasn't the best motorcycle in the garage.
Not anymore.
The frame showed its age.
Rust had worked into places that used to shine.
The engine needed attention.
And now Claire had found a damaged oil line that could have ended somebody's life.
Still, I'd never been able to get rid of it.
Whenever somebody asked why, I gave the same answer.
It wasn't for sale.
Most people accepted that.
Rourke occasionally joked about the amount of space it occupied.
Claire had asked more than once whether I intended to restore it properly.
I always said I would get around to it.
I never did.
The truth was harder to explain.
The motorcycle reminded me of Daniel.
And it reminded me of a night I'd spent twenty years trying not to revisit.
I had kept it because Daniel wanted me to.
That had been enough.
Until his son arrived.
Ethan stood a few feet from me, looking at the lower engine housing.
There was something strange about seeing him beside that motorcycle.
He didn't look like a child admiring an old machine.
He looked like somebody who had finally reached a place he'd been trying to find.
I glanced at Claire.
She was still standing near the damaged oil fitting.
Her tools were on the floor beside her.
I looked back at Ethan.
"You said your father told you about this bike."
"Yes."
"Did he tell you why he wanted you to find it?"
The boy hesitated.
"He said there was something in it."
I waited.
"Something in the motorcycle?"
He nodded.
"Hidden."
I looked toward the engine.
I had worked around that machine for years.
I'd looked it over.
I'd listened to it run.
I'd worried about keeping it in one piece.
And never once had I found anything suggesting Daniel had left something behind.
I wasn't sure what Ethan meant.
"Where did he say it was?"
Ethan pointed.
"Inside."
Rourke stepped closer.
He had been unusually quiet since Claire confirmed the damaged oil line.
Now his attention was on the same spot as mine.
"Inside the motor?"
Ethan nodded again.
I looked at Claire.
She frowned slightly.
She understood motorcycles better than anyone else in that room.
She also understood that hiding something inside a machine wasn't nearly as simple as stuffing an envelope into a drawer.
Engines were built from parts that had to fit together.
Anything placed in the wrong location could interfere with their operation.
And if Daniel had hidden something there, he must have known exactly what he was doing.
That part didn't surprise me.
Daniel had always understood machinery in ways that impressed even experienced mechanics.
I remembered standing beside him years earlier, watching him work.
He could listen to a motor and hear a problem before anybody else had noticed anything unusual.
Ethan had shown the same ability that afternoon.
The resemblance made my chest feel tight.
I looked at the boy.
"Did he tell you what was hidden?"
He shook his head.
"No."
"Just that something was there?"
"Yes."
I considered that.
I couldn't understand why Daniel would leave something inside an old Harley instead of giving it directly to his son.
Unless he had a reason.
And the longer I looked at Ethan, the more certain I became that there was a reason.
"Did he say why he put it there?"
Ethan drew the backpack closer.
"He said certain people weren't supposed to get it."
I felt the air leave my chest.
"Which people?"
He looked toward the garage entrance.
For the first time since we'd begun talking about the motorcycle, he seemed more interested in the door than in the engine.
I noticed his breathing change.
I waited.
He didn't answer immediately.
I tried again.
"Ethan, did your father tell you who might be looking for it?"
He lowered his eyes.
"He said they'd come looking if they found out."
I stared at him.
"Come looking for what?"
He didn't know.
Or he wasn't ready to tell me.
I couldn't be sure.
I looked at the picture still tucked in his pocket.
Daniel had told the boy to find me.
He'd left a message accusing me of withholding the truth.
He'd insisted I keep that Harley.
And he'd hidden something inside it because he feared the wrong people might find it.
Those weren't ordinary instructions to leave a child.
They sounded like the actions of a man who believed he was running out of safe choices.
I didn't know what had happened to Daniel during the years we were apart.
I didn't know what he had been afraid of.
But I knew he wouldn't have sent his son to me without a serious reason.
That knowledge was heavy.
Because Daniel had trusted me with something.
And the last time he'd trusted me, our lives had changed in ways neither of us could undo.
Claire spoke quietly.
"Mason."
I looked at her.
She glanced at the motorcycle.
"Do you know anything about this?"
I could have told her no.
It would have been easier.
It also wouldn't have been entirely true.
I knew about Daniel.
I knew about the fire.
I knew a motorcycle had been stolen.
And I knew there was more to the story than I had ever explained to my club.
But I didn't know what was hidden inside that Harley.
I didn't know what Daniel had intended to leave behind.
And I didn't understand why he'd waited so long to send somebody looking for me.
"I know why Daniel mattered to me," I said.
Claire held my gaze.
"And the rest?"
I looked at Ethan.
"Not enough."
She didn't press me.
I appreciated that.
For a moment, I thought we might finally have the chance to understand what was happening.
I wanted Claire to examine the bike carefully.
I wanted to hear every detail Ethan could remember.
I wanted to know why Daniel had kept that photograph hidden.
And why the message on the back named me.
But the next sound came from outside.
A sudden metallic crash.
Loud enough to turn every head in the garage.
I looked toward the entrance.
Something had happened near the front of the building.
I couldn't see exactly what had made the noise.
But I could see a black SUV.
It had stopped outside.
I hadn't been expecting visitors.
Nobody had told me anyone was coming.
I watched the doors open.
Three men got out.
The tallest wore a charcoal suit.
He moved with the confidence of somebody who expected other people to make room for him.
The other two stayed close.
I didn't like the way they approached.
It wasn't the clothes.
It wasn't the vehicle.
It was the fact that the tallest man looked directly toward our garage as though he knew exactly what he was going to find.
I glanced at Ethan.
And everything about the boy changed.
He had been nervous since entering the workshop.
He'd flinched when I raised my voice.
He'd held on to his backpack like somebody might take it away.
But this was different.
The color disappeared from his face.
His shoulders drew together.
His eyes widened.
And he took a step backward.
I had spent enough years around frightened people to recognize genuine terror.
This wasn't a kid worried about being scolded.
He looked as though the worst thing he could imagine had just walked through the door.
"Ethan?"
He didn't look at me.
His eyes stayed on the man in the charcoal suit.
"That's him."
The words barely came out.
I stepped closer.
"Who?"
His breathing had become uneven.
He kept staring at the stranger.
"The man from our house."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"What man?"
Ethan swallowed.
His voice shook.
"He came the night Dad died."
I looked toward the entrance again.
The three men were getting closer.
I didn't know what had happened at Daniel's house.
I didn't know whether this man had caused his death.
And I wasn't going to make that accusation without understanding what the boy meant.
But Ethan had recognized him.
That much was clear.
And whatever he remembered had frightened him badly.
I stepped between the boy and the approaching men.
It wasn't something I thought about.
I simply moved.
I'd been standing over Ethan when he first arrived.
Now I wanted to make sure nobody else could do the same.
Rourke noticed.
He shifted his position.
Claire came closer to the boy.
The man in the suit reached the garage entrance.
He looked at me.
Then he smiled.
"Mason. Been a while."
I recognized him.
Not as a friend.
Not as somebody I was pleased to see.
There was enough history between us that I wanted him out of my workshop before he said another word.
"What are you doing here?"
He didn't answer immediately.
His eyes moved past me.
I knew where he was looking.
At Ethan.
The man smiled again.
It was a small expression.
Controlled.
I disliked it more than I could explain.
"Found you at last."
He wasn't talking to me.
I felt Ethan move behind my shoulder.
I turned slightly.
The boy had gone very still.
His eyes were wet.
He looked toward me with an expression I would remember for the rest of my life.
"Don't let him take me."
I didn't know what authority the stranger believed he had.
I didn't know what he'd told Daniel.
I didn't know why he had come looking for the boy.
But I knew what Ethan had just asked me.
And I knew I wasn't going to ignore him.
I faced the stranger.
"He's staying right there."
The man looked amused.
"We'll see about that."
His hand moved toward the inside of his jacket.
Rourke straightened.
Claire stopped moving.
I watched closely.
The stranger withdrew a folded document.
Not a weapon.
At least not the kind I had feared.
He held the paper where I could see it.
"I came for the child."
I looked at the document.
I couldn't tell what it was.
He hadn't explained what it said.
And I wasn't going to accept his claim simply because he had brought a piece of paper.
"He's not going anywhere with you."
The man lowered the document slightly.
His smile didn't disappear.
"You should think about what you're saying."
I took another step forward.
"I've thought about it."
Behind me, Ethan made a small sound.
I didn't turn.
I kept my eyes on the man in the suit.
He had brought two men with him.
He had approached a garage belonging to a motorcycle club.
And he'd announced he intended to take a frightened twelve-year-old.
I wasn't impressed.
I was angry.
But I tried to keep my voice under control.
"Whatever you came here to do, you're not taking him."
The stranger looked at me for a long moment.
Then his expression changed.
Not much.
Just enough to tell me he had expected me to make things difficult.
"You're getting involved in something you don't understand."
"Then explain it."
He glanced toward Ethan.
"I don't think you're ready for that."
I felt my jaw tighten.
"I'm ready to hear why you're frightening this boy."
The man gave a quiet laugh.
Then he said something that made me forget what I'd been about to say.
"You don't even know who he is."
I stared at him.
I knew his name.
I knew his father.
I knew he was twelve.
And I knew Daniel had sent him to me.
That should have been enough.
But the stranger was watching my face with the satisfaction of somebody who believed he knew something I didn't.
I looked back at Ethan.
The boy had his backpack against his chest again.
His eyes were fixed on the folded document.
I turned toward the stranger.
"His name is Ethan Miller."
"Is it?"
Something moved through me.
I had no patience left.
"What are you trying to say?"
The man ignored the question.
Instead, he looked directly at the child.
"Did Daniel ever explain why your surname was changed?"
Ethan froze.
I looked at him.
Then at the stranger.
I couldn't tell whether the claim was true.
I couldn't tell whether it was another way to frighten the boy.
And I didn't know what Daniel might have concealed about his son's identity.
But I knew that the stranger had chosen those words deliberately.
He wanted me unsettled.
He wanted Ethan scared.
And he was succeeding.
I thought about the photograph.
Mason Reed.
Daniel Miller.
The words accusing me of withholding the truth.
Then I thought about the bike.
The hidden object.
The warning about people who might come looking.
I felt the pieces drawing closer together.
But I still couldn't see the whole picture.
"What does his name have to do with anything?"
The stranger gave no answer.
He pointed toward the old Harley.
"Ask the boy about the engine."
I looked over my shoulder.
The motorcycle was exactly where it had been all afternoon.
Rusty.
Black.
Silent.
Claire's tools were still beside it.
The damaged oil fitting was exposed.
And Ethan was staring at the man in the charcoal suit.
The stranger spoke again.
"Find out what Daniel left in there."
I turned back toward him.
He knew.
Somehow, this man knew about the motorcycle.
He knew there was something hidden in the engine.
And he knew Ethan had been sent to find it.
Daniel's warning hadn't been meaningless.
The wrong people were looking for whatever he'd hidden.
And one of them was standing in my garage.
I glanced at Claire.
Then at the Harley.
I wasn't going to let the stranger direct every move we made.
But I couldn't leave Daniel's secret untouched anymore.
Not with the man standing at the entrance.
Not with Ethan trembling behind me.
Not when everything Daniel had left seemed to lead back to that engine.
I looked toward Claire.
"Bring your tools over."
She nodded and moved toward the workbench.
I watched her go.
Then I looked at the boy.
He had turned toward the motorcycle.
His face was pale.
I thought he might be relieved that we were finally going to look for what his father had hidden.
Instead, I saw fear return to his eyes.
Claire reached the workbench.
And before she could begin examining the motorcycle, Ethan cried out.
"Stop! Please don't open it!"
The sound filled the garage.
I turned toward him.
He was shaking.
Not because he didn't want me to know the truth.
Because there was something else Daniel had told him.
Something none of us had thought to ask.
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: When Daniel’s Son Finally Opened His Backpack, I Found the Letter Meant for Me and Learned Why My Old Friend Had Been Afraid
I Thought the Boy Touching My Old Motorcycle Was Looking for Trouble Until He Warned Me About Something Nobody Else Had Noticed
Part 3 of 4
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