“Don’t call me son.”
Something almost resembling pride crossed Stone’s face.
Victor noticed.
And smiled.
Ward turned toward Rebecca.
“Where’s the item Hale was attempting to recover?”
Rebecca did not answer.
Ward’s voice hardened.
“The key.”
Stone looked at him.
“How do you know about the key?”
Silence.
Boone muttered, “There it is.”
Ward realized his mistake.
Victor closed his eyes.
Rebecca stepped backward.
Ward drew his pistol.
Everything changed.
One deputy stared at him.
“Sheriff?”
Ward pointed the gun toward Rebecca.
“Give me the key.”
The deputy’s face collapsed.
“Sir?”
“Officer Grant, secure the bikers.”
Grant didn’t move.
Ward shouted, “Now!”
Grant slowly drew his weapon.
But instead of pointing it toward Stone, he aimed at Ward.
“No.”
Ward stared at him.
Grant swallowed.
“I’m not doing this.”
The second deputy followed.
Ward looked between them.
“You stupid sons of—”
Stone hit him.
One punch.
Ward collapsed.
Victor began laughing.
Not nervous laughter.
Delighted laughter.
Stone turned.
“What’s funny?”
Victor looked at Rebecca.
“You still don’t understand.”
Rebecca’s face changed.
Victor nodded toward Stone.
“Tell him.”
“Tell me what?”
Victor smiled.
“Why don’t you ask Rebecca why she really ran twelve years ago?”
By eight that morning, Room 17 had become a crime scene.
State police were coming from Las Vegas.
The FBI had been contacted.
Sheriff Ward sat handcuffed in a patrol car.
Victor Hale sat in another.
But before federal agents arrived, Stone stood with Rebecca behind the motel.
The sun was rising over the desert.
Clara and Noah were inside the Rustline eating pancakes surrounded by eight tattooed men who had somehow become instant uncles.
Rebecca folded her arms.
“You look older.”
Stone gave a humorless laugh.
“Twenty-two years will do that.”
“You still ride.”
“You still disappear.”
She looked away.
He regretted the words immediately.
“Sorry.”
“No. You’re right.”
Stone studied her.
“When I was twenty-six, you vanished.”
“I know.”
“No note.”
“I know.”
“No phone call.”
“I know.”
“I went to your apartment. Everything was gone.”
Tears gathered in her eyes.
“Derek—”
“I thought you were dead.”
“I wanted you to.”
He stared.
She wiped her face.
“It was the only way to keep you alive.”
He looked toward the roadhouse windows.
Clara’s face appeared briefly behind the glass before Boone lifted her onto a stool.
Stone swallowed.
“Victor said I should remember him.”
Rebecca stiffened.
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Think.”
“I am.”
“He looked different twenty-two years ago.”
Stone’s expression slowly changed.
A memory surfaced.
Rain.
A highway.
Rebecca crying.
A black sedan.
A young man outside a courthouse.
Stone’s stomach dropped.
“The courthouse.”
Rebecca nodded.
Stone stared at her.
“You testified against someone.”
“My father.”
Stone’s eyes widened.
Rebecca continued.
“My father wasn’t an accountant like I told you. He was one of the first people running the identity network Victor eventually took over.”
Stone said nothing.
“I found out when I was nineteen. I copied records. I testified. My father went to prison.”
“And Victor?”
“Worked for him.”
Stone suddenly remembered.
A young man standing outside the courthouse.
