“Because someone hit you.”
Silence.
Haley looked toward the garage door.
“Sometimes people hit things they think belong to them.”
Cole finally spoke.
“Was that person looking for you?”
Haley's eyes shifted toward him.
For the first time, Cole saw fear.
Not fear of him.
Fear of something outside the garage.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Cole didn't believe her.
But he didn't press.
Instead he asked, “Why come here?”
Haley looked at the old motorcycle.
“Because Marcus told me you were the only person in Mil Haven who might listen.”
“To what?”
She looked at him.
“My father disappeared.”
Nobody moved.
Danny slowly put down his rag.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
Cole's face hardened.
“Name?”
“Thomas Morgan.”
Cole froze.
He knew that name.
Not well.
But enough.
Thomas Morgan had been a mechanic.
A very good one.
And six months earlier, he had been hired to work on several motorcycles belonging to people in Mil Haven.
Then he disappeared.
Cole had assumed he'd left town.
Apparently, he hadn't.
Haley opened her toolbox.
She pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“I think he found something.”
Cole took it.
It contained one sentence.
THE BIKE WAS NEVER THE PROBLEM.
Cole looked at Haley.
“Where did you get this?”
“My father's workshop.”
“And why bring it to me?”
“Because he wrote your name underneath it.”
Thomas Morgan
Thomas Morgan had been fifty-one.
He had worked with engines since he was sixteen.
People called him difficult.
Quiet.
Obsessive.
The kind of mechanic who could spend an entire afternoon listening to an engine idle.
Cole remembered him.
Three years earlier, Thomas had repaired a motorcycle for one of Cole's men.
They had talked for an hour.
Thomas had mentioned that Mil Haven had changed.
Too many businesses were closing.
Too many properties were being bought by companies nobody had heard of.
Too many people were suddenly willing to sell.
Cole hadn't thought much about it.
Now he did.
Haley placed her father's notebook on the workbench.
“I found this hidden under the floorboards.”
Cole opened it.
Pages of numbers.
Dates.
License plates.
Business names.
Property addresses.
And motorcycles.
Dozens of them.
Danny looked over Cole's shoulder.
“What is all this?”
“I don't know.”
Haley answered.
“But Dad did.”
Cole turned pages.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Victor Kane.
Cole recognized that one too.
Victor Kane owned Kane Industrial Recovery.
Officially, the company bought damaged vehicles, machinery, and commercial property.
Unofficially, Kane was known for buying things cheaply.
Very cheaply.
Especially from people in trouble.
Cole looked at Haley.
“What does Kane have to do with your father?”
“He offered Dad money.”
“For what?”
“I don't know.”
“And your father refused?”
Haley nodded.
“Two days later, his shop burned.”
Danny stared at her.
“Accident?”
“That's what the police said.”
Cole looked back at the notebook.
“And then he disappeared.”
“Yes.”
Cole turned another page.
There was a list of motorcycle identification numbers.
One of them belonged to his Shovelhead.
His expression changed.
“Why is my bike here?”
Haley looked at the page.
“I don't know.”
Cole pointed at the number.
“You do.”
She hesitated.
Then she said quietly:
“Your father sold it once.”
Cole stiffened.
“No.”
“That's what I found.”
“My father died before I bought this bike.”
“I know.”
“He left it to me.”
“I know.”
Cole looked angry now.
“You're telling me my father didn't own this?”
“I’m telling you there is a record saying the motorcycle was transferred through Kane's company before it came to your family.”
Cole said nothing.
Danny stepped closer.
“Maybe the record is wrong.”
Haley nodded.
“Maybe.”
Cole closed the notebook.
“Where is Kane now?”
“Mil Haven.”
“What does he want?”
Haley looked toward the door.
“I think he wants this motorcycle.”
Cole glanced at the Shovelhead.
“Why?”
“Because my father believed something was hidden inside it.”
The garage became silent again.
Cole walked toward the motorcycle.
For twenty years, he had thought the bike was simply his father's final gift.
Now, for the first time, he wondered whether it had been something else.
Evidence.
A message.
Or a target.
The Man in the Black SUV
Victor Kane arrived that afternoon.
Black SUV.
Dark windows.
Expensive coat.
Two men followed him.
He didn't look like a criminal.