Then he was sixty-one.
Freezing gas station.
Frightened child behind glass.
Graham didn't need to win a fight.
He only needed to waste time.
So he closed the distance.
The stranger tried another swing, but Graham crowded him, using his shoulder and body weight to force him backward.
They slammed against the side of the van.
Metal boomed.
The stranger cursed.
"You're dead!"
"Probably eventually."
Graham shoved him away.
The man's hand went toward his jacket.
Graham's entire body tightened.
Weapon.
His pulse surged.
The hand came out.
Keys.
The stranger turned toward the driver's side.
Graham understood instantly.
If he got inside the van, he could drive.
And if he could drive, he might use the vehicle as a weapon—or escape before police arrived.
Graham looked at the motorcycle.
Then the van.
There wasn't time for a better idea.
He grabbed the handlebars.
Started the bike.
Twisted the throttle.
The Harley surged forward.
Graham guided it hard into the van's front quarter panel.
CRUNCH.
Metal folded.
The motorcycle's front fender buckled.
The van rocked sideways.
Its driver's door jammed against the curbside angle.
The stranger stared.
Graham stepped off the damaged bike.
"Are you insane?"
"Been asked before."
Sirens.
Faint.
Far away.
But coming.
The stranger heard them.
Panic replaced anger.
He looked toward the highway.
Toward the store.
Toward the rear of the building.
Then he ran.
Graham sighed.
"Oh, come on."
And followed.
At sixty-one, Graham Callahan could no longer run the way he had at thirty.
His knees objected.
His lungs objected.
Several vertebrae filed formal complaints.
But the stranger was panicking, and panic made people careless.
They rounded the side of the convenience store.
The man glanced backward.
That was his mistake.
His right foot hit a patch of black ice beside the dumpster.
He went down violently.
Graham reached him seconds later.
The man rolled over.
"Stay away from me!"
Graham stopped several feet away.
He didn't need to touch him now.
Sirens were screaming into the parking lot.
Red and blue light flashed against the building.
"Hands where they can see them," Graham said.
"Go to hell."
"Maybe later."
The first sheriff's deputy rounded the corner with his weapon drawn.
"Hands! Show me your hands!"
The stranger froze.
A second deputy arrived.
Within seconds, he was face-down on the pavement, wrists cuffed behind him.
Graham stepped away.
Only then did he notice his hands were shaking.
Adrenaline.
Age.
Cold.
Maybe all three.
A deputy looked at him.
"Sir, are you hurt?"
Graham touched his lip.
Blood.
"Nothing worth paperwork."
"Unfortunately, everything's paperwork."
Despite himself, Graham laughed.
Then he remembered the girl.
The laughter vanished.
"The kid."
"Kid?"
"Inside."
Graham reached into his jacket.
"She gave me this."
He handed over the note.
The deputy unfolded it.
Graham watched his expression change.
Immediately.
"Jesus."
The deputy looked toward his partner.
"Get someone inside with the child. Now."
Her name really was Lacey.
That much the man hadn't lied about.
Almost everything else was false.
A female deputy arrived within minutes and sat with the girl in a booth at the back of the convenience store while the cashier brought her hot chocolate and wrapped her in an oversized brown coat.
Graham sat near the front window while a paramedic cleaned his split lip.
"You need stitches?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"I've had worse shaving."
The paramedic stared at his beard.
"You don't shave."
"Exactly."
Across the store, Lacey glanced toward him.
Graham raised his hand slightly.
She didn't smile.
But some tension left her shoulders.
Twenty minutes later, the female deputy came outside.
Her expression was grim.
"Mr. Callahan?"
Graham stood.
"What happened?"
The deputy exhaled.
"The man in the van isn't her father."
Graham already knew that.
"Who is he?"
"We're working on that."
"Where are her parents?"
"Ohio."
Graham stared at her.
"Ohio?"
The deputy nodded.
"Lacey disappeared from a supermarket parking lot yesterday afternoon."
The words landed heavily.
"Amber Alert?"
"Regional alert went out overnight. Vehicle information was incomplete."
Graham looked toward the white van.
"She's been with him all night?"
"Looks that way."
His stomach tightened.
The deputy continued carefully.
"Her mother is alive. She's been notified."
Graham closed his eyes for a second.
That mattered.
More than anything else.