"She's coming?"
"As fast as law enforcement can get her here."
Graham looked through the glass again.
Lacey sat with both hands around the hot chocolate.
Small.
Exhausted.
Alive.
"Good."
The deputy studied him.
"She says he told her nobody would believe her."
Graham's jaw tightened.
"She made the note herself?"
"Bathroom at another gas station. Apparently she found a pencil and tore paper from a receipt pad."
"Why didn't she give it to someone there?"
"Couldn't."
"Why me?"
The deputy hesitated.
"She said she'd been waiting for someone he wasn't watching closely."
Graham frowned.
Then understood.
The man had watched families.
Women.
Store employees.
People who looked approachable.
But the old biker?
Leather.
Beard.
Motorcycle.
Probably assumed Lacey would be afraid of him.
The deputy gave a humorless smile.
"He didn't think she'd pick you."
Graham looked toward the girl.
"Neither did I."
Sunrise arrived slowly.
The gray sky turned pale orange.
Then gold.
The forgotten little gas station gradually became ordinary again.
Commuters stopped for coffee.
A delivery truck arrived and was immediately turned away by deputies.
Drivers slowed along the highway to stare at the police vehicles.
Graham sat on the curb beside his damaged motorcycle.
The front fender was bent badly.
Headlight bracket crooked.
Turn signal broken.
He stared at it.
"Well," he murmured, "that was expensive."
"Mr. Callahan?"
He looked up.
Lacey stood several feet away.
The female deputy remained behind her.
The child was still wearing the cashier's oversized coat.
She held her hot chocolate with both hands.
Graham smiled gently.
"Hey."
She approached.
"You believed me."
The sentence caught him off guard.
He looked down for a moment.
Then back at her.
"You told me the truth."
"He said I shouldn't."
"I know."
"He said nobody would notice."
Graham felt something tighten in his chest.
"He was wrong."
Lacey looked toward his damaged motorcycle.
"Did you break your bike because of me?"
Graham followed her gaze.
"Bike was getting too pretty anyway."
For the first time, she smiled.
Barely.
But it was there.
Then she reached beneath the borrowed coat.
She removed a small silver bracelet.
Cheap metal.
Several tiny charms.
One was a heart.
Another a star.
The clasp looked bent.
She held it toward him.
Graham frowned.
"What's this?"
"For you."
"No."
She looked disappointed.
Graham softened.
"That's yours."
"It's lucky."
"Then you definitely need it."
She shook her head.
"It already worked."
Graham had no answer for that.
Lacey extended it again.
"For luck."
Slowly, Graham accepted the bracelet.
"Okay."
She nodded.
"But I'm borrowing it."
"No. You keep it."
"We'll negotiate later."
She almost smiled again.
Then a patrol vehicle entered the station.
The rear door opened before the car had fully stopped.
A woman jumped out.
She was running before her feet properly hit the ground.
"Lacey!"
The girl turned.
For half a second, she didn't move.
Then:
"Mom!"
The paper cup hit the pavement.
Lacey ran.
Her mother dropped to her knees.
They collided in the middle of the gas station parking lot.
The sound the woman made wasn't quite crying.
It came from somewhere deeper.
Somewhere beneath language.
She wrapped both arms around her daughter, pressing her face into Lacey's hair while the girl clung to her neck.
"I'm sorry," Lacey sobbed.
Her mother pulled back.
"No. No, baby. Never say that. Never. You did nothing wrong."
"I couldn't get home."
"I know."
"I tried."
"I know."
"He said—"
"I know."
Her mother kissed her forehead again and again.
"You're here."
Graham turned away.
Some things deserved privacy.
He walked toward his motorcycle.
Behind him, he heard footsteps.
"Sir?"
Graham stopped.
Lacey's mother stood there.
Her eyes were red.
Her hands were trembling.
"I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything."
"They told me what you did."
Graham looked toward Lacey.
"She did the hard part."
"You stopped him."
"She stopped him."
The mother shook her head.
"She is eight years old."
"Exactly."
Graham looked back at her.