“If you're smart.”
The call ended.
Garrett stared at the screen.
Cole stood beside him.
“What did they say?”
Garrett showed him the location.
Cole read it.
Then he looked through the diner toward the dozens of Iron Vale Riders waiting for instructions.
“We going?”
“No.”
Cole's eyebrows rose.
“No?”
“We're not riding two hundred motorcycles into a hostage situation.”
“Wasn’t exactly suggesting a parade.”
Garrett turned toward Rosa.
“Police?”
“County sheriff is eight minutes out.”
“Good.”
He looked at Cole.
“We tell them everything.”
Cole studied him.
“You think whoever has Emily is going to wait around while deputies organize?”
“No.”
Garrett's eyes moved toward Lily.
“But I also don't trade a six-year-old child to kidnappers because somebody gave me an address.”
For once, Cole had no argument.
Sheriff's deputies arrived seven minutes later, followed by Arizona Department of Public Safety units. The diner quickly became a controlled scene as officers separated witnesses, collected descriptions, reviewed security footage, and issued an alert for the gray sedan.
The lead investigator was Detective Mara Jennings, a forty-six-year-old woman from the Mohave County Sheriff's Office who had the tired eyes of someone who had been doing difficult work for too many years.
She listened to Garrett without interrupting.
When he finished, she asked for Emily’s note.
Garrett handed it over.
Jennings read it.
Then read it again.
“You said Daniel Parker died three years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Vehicle accident?”
“That’s what we were told.”
She stepped away, made several phone calls, then returned looking significantly more concerned.
“His accident file is restricted.”
Garrett frowned.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“You're a detective.”
“And somebody above my pay grade placed the restriction.”
Cole folded his arms.
“That supposed to make us feel better?”
“No.”
Jennings looked at Garrett.
“It makes me feel worse.”
She requested information from state investigators while tactical units began preparing to approach the coordinates from Lily's phone.
Garrett should have felt relieved.
Professional law enforcement was now involved.
Instead his uneasiness grew.
Because of Emily's final sentence.
Trust what Daniel gave you years ago.
He searched his memory.
Daniel had given him countless things.
Tools.
Motorcycle parts.
Christmas gifts.
A fishing knife.
An old helmet.
Then Garrett remembered their final ride together.
Seven years earlier.
Daniel had pulled into Garrett's garage late one evening carrying a weathered black leather vest.
His Iron Vale vest.
He had officially retired from the club months earlier but had kept it.
“I don't need this anymore,” Daniel had said.
Garrett had laughed.
“You earned it. Keep it.”
Daniel shook his head.
“Put it somewhere safe.”
“Why?”
“For old times.”
Garrett had eventually accepted it.
After Daniel died, Garrett stitched Daniel's small memorial patch inside his own vest.
But what had happened to the original?
He suddenly stood.
Cole looked at him.
“What?”
“Daniel's vest.”
“What about it?”
“He gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“You still have it?”
Garrett thought.
“Storage locker in Flagstaff.”
Jennings had been listening.
“What exactly is in it?”
“I don't know.”
“Well, I think it's time we find out.”
Flagstaff was too far.
But Garrett's younger brother Sam lived there.
Garrett called him.
“Sam, I need you to go to my storage unit.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
Twenty minutes later, Sam was inside the unit on video call.
Garrett directed him toward an old plastic container beneath camping equipment.
“There.”
Sam pulled out the leather vest.
Daniel Parker's name patch remained stitched across the chest.
“Check every pocket.”
“Nothing.”
“Inside lining.”
Sam ran his fingers along it.
Then stopped.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“There’s stitching here.”
Garrett leaned toward the phone.
“Cut it.”
“You sure?”
“Cut it.”
Sam used a utility knife.
A small object fell onto the floor.
A brass key.
Attached to it was a metal tag stamped with four digits.
Jennings wrote down the number.
“Looks like a safe-deposit key.”
She began making calls.
Fifteen minutes later they had an answer.
The key belonged to a private vault company in Prescott.
Unit 2147.
Registered seven years earlier.
Name: Garrett Rourke.
Garrett stared at Jennings.