Richard stopped.
"Who the hell are you?"
Jack did not answer.
"Move."
Nothing.
Richard stepped closer.
"That girl is coming home."
"No."
Jack's reply was quiet.
Richard blinked.
"What did you say?"
"I said no."
Richard's face twisted.
"That's my stepdaughter."
"She's nineteen."
"She's mentally unstable."
Chloe stepped forward.
"I'm not."
Richard pointed toward her.
"Shut your mouth."
Chloe immediately retreated.
Jack noticed.
Richard's hand moved toward his holster.
"I'm a sworn deputy. Step aside."
Jack looked down at the badge.
Then back at Richard.
"You're Richard Croft."
The deputy froze.
"How do you know my name?"
Jack reached toward his motorcycle.
Richard moved his hand closer to the weapon.
"Don't."
Jack flipped a switch.
His Road Glide headlight ignited.
Then another.
Then another.
The light spread outward in a wave.
Ninety-seven headlights.
The darkness became white.
Richard raised an arm over his face.
When his vision adjusted, he saw them.
Leather.
Patches.
Motorcycles.
Rows of men.
His face drained of color.
Jack watched the recognition.
"Deputy Croft."
Richard stepped backward.
"No."
The Sergeant at Arms appeared beside Jack.
"We've been waiting three years to have this conversation."
Richard shook his head.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Jack pointed.
Richard looked at the rusted Shovelhead.
His expression betrayed him.
For less than a second.
But everyone saw.
Jack's voice dropped.
"You recognize it."
"No."
"You sure?"
"Never seen it."
Jack picked up Preacher's vest.
Richard's mouth opened.
Jack continued.
"Found this hidden under the seat."
Richard's right hand trembled.
"And we found something else."
The Sergeant at Arms illuminated the exposed bullet.
Richard stared.
"Nine millimeter."
Jack stepped closer.
"Interesting, isn't it?"
Richard attempted to recover.
"Could've been there for years."
"It was."
Jack nodded.
"Three, probably."
Richard moved toward the SUV.
Jack's voice stopped him.
"We know you handled the scene."
Richard turned.
"So?"
"We know Preacher didn't drink."
"I don't care."
"You told us he was drunk."
"That's what the report said."
"You wrote the report."
Richard remained silent.
The riders watched.
Chloe watched Richard's confidence unravel.
She had never seen it happen before.
Inside the trailer, Richard controlled everything.
He decided when she ate.
When she left.
Who she spoke to.
When the lights went off.
He controlled the door locks.
The money.
The telephone.
His badge turned every threat into law.
But in the desert, surrounded by ninety-seven witnesses, the badge looked very small.
Jack continued.
"The VIN was ground away."
No answer.
"The tank was filled."
No answer.
"The bullet was covered."
No answer.
"Who did it?"
Richard's breathing quickened.
"Go to hell."
The Sergeant at Arms stepped forward.
Jack stopped him with one hand.
Richard noticed.
Some of his arrogance returned.
"That's right."
He touched his badge.