“Got it.”
Mason signaled to Cole Bennett, a broad-shouldered rider with a shaved head and a habit of checking every detail twice. They walked toward the marked crossing, watching the traffic and signaling for the approaching cars to slow down.
Ray Mercer, whom everyone called Doc, moved closer to Bear.
At fifty-eight, Doc was the oldest regular rider in their group. He had gray hair, reading glasses that always seemed to be missing when he needed them, and a medical background that made him the first person anyone called when an injury looked more serious than a scraped knuckle.
He had known Bear for seventeen years.
He had stitched wounds, changed bandages, helped rebuild motorcycles, and sat beside friends during hospital stays when their families couldn't be there.
If there was one person Bear believed he could trust without reservation, Doc was near the top of that list.
Doc looked at Lily's braces.
“Those giving you trouble today, kiddo?”
Lily shook her head.
“They're usually okay.”
“Usually?”
She hesitated.
“Sometimes they hurt.”
Doc nodded.
“That's worth telling your mom about. Braces are supposed to help you, not make you suffer.”
Lily gave him a small smile.
Bear extended his hand toward the walker, then stopped before touching it.
“Would you like me to hold the side while you move, or would you rather do it yourself?”
“I can do it.”
“All right. I'll walk beside you.”
She considered him for a moment.
Then she nodded.
The crossing signal changed.
Mason raised one hand to stop the nearest car and checked the opposite lane. Cole moved several feet ahead to make certain the intersection was clear.
Bear stayed close to Lily without crowding her.
“Ready?”
Lily pushed her walker forward.
One careful step.
A pause.
Another step.
The small wheels rattled against the pavement.
Bear matched her pace, shortening his long stride until he was moving almost as slowly as she was.
He could hear the faint metallic clicks of the braces whenever Lily shifted her weight.
At first, she seemed determined to reach the other side without asking for anything else. Her lips were pressed together, and her gaze remained fixed on the pavement ahead.
Halfway across, however, her right leg moved awkwardly.
A sharp metallic sound cut through the traffic.
Click.
Lily stopped.
Her face tightened.
“Don't move,” Bear said gently. “Take your time.”
She drew a quick breath.
“It hurts.”
Bear immediately lowered himself onto one knee.
“Where?”
“My right leg.”
“Can you show me?”
Lily pointed toward the brace.
One of the straps had slipped, allowing the metal support to rub against the side of her leg. Bear could see why it hurt. The brace had shifted slightly, and the edge was pressing into the fabric of her sock.
“I think the strap moved,” he said. “I'm going to take a closer look, okay? I won't touch anything until you tell me it's all right.”
Lily nodded.
Bear reached carefully toward the fastening.
That was when he noticed the paper.
A tiny white corner protruded from beneath the inner metal support, hidden behind the strap. It wasn't part of the brace. It looked like a narrow piece of paper that had been folded several times and secured with a small strip of transparent tape.
Bear frowned.
“Sweetheart, is this supposed to be here?”
Lily's face changed.
The determination disappeared.
For one brief moment, she looked as though she might run, even though her braces and walker made running impossible.
Then she whispered, “My mom put it there.”
Bear didn't immediately remove it.
“Do you want me to take it out?”
Lily nodded.
He loosened the strap enough to reach the paper without disturbing the brace itself. The paper came free with a faint tearing sound.
It was folded into a narrow rectangle, no bigger than two fingers.
Bear opened it.
Four words were written in blue ink.
PLEASE FIND GRANT CALLAHAN.
For several seconds, the traffic seemed to recede into the distance.
Bear stared at the paper.
He read the words once.
Then again.
Grant Callahan.
Not Bear.
Not Mr. Callahan.
Not even G. Callahan.
His full name.
The name printed on his birth certificate, his driver's license, and the official records he had filled out when he was younger.
Almost nobody used it anymore.
His friends called him Bear. His club members called him Bear. Even some of his relatives had begun using the nickname years ago.
But this little girl, standing alone in the middle of a busy street, carried a message asking her to find Grant Callahan.
Bear slowly lifted his eyes.
“Lily?”
She was watching his face.
The fear in her expression deepened.
“Who put this here?” he asked.
“My mom.”
“Did she tell you why?”
Lily nodded, but her lower lip began to tremble.
“She said if I couldn't find anybody else, I had to find you.”
Bear felt a cold pressure spreading across his chest.
“Why me, sweetheart?”
Lily looked down.
“Because you're supposed to help.”
“Help with what?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Bear glanced toward the opposite curb. Mason and Cole had already reached the sidewalk and were watching him with concern.
He looked back at Lily.
“Hey. Look at me for a second.”
She raised her eyes.
“Whatever is happening, you haven't done anything wrong. Do you understand?”
She nodded uncertainly.
“You're not in trouble. Nobody here is angry with you.”
“Are you?”
The question struck him harder than he expected.
Bear shook his head.
“No, sweetheart. I'm not angry with you.”
She seemed to consider that answer.
Then she slowly opened the purple backpack hanging from her shoulder.
“I have something else.”
Bear remained crouched beside her.
“Okay.”
Lily pulled out a small notebook, a stuffed rabbit with one bent ear, and a photograph protected inside a clear plastic sleeve.
The photograph had been folded at one corner. Its colors had faded, and the edges were worn from being handled too often.
Lily held it with both hands.
“Mom said I had to give you this if I found you.”
Bear took it carefully.
The picture showed two men standing beside a black motorcycle.
One was Bear.