Then they really were talking about him.
Riker Cross looked at the nine-year-old boy standing in the middle of Tulain Mountain Road, and for the first time in years, he felt the past reaching for him with both hands.
The name on the crumpled paper was not a coincidence. Neither was the ambush waiting beyond the next curve, nor the three black vehicles supposedly positioned around the old railway bridge. Someone had known precisely which road the Steel Saw riders would take. Someone had known Riker would be leading them.
And someone had decided that twelve motorcycles would make the perfect beginning of a massacre.
Riker folded the paper carefully and slipped it into the inside pocket of his leather vest.
“Moose,” he said without turning around, “get everyone off the road.”
Moose Calder did not ask why. The massive rider immediately waved the others toward a gravel turnout beneath a cluster of pine trees. Engines dropped to a lower rumble, and the men spread out, using the uneven terrain to keep themselves from becoming twelve convenient targets.
“Evan,” Riker continued, “call the clubhouse. Tell them to lock down communications. Nobody posts anything, nobody makes a public call, and nobody rides toward town until we know what we're dealing with.”
Evan Pike nodded and stepped away.
“Dale, check the road behind us. Quietly. If anyone followed that kid, I want to know before they get close.”
Dale Mercer moved toward the bend with two other riders.
Riker crouched in front of Leo again.
“Listen to me, buddy. You did the right thing coming after us.”
Leo's lower lip trembled, but he tried to hide it.
“I almost couldn't catch you.”
“You caught us.”
“I thought you were going to keep going.”
“So did I.”
“Would you have?”
Riker considered the question.
“Maybe for another hundred yards.”
Leo stared at him.
Then, despite everything, a small, exhausted smile appeared on his face.
Riker felt something tighten behind his ribs.
Nine years old.
A rusty bicycle.
A bruised shoulder.
And enough courage to chase twelve heavily armed-looking strangers up a mountain because he believed they were about to die.
Riker had seen grown men abandon their comrades when bullets started flying. He had watched trained soldiers freeze beneath pressure. He had also witnessed ordinary people perform extraordinary acts when the cost of doing nothing became greater than their fear.
Leo Montgomery belonged to that last category.
Unfortunately, courage alone would not keep him alive.
“Tell me about your shoulder,” Riker said.
Leo immediately pulled away.
“It's nothing.”
“Leo.”
“My stepfather grabbed me.”
Riker's expression did not change, but his voice became quieter.
“Your stepfather?”
“Darren.”
“Was Darren at the factory?”
Leo looked down at his shoes.
“I don't know. I didn't see him there.”
“But you've seen him with those men before?”
The boy hesitated.
That hesitation told Riker more than a quick answer would have.
“Sometimes,” Leo admitted. “He gets calls late at night. Then he leaves. Sometimes he comes back with mud on his boots, and sometimes he smells like gasoline. Yesterday, I heard him arguing with somebody about a package he was supposed to deliver.”
“What kind of package?”
“He wouldn't tell me.”
“Did he hurt you because you went to the factory?”
Leo nodded.
“He found the paper in my pocket when I came home. I told him it was homework, but he knew I was lying. He said I had been somewhere I shouldn't have been.”
Riker looked toward the mountain road.
The wind carried the scent of pine needles and cold stone. Somewhere below them, traffic moved along Route Seven, ordinary drivers heading toward ordinary destinations, unaware that a few miles away someone might be preparing to turn a mountain pass into a killing ground.
“Did he see the notes you made?” Riker asked.
“I don't think so. I hid them in my shoe.”
Leo lifted one foot to show him the worn sneaker.
“The first paper was just the things I remembered. I wrote the other stuff on another page, but Darren made me empty my pockets before bed.”
“Where is the other page?”
“At home.”
“Is anyone home now?”
Leo shook his head.
“My mother works at the hospital until seven. Darren usually sleeps during the day because he works nights.”
Riker glanced at his watch.
It was 3:18 p.m.
If Leo had left home shortly after discovering the plan, the men at the factory might already have noticed his absence. If Darren had searched the boy's room and found the missing page, the situation could be worse than they knew.
“Did anyone see you leave?”
“I don't think so.”
“Did you ride straight here?”
Leo nodded.
“From the factory, I went down the back road. Then I took the road past the old quarry. My bike kept slipping because the tires are bad.”
Moose approached, his broad face unusually serious.
“Road behind us is clear for the moment,” he reported. “No vehicles in sight. But there's fresh tire damage near the last turnout. Heavy truck, maybe. Hard to tell.”
Riker stood.
“Get me a map.”
Moose retrieved a folded regional road map from his saddlebag and spread it across the seat of his motorcycle.
Tulain Mountain Road wound along the western slope before descending toward the abandoned railway bridge. Beyond the bridge lay the industrial district, a stretch of warehouses, disused factories, and service roads that connected to the municipal highway network.
The factory Leo had described stood just south of the old rail line.
The road ahead narrowed between a rock face and a steep wooded drop. A few hundred yards beyond the next curve, the railway bridge crossed a ravine before joining the eastern highway.
It was an ideal place to stop a convoy.
It was also an ideal place to trap one.
“Where exactly did you hear them talking about the bridge?” Riker asked.
Leo pointed to the map.
“Near here. There was a room upstairs with a broken window. I could see the bridge from it.”
“That factory has a view of the road?”
“Part of it.”
“Could you see the men?”
“Some of them.”
“How many?”
“Maybe eight. Maybe more. They kept going in and out.”
Riker studied the map.
“What about the trucks?”
“I heard three, but I only saw two. They were black. One had a dent on the back door.”
Evan returned, putting his phone away.
“The clubhouse is secure. I told them to stay put and wait for instructions. Nobody is riding anywhere until we give the word.”
“Good.”
Evan's eyes moved to Leo.
“Kid really chased us all the way up here?”
“Looks that way.”
“That's either the bravest thing I've ever seen or the dumbest.”
“Could be both,” Moose said.
Leo's face fell.
Riker noticed immediately.
“Don't listen to them. They're old men who think wisdom means never doing anything frightening.”
Moose raised a finger.
“I am forty-seven.”
“Exactly.”
A few of the riders chuckled, but the laughter died quickly.
Riker returned his attention to the map.
He had no intention of riding blindly into an ambush. He also had no intention of leaving the boy who had warned them stranded on a mountain road.
“Moose, take Leo to the clubhouse with Evan. Keep him away from the main entrance. If anyone asks questions, he's a witness who needs protection. Nothing more.”
Leo immediately shook his head.
“No.”
Riker looked at him.
“No?”
“I have to go back.”
“Absolutely not.”
“My mom doesn't know where I am.”
“Your mother will be safer if you stay away from this.”
“But Darren will tell her I ran away. He'll make her think I'm a liar.”
Riker recognized the fear behind those words.