“I thought the same thing,” Delaney finally spoke. “How could anyone possibly know I was going to leave my storeroom open and be there to steal the bike?” That was one of the reasons Delaney had stood there, dripping wet and muddy, stunned, for probably a full minute before she went and searched the entire shop for the motorcycle. Maybe she was going crazy and had actually parked it on the main floor. Maybe someone had moved it as a joke. Maybe if she blinked enough times, the bike would reappear. When none of those things turned out to be true, Delaney had gone upstairs for her Glock and toured every inch of her shop, apartment and perimeter, and came up with nothing. The bike was just gone. One minute it was there, less than sixty minutes later, it wasn’t. Then she’d locked everything up, squatted down on her heels next to Wyatt’s slumbering body and buried her face in her palms for a long, long time.
“There was this one moment—” Delaney’s voice dropped while she relived the memory “—when the rain just stopped. That’s the only reason I found the dog. I could hear him whining, once the rain stopped. That’s theexactmoment the bike could’ve been stolen. If they drove it away, that is. Because who rides a bike in a downpour?” That thought, more than anything, had haunted her all night. The moment ’33 had been taken was likely the same one she’d rescued Wyatt.
“Everything suggests this crime was planned, but it certainly looks like a crime of opportunity.”
“I just don’t get it.” Delaney opened her palms in her lap and stared at them, determined to keep the burning behind her eyes from leaking out. “Somebody might’ve been planning to steal the bike. But nobody could’ve known I’d go out looking for the dog.”
Silence passed before Callahan pressed on. “How’d the dog get out? You said the dog’s been visiting awhile? Leaves Sunny’s place and comes here?”
“Yeah, for months. Even before I bought the shop.” Delaney rose up and started pacing the apartment. If Wyatt had been a pawn in a plan to steal her bike, then Sunny was the most likely suspect. But that was ridiculous. When Sunny had shown up this morning to get Wyatt she’d been genuinely stunned about the missing cycle. She’d even apologized.
“Look how much trouble you’re causing,” Sunny had scolded Wyatt. “You’re filthy. You made Delaney go out into a storm to find you and now her best bike is gone. Aw, Delaney.” Sunny’s blue eyes had filled with gloom. “I’m so sorry. I swear he’s going straight to Pete’s and he’s not coming out until he’s trained.”
“Don’t be mad at him.” Delaney had bent down to pet his ears, and rather than flinching, Wyatt had allowed her touch this time. “It’s not his fault. Or yours.”
“I’ll need to talk to everyone who works for Sunny,” Callahan said, as though he’d already been through the idea of Sunny having something to do with the stolen motorcycle and had rejected it. “This might all go back to the dog.”
“The Dudes,” Delaney said, pausing her walk around the apartment. “The brothers who owned Dude’s Bikes came to the grand opening. Wyatt—that’s what I named the dog—was here and they saw him. The dog was theirs when they lived here, which is why he keeps coming back. They gave him back to Sunny when they were forced to move out. The dog likes the shop, especially his dog bed in the back room, but he wanted nothing to do with those guys. The Dudes wanted to take Wyatt when they saw him, but I said no. They were not pleased.” Delaney’s heart was thudding in her ears now. “They saw the ’33. They went so far as to basically threaten me. Said they controlled the bike scene around here and I shouldn’t make them my enemy.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah. I kind of blew it off at the time, but now I’m starting to wonder. Plus, someone suggested that Dude’s Bikes dealt in more than motorcycles.”
Callahan’s writing slowed a little bit. “Okay.” He finally looked up from his pad. “I’ve got some leads. In the meantime, you let me know immediately if those brothers come around here again.”
The hard edge to Callahan’s voice took Delaney off guard, but it also made her feel safe, which wasn’t a feeling she was used to. “I will.”
She waited for him to get up, but the detective stayed seated, regarding her thoughtfully from his seat in the recliner. He had one foot on top of the opposite knee, creating a shelf for his notepad. She hugged herself, her bare arms suddenly cold, like she was back in last night’s rain.
“When did your dad die?”
The words fell around Delaney like soft feathers. If anyone else had asked, she might’ve clammed up or asked them to leave. But again, this guy was just trying to do his job. “Five months ago. Right before I retired. He didn’t make the ceremony.” Delaney was proud her words came out so steady.
“That sucks.” Callahan’s steady gaze suggested he was not just paying her lip service. “What happened?”
Delaney looked him dead in the eye. “Motorcycle accident.” She kept contact and waited for the detective to ask if Dad had been wearing a helmet or if he’d been speeding. The answer to the first question was yes and the second no.
“He was on his motorcycle in December...in Omaha?”
“All he needed was a warm day. It was a warm day.”
Callahan nodded. “Somebody change lanes without looking?”
Her first reaction was that Callahan had looked it all up before he got here. Maybe he read the accident report. But her second reaction was that Callahan, as a police officer, had probably seen his fair share of road accidents and knew how common it was for drivers to simply not look out for motorcyclists. On a bike, you definitely had to be a defensive driver. “Yes,” she said. “My father was murdered with a goddamn SUV.”
Callahan nodded, giving no visible reaction. “I’m sorry.”
It’s not your fault, Delaney almost said. But she knew that wasn’t what Callahan meant. “Thank you.”
He waited one more heartbeat before he rose and tucked the notebook in his pocket. “I’ll be in touch, Miss Monroe. Hopefully we can figure out what happened and track down your bike.”
“Delaney,” she said, as she offered her hand. “It’s Delaney.”
Detective Callahan clasped her fingers gently. “I’ll be in touch, Delaney.”
Delaney wanted to return the handshake with a firm clasp, to show the detective that she was both in charge of this situation and of her emotions. But she felt powerless right now, and, up until the moment the detective had taken over, a little hopeless. Her hand stayed soft inside his rough one. She tilted her head up. The glint in Callahan’s eye had gone from hard-nosed detective to something softer, almost intimate.
A flush ran through Delaney’s body. She cleared her throat and slowly withdrew her hand. “Thank you, Detective. I really appreciate your help.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
Delaney smiled, despite her sadness, and found herself wishing she’d held on just a little longer.