eighteen
“You’re sure it’s your dad’s bike?” Sean said it, even though he knew it was a stupid thing to ask.
“Of course I’m sure.” Delaney sounded dazed, both adamant and uncertain, if that was possible.
“Are you inside? Are you safe?” Sean’s first thought hadn’t been how great it was that her stolen motorcycle had been returned, even though that was great. His first thought had been that someone was going out of their way to fuck with Delaney, and that person might still be around her shop, waiting to see her reaction. In his career Sean had met many scumbags who got off on that kind of thing—their end game wouldn’t have been to steal a motorcycle, but to torture their victims psychologically.
“I’m inside,” Delaney said. “All the doors are locked. Pete checked out the whole perimeter of the shop while I rode the bike around for a few minutes, just to see if it still runs. It’s perfectly fine. It’s inside now.”
Sean felt a stab of regret. He was working her case. He was supposed to protect her, even though he knew she could protect herself. At least Pete had done exactly what he should have. “I’m coming over,” Sean said, without even thinking to ask her if it was okay. He was about to amend his statement and get permission when Delaney spoke, surprising him.
“Okay. I’ll wait up for you.”
By the time Sean got there, Delaney had showered and changed into pink pajama pants covered in tiny green flowers and a white tank top. Her hair was wet and brushed back, but a few strands of hair had dried and framed her face. Her eyes looked tired and she kept worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as she took Sean into the back room to show him where the bike was now and where it had been found.
“I understand the need you felt to ride the bike around and bring it inside,” Sean said. “But that’s going to make dusting it for prints that much harder now that you’ve touched it.”
Delaney rolled her eyes at herself. “Shit.”
Sean shrugged, not wanting to make her feel worse. “A decent criminal would’ve worn gloves anyway. But we’ll see what we get.”
“Okay. Do you still think it was the Dudes?”
“I’m not sure,” Sean said honestly. “I still suspect them. But I also looked up your buddy Walt.”
“Old Walt?”
Sean nodded. “Walter Hanson is sixty-one years old and listed a Williamsburg address. Divorced. Retired teacher. Taught auto shop to high schoolers for thirty years. He’s heavy into riding and goes to a lot of rallies throughout the year, per his social media accounts.”
“Wow.” Delaney eyed Sean with a look he hadn’t seen before. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was impressed. “You really did your homework.”
“I didn’t see any sign of ’33 on any of his accounts,” Sean continued. “And I don’t see evidence of him being tied to shady groups who would deal in stolen bikes or parts. But he’d definitely have the know-how to take it apart.”
Delaney was quiet awhile. Sean could tell her wheels were turning by the different expressions that rolled over her face. “By the way, that’s Wyatt,” she said, when she finally spoke. She pointed to a white pit bull with tan splotches, one of which surrounded his entire right eye, like a patch. He looked exactly like the dog on the Dude’s website and Facebook pages. The pittie lay on a ragged dog bed, his body in a tight circle. The stolen motorcycle was parked nearby. “The dog I’ve told you about. I’m fostering him. He likes motorcycles,” Delaney explained. “So I put Dad’s bike next to him.”
“That’s weird, isn’t it?” Sean said, momentarily forgetting his real purpose, which was to investigate. “Do dogs normally like motorcycles?”
“Some do.” Delaney nodded. “But he gets really excited when he sees them.”
Sean paused to squat down and check out the dog a little closer. He wagged his tail, so Sean offered a hand. Wyatt licked his knuckles. He smelled woodsy. “He’s cute.” Sean rose, leaving Wyatt to his sleep. Delaney opened the bay door and showed him where the bike had been parked. “So, under the eaves. In the dark. You get a camera back here yet?”
“I’m going to.” Delaney’s voice became gruff, like she knew Sean would be disappointed. “First thing tomorrow.” After a round of silence she added, “Come on. Who on earth would think the thief would bring the motorcycle back?”
“You know that’s not the point.”
“I know. I’m getting a camera. No need to lecture.”
Sean withdrew his penlight from his pocket and clicked it on, trailing it over the ground. There weren’t any tracks. “You didn’t see anything? Or anyone?”
“I came home and found the bike out here. That’s it.”
“Delaney.” Sean drew a deep breath and chose his words carefully. “Is there anyone in your life, or your past, who was obsessive? Or abusive? An ex? A stalker?”
She shook her head. “Well,” she amended, “there have been a few incidents on deployment. But then, there always are. Nothing outside the ordinary.”
“Explain.”
Delaney shrugged and spread her hands open. “Normal stuff. Groping. Comments. A guy who drinks too much and comes into your quarters at night and has to have his ass handed to him because you know more hand-to-hand combat than he does. That kind of thing. Par for the course.”