Chapter 7: The Father Who Was Never Buried
Wolf couldn't move.
The photograph remained on the laptop screen.
An older man sat in a wheelchair outside a small white house. His hair was almost completely gray, and a deep scar crossed his forehead.
But Wolf knew that face.
He had spent twenty years believing he would never see it again.
His father.
“That's not possible,” Wolf whispered.
Preacher stood beside him.
“Michael found him about six months ago.””
Wolf turned slowly.
“You knew?””
“I knew Michael had found someone. I didn't know the full story until now.””
“You let me bury an empty coffin?””
Preacher lowered his head.
“Your father's motorcycle was found at the bottom of a ravine. There was blood on the road. His helmet was there. The police said there was no chance he'd survived.””
“And you believed them?””
“We all did.””
Wolf pointed at the photograph.
“Then explain that.””
Preacher pulled out a chair.
“Michael discovered that your father's accident report had been altered. The original report mentioned another vehicle. A black pickup truck.””
Wolf's jaw tightened.
“Curtis.””
“That's what Michael suspected.””
Wolf stared at the screen.
For twenty years, he had carried a photograph of his father inside his motorcycle vest.
He remembered the day the police came to their house.
He remembered his mother collapsing against the kitchen counter.
He remembered standing beside a grave, listening to people tell him that his father had died doing what he loved.
And now he was looking at a man who was apparently still alive.
“Where is he?”” Wolf demanded.
Preacher shook his head.
“Michael left an address in another file.””
Wolf opened the folder.
There were several scanned documents, but one caught his attention.
A handwritten address in northern Pennsylvania.
Underneath it, Michael had written:
If I don't come back, find Daniel Bennett.
Wolf stared at the surname.
“Bennett?””
Preacher nodded.
“Your father changed his name.””
Wolf turned toward him.
“Why?””
“Because somebody wanted him dead.””
The room went quiet.
Ava looked between the two men.
“Mr. Wolf?””
He didn't respond.
She touched his arm.
“Your dad might still be alive.””
Wolf looked down at her.
For the first time since she had met him, the enormous biker looked like a frightened little boy.
“I know, sweetheart.””
“Then we should go find him.””
Wolf swallowed.
“Yes.””
But before he could move, Detective Harris entered the room.
“Everyone needs to stay here.””
Wolf turned sharply.
“Why?””
Harris held up a printed photograph.
It showed Gordon Price standing outside the hospital.
“He's been arrested.””
Wolf frowned.
“Where?””
“Two blocks away. Officers found him trying to get into a vehicle registered under a false name.””
“Did he have anything?””
Harris nodded.
“A loaded handgun. Two passports. And a photograph of your father.””
Wolf looked at the detective.
“What did he say?””
Harris placed the photograph on the table.
“He said Daniel Bennett is dead.””
Wolf's hands curled into fists.
“That's a lie.””
“Maybe. But there's something else.””
Harris opened a second document.
“Gordon had a handwritten list of addresses. One of them matches the Pennsylvania address in Michael's files.””
Preacher leaned forward.
“Then we have to go.””
Harris shook his head.
“Not yet. We need to understand what we're dealing with.””
Wolf stared at the detective.
“My father has been missing for twenty years. I just found out he's alive. I'm not waiting another day.””
Harris studied him.
“Then you'll have to let us do this properly.””
Wolf gave a humorless laugh.
“Twenty years wasn't proper enough?””
Before Harris could answer, Ava spoke.
“Please.””
Everyone turned.
She was holding her father's jacket.
“My dad left all this because he wanted the truth to come out. We can't stop now.””
Harris looked at her for several seconds.
Then he nodded.
“We'll arrange a protected trip.””
Wolf looked back at the photograph.
“I'm going tonight.””
At 11:40 p.m., Wolf stood outside the hospital.
His motorcycle waited beside Ryder's truck.
Preacher approached with two paper cups of coffee.
“You haven't slept.””
“Neither have you.””
Preacher handed him a cup.
“Michael trusted you.””
Wolf stared at the parking lot.
“Then why didn't he tell me?””
“Because he thought telling you would put you in danger.””
Wolf laughed bitterly.
“Apparently everyone thought keeping secrets was the same thing as protecting people.””
Preacher didn't argue.
After a moment, Wolf looked at him.
“Tell me everything about my father.””
Preacher took a breath.
“His name was Daniel Bennett. He was one of the original members of the Black Ridge Riders. He helped build the club from six men in a rented garage into what it became.””
“And Gordon?””
“Gordon joined later. He was clever, charming, and good with numbers. Your father trusted him.””
“What happened?””
“Daniel discovered that Gordon was using club property to move stolen vehicles. He confronted him. A week later, Daniel disappeared.””
Wolf stared at the ground.
“Why didn't the police investigate?””
“They did. They found the motorcycle and declared him dead.””
“And my mother?””
Preacher's expression softened.
“She knew more than she admitted.””
Wolf looked up.
“What do you mean?””
Preacher hesitated.
“Your mother received a letter six months after the accident. It said Daniel was alive but couldn't come home.””
Wolf felt something twist inside his chest.
“She knew?””
“I think she suspected.””
“Did she tell me?””
“No.””
Wolf looked toward the hospital windows.
His mother had died five years earlier.
He would never get to ask her why.
Then his phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
*STOP LOOKING FOR DANIEL BENNETT.*
A second message followed.
*MICHAEL SHOULD HAVE LISTENED.*
Wolf showed Preacher.
The older biker's expression hardened.
“Gordon?””
“Probably.””
Another message arrived.
This time, it included a photograph.
It showed the same small white house from Michael's file.
But someone had painted a large red X across the front door.
Underneath was a single sentence.
*YOU'RE TOO LATE.*
Wolf looked toward the highway.
Then he put on his helmet.
“Wake Ryder.””
Preacher nodded.
“Where are we going?””
Wolf started his motorcycle.
“To bring my father home.””
But as the engine roared, a final message appeared on his phone.
It contained three words.
May you like
*YOUR FATHER CALLED.*
And beneath them was a phone number.
