Avian was on his way to Pete’s junkyard to see about replacing the muffler on his bike when he noticed the car that had been following him the entire way suddenly turned off. Glancing in his side mirror, he saw a young-looking guy get out and immediately survey his surroundings. Shoulders straight, head held high, he had an air of authority about him. And he was packing. Avian could see the bulge of a holster under his arm.
Law enforcement.
The cop went into a diner, but something didn’t feel right about him, so Avian parked and went into the diner too. He watched as the cop sat near the back, which had a full view of the place, and flashed his badge to an overeager waitress who came to take his order.
“Hey, I was wondering if you could do me a favor?” the cop asked.
“Sure. Name it.” The waitress licked her lips and then blushed.
“I was in here a couple of nights ago, and there was another cute little waitress. You two could have been sisters. Do you happen to know her name?”
The waitress frowned, not sure if he was as interested in her as she wanted him to be. “You mean Cyn? She’s the only one that works the night shift. Except for Dougie Ray on her nights off. But he’s not little, and he’s definitely not cute.”
“Cyn. That must be it. Cyn . . . ?”
“I don’t know what her last name is.” The waitress put one hand on her hip.
“She forgot her coat when she left, and I have it,” he explained. “I wanted to return it to her.” He smiled at the waitress, and it worked like a charm.
“Well isn’t that just so sweet of you, officer.”
“Call me Declan.”
“Declan . . . I . . .” She fumbled with her notepad. “Cyn will be in tonight. She works from ten to seven.”
“Great. I’ll stop back in then. Now, would you get me a piece of pumpkin pie? With whipped cream, if you have any.”
“Absolutely.” She beamed at him again and then made her way over to Avian. When he only ordered a cup of coffee, she left him with a considerably less than cheerful attitude and returned seconds later with a steaming cup.
Avian sipped slowly, taking note of how many times the cop looked over at him. Three total, in the fifteen minutes he was there. The cop paid a couple more compliments to the waitress and then took the number she slipped him as he stood to leave. But he barely glanced at it before stuffing it into his back pocket.
When the cop went to pay, Avian followed him again. He brushed by him, and Avian caught one of the cop’s memories. It was a flash of the girl, Cyn—and the mental image was tinged around the edges with red.
Interesting. . . . What’s your connection to an Echo?
The cop was still in the parking lot as Avian exited, and Avian didn’t miss the fact that he was checking out his license plate. He started his bike up.
“Looks like a classic,” the cop said over the roar of the engine.
“It is.”
Avian thought about the thirty motorcycles in the garage of his Massachusetts house. That probably qualified him as a collector. “You could say that.”
The cop smiled. But his eyes were hard. “My brother had a motorcycle too. Nothing as nice as yours, just a ninety-nine Honda Valkyrie. But it was his pride and joy.”
Avian took note of the word “was.”
The cop turned and got into his car. A rental. “Ride safe.”
Avian gave the cop plenty of time to pull out, then tailed him for a while. He kept close to the diner, driving around the block several times like he was looking for something. Two girls came walking down the street, and the cop flashed his badge again, asking if either one of them knew Cyn. Avian didn’t miss the flash of anger on his face when the answer was no.
When the cop finally pulled away, he drove straight to a motel and went inside room 223.
The car’s a rental, and the hotel room means he isn’t local. And Avian would bet every last motorcycle he owned that wherever the cop came from was the same place Cyn came from too.