“You knew he died and you never called his wife?”
Daniel’s voice hardened.
“I was specifically instructed not to.”
“By who?”
“Evan.”
Of course.
Tank stood.
“He’s been dead two years and still controlling the room.”
Daniel gave a quiet, bitter laugh.
“That sounds like my brother.”
Tank looked toward the Harley.
“There’s something he left.”
“What?”
“A blue hub.”
Daniel stopped breathing.
Tank heard it through the phone.
“Where did you get that?”
“You sent it to me nineteen years ago.”
“No.”
Tank frowned.
“What?”
“I never sent that hub.”
Tank’s skin went cold.
“You’re Daniel Price?”
“Yes.”
“Paul Price’s son?”
“Yes.”
“Older brother of Evan?”
“Yes.”
“Then who mailed me the blue hub?”
Daniel’s answer came slowly.
“I don’t know.”
Tank looked toward the drawer.
The mystery had just changed.
“Did you have it after your father died?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“About six months.”
“What happened?”
Daniel hesitated.
“It disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“From the garage.”
“I thought Evan took it.”
Tank sat down again.
“He didn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it came to me twelve years later.”
Silence.
Daniel whispered:
“Oh.”
Tank looked toward the map.
Seven locations.
Evan had written:
Don’t skip one because you think you know better.
Tank suddenly understood.
The road trip was not sentimental tourism.
It was an investigation.
Evan had found something.
Or suspected something.
And he had left the answer scattered across seven stops.
Tank asked:
“Do you want to know what Evan planned?”
Daniel’s voice changed.
“Yes.”
Tank told him.
Not everything.
Enough.
When he finished, Daniel said:
“Don’t come here first.”
“Why?”
“If Evan marked seven stops, he had a reason.”
Tank smiled grimly.
“He wrote the same thing.”
Daniel almost laughed.
“Still dramatic.”
“You’re related.”
“Unfortunately.”
Tank asked:
“Will you be there when we get to Santa Monica?”
Daniel remained quiet.
Then:
“Yes.”
Noah’s mother did not approve the trip that year.
Or the next.
Tank did not pressure her.
Instead, he finished the Harley.
Proper seat.
Final wiring.
Brake testing.
Suspension setup.
Heat cycles.
Road testing.
Every bolt checked.
Every system documented.
Noah visited.
He learned tools.
Tank gave him age-appropriate jobs.
Holding flashlights.
Organizing sockets.
Cleaning nonhazardous parts.
Reading torque specifications aloud.
Noah constantly asked when the trip would happen.
Tank always answered:
“When your mother says yes.”
At eleven, Noah asked again.
No.
At twelve:
No.
At thirteen:
“Maybe.”
That was progress.
At fourteen, his mother agreed under conditions.
Tank nearly fell from his chair.
She pointed at him.