Chapter 8 - THROUGH THE GLASS
The tension inside the travel station complex reached an absolute breaking point.
Cole looked from the stranger outside back to Elena, his mind racing through fifteen years of lies, missing money, and buried history.
"Stay behind me, Elena," Cole ordered softly, his voice returning to its authoritative, presidential weight.
"No," Elena said, stepping out from behind his broad shoulder. "He came here for me. He came because my father died."
Cole turned to his road captain. "Get the perimeter secure. Nobody leaves this lot. And someone find Marcus."
The captain nodded and hurried off toward the side of the building, while Cole stepped off the concrete curb and began walking slowly toward the gray-haired rider. Elena followed half a pace behind him, her worn boots making soft, deliberate sounds on the wet asphalt.
As they approached the motorcycle, the glass storefront behind them reflected the harsh fluorescent lights, casting long, dramatic shadows across the pavement.
Cole stopped five feet from the bike. He raised his hand, holding up the tarnished 317 key.
"If you're Gabriel," Cole said, his dark eyes burning with intensity, "you've got a lot of answering to do to this club. You vanished with three hundred grand and left Daniel to take the heat."
The gray-haired rider slowly raised his head. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low, raspy, and worn down by years of desert dust.
"I didn't take the money, Cole," the rider said quietly.
"Then who did?" Cole demanded, taking a step closer.
The rider didn't answer with words. He shifted his piercing gray eyes away from Cole and looked past his shoulder, staring directly through the large glass window of the travel station office, where the station manager and two local deputies were standing near the counter.
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Then he looked toward the dark corner near the ice machine, where Marcus had vanished minutes earlier.
"The man who took the money," the stranger said softly, "is still wearing your colors."
