Her car is parked near the edge, next to my Harley.
She unlocks the Honda and turns to me. Her expression is shadowed, half-lit, tired in a way deeper than a long shift.
I reach out and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. My knuckle grazes her cheekbone. She doesn't flinch.
"You did good tonight." My voice is low.
"It was fun." She says it like the word is unfamiliar in her mouth. Like she hasn't used it in a while and it surprises her coming out.
I lean down and kiss her. Brief, warm. Not the desperation of the other night.
Steadier. A bookmark, not a chapter.
She presses her forehead against my chin for half a second, then opens her car door.
"Goodnight, Rookie." Her lips curve as she says the road name, an inside joke between us now.
"Goodnight, Saylor." I step aside so she can pull out.
She drives away. I watch the taillights turn left onto the main road.
And then I see it.
Across the lot, pulled onto the gravel shoulder maybe fifty yards past the entrance. A dark truck. Engine off, headlights off, sitting in the blackout gap between the lot light and the tree line.
A silhouette in the driver's seat. Shoulders and a baseball cap.
Not a customer. Not a brother. Not a townie finishing a cigarette before driving home.
Someone sitting in the dark. Watching the bar. Watching the door Saylor walked through four hours ago. Watching the parking lot she drove out of thirty seconds ago.
My body goes cold the way it does when patterns connect and the picture they make is wrong.
Dark truck. Older model.
Saylor came to me four nights ago shaking and wouldn't say why.
I pull my phone out, open the camera, and zoom in.
The plate is partially obscured by mud, but I get four of the six characters before the truck's engine fires, headlights snap on, and it pulls onto the road heading in the same direction Saylor went.
I save the photo. Look at the dark road where two sets of taillights are disappearing around the same curve.
Her name is on my screen. I call.
It rings. Rings again. She picks up, her voice tired. "Hey."
"Where are you right now?" I keep my voice level, but something in it must land wrong because the pause before she answers stretches too long.
Her turn signal clicks in the background. "Driving home. Why?"
"Lock your doors when you get there." I stare at the empty road. "Text me when you're inside."
Another pause. "Rookie, what's going on?"
"Probably nothing." The word tastes like a lie, and I swallow it. "Text me when you're inside. Please."
A long exhale on her end. "Okay."