The photograph I'd seen outside the clubhouse stayed in my head long after the prospect competition ended.
I tried convincing myself it wasn't important. I tried telling myself it could have been a tourist. A curious stranger. Someone taking pictures of motorcycles.
The problem was that I didn't believe any of those explanations and neither did Jace.
Three days later I understood why. The morning started normally enough and I arrived at Lawson Customs just after sunrise, unlocked the front doors and began preparing for another busy day.
Diesel followed me through the workshop while carrying a tennis ball that looked like it had survived several wars.
I started a pot of coffee, checked the schedule, and reviewed the restoration timeline for Oliver Hayes's motorcycle.
For almost thirty
