“Who are you?”

“My name’s Zack Walker. I used to be Trixie’s neighbor, we became friends. Just, you know, friends, nothing more than that. Then we moved away from Oakwood, but Trixie and I, we kept in touch.”

Claire Bennet said, softly, “She’s mentioned him, Don.”

Don Bennet said, “How do we know that’s who you really are?”

“Check my wallet, my driver’s license. In my back pocket.”

He rolled me over onto my stomach, wriggled my wallet out of my pants. Suddenly, this all felt a little too intimate. I rolled back over and watched as he opened it up, looked at my various cards. He held my license up, compared the image to the person before him.

“That would have been when I still had eyebrows,” I said.

He tucked my license back into the wallet, set it aside. “So what do you want with her?”

“She dragged me into this mess. Now I want to know what’s going on.”

“How did you get here? What led you to this house?”

“Do you think you could untie me first?”

Don shook his head. “You answer my questions and then we’ll see.”

“A gas station receipt in Trixie’s car. It led me as far as Groverton. I asked around, in the kids’ clothing store—”

Claire Bennet drew in a sharp breath.

“And that led me up here.”

“It sounds legit, Don,” Claire Bennet said.

“I don’t know. I don’t trust him. I think I may have to try a little harder to get the truth.”

“This is the truth,” I said.

“Honey,” Don said to his wife, “you go into the house, make sure Katie’s okay.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Just go. Mr. Walker and I just need a moment here to talk, alone.”

“Look,” I said, “I’m not lying to you. This is the God’s honest truth I’m telling you here.”

“Okay,” Claire said, turning to leave. “Just do what you have to do.” And then she left.

“Now it’s just us,” Don Bennet said. He took one of his meaty hands, made it into a fist, and pounded it into his other hand.

“Jesus, Don, do I look like some kind of thug? Do I look like—” and I searched for the right word, “some sort of biker?”

His fist, on its way into his palm again, froze in midair. “Biker? Why do you say biker?”

“Isn’t that who Trixie’s on the run from? Some exbikers? From Canborough? I figure Trixie must have seen something, that she’s been on the run ever since.”

“How do you know this shit?” Don’s face was a mask of desperation. “I need some real answers, pal.”

And he brought the fist back, winding up for a punch I’d never forget.

“Don!”

He whirled around.

“Don! Stop!”