The peaceful feeling I carried home from the clubhouse lasted exactly twelve minutes. That was how long Lawson Customs had been open before the familiar black luxury sedan rolled into the parking lot.
I looked up from the motorcycle I was servicing and immediately recognized the driver.
Charles Lawson.
He climbed out wearing another perfectly tailored suit that looked completely out of place among oil stains, toolboxes, and motorcycles waiting for repairs. Ben glanced toward the front windows.
"Morning customer?" Ben asked and I followed Charles with my eyes as he walked toward the office.
"Not exactly." I said and Mia looked over the top of her computer screen.
"Family?" She asked and I sighed quietly.
"Unfortunately." I said.
The bell above the office door chimed and Charles step
