The officer shifted his stance.
Amanda’s breath caught in her throat.
The first rider removed her helmet before even cutting the engine. A woman in her late forties. Calm eyes. No attitude. Just purpose. Another rider, older, gray beard, wore a patch stitched neatly across his vest: Community Relief Ride.
They parked in an orderly line.
No one blocked the driveway.
No one shouted.
The tension in the air changed from suspicion to confusion.
The original biker nodded once at them.
They began unloading something from saddle bags and a small trailer hitched behind one of the bikes.
Not tools.
Not chains.
Moving blankets.
Plastic wrap.
