The motorcycle would start without difficulty.
It would settle into a healthy idle, sounding exactly as it should, and then stop without warning.
No gradual loss of power.
No coughing or sputtering.
The problem had defeated every mechanic who examined it.
Some had decades of experience.
Others were younger technicians who specialized in modern electronic systems.
Between them, they had inspected the fuel delivery, ignition components, sensors, wiring connections, and computer diagnostics.
Nothing had provided a lasting explanation.
Ace had listened to so many theories that he’d stopped asking for predictions.
He wanted an answer.
And now a teenage girl standing in front of seventeen mechanics was asking him to repeat the same test they had performed countless times.
The mechanic nearest the diagnostic equipment folded his arms.
I appreciate the enthusiasm, but we’ve already tested everything that makes this thing run.”
Emma finally glanced at him.
“Everything important.”
She looked back toward the motorcycle.
“Then why doesn’t it stay running?”
The question was simple enough to sound almost insulting.
Several mechanics exchanged irritated looks.
One gave a short, humorless laugh.
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
Emma nodded as though he’d confirmed something useful.
So can he start it?”
Ace studied her for another moment.
He was a handsome man in his late forties, with a strong jaw, dark hair touched by gray, and the controlled manner of someone who had spent much of his life around powerful machines.
A worn leather riding vest hung over his black shirt, and dark sunglasses concealed much of his expression.
People unfamiliar with him sometimes mistook his quietness for hostility.
Those who rode with him knew better.