That’s when I knew something was seriously wrong. “Okay,” I said carefully. “No police. But I’m not leaving you here alone either. So let’s just change this tire and get you somewhere safe. Deal?”
She hesitated, still holding that tire iron. Then she looked at my vest—at the American flag patch, the Firefighters MC rocker, the veteran patches. Something in her face changed. “You’re really a firefighter?”
“Madison.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I’m Madison.”
“Nice to meet you, Madison. I’m Rick.” I smiled at her. “Now how about you put down that tire iron before you hurt yourself, and let an old man show off his tire-changing skills?”
She lowered the tire iron slowly. But she was still shaking. Still glancing at her trunk. “You can’t call anyone,” she said. “You can’t tell anyone you saw me. Please.”Continue reading…
