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.”
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