But she wasn’t fine. She was shaking so hard I could see it from twenty feet away. Her voice cracked when she spoke. And she kept glancing at her trunk.
“Look,” I said, keeping my voice gentle and my hands visible. “I’m a firefighter. Retired. I’ve got a daughter about your age. I’m not leaving a kid alone on a dark highway at midnight. So you can either let me change your tire, or I’m calling the police to come help you. Your choice.”
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?”
“Twenty-seven years with Station 14. Retired three years ago.” I took a slow step closer. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“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.”
“Why not?” I asked, moving closer to examine the flat tire. It wasn’t just flat—the sidewall was blown out completely. This tire had been driven on while flat, probably for miles. “Madison, what’s going on?”
I froze. Madison’s eyes went wide with panic. “Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t call the police. Please.”Continue reading…
