Deacon MontgomeryFuck, she was beautiful. Damn.
I approach the firehouse, both hands clutching drink carriers full of coffees, still thinking about that fine brunette who appeared to be scared shitless at the sight of me.
What the hell?
She looked as if she’d seen a ghost or perhaps a serial killer, and the f****d-up part was that she was looking straight at me. Her eyes were wide open and desperate, holding a look I’ve known too well in my profession. In fact, I’ve seen versions of that expression many times when rescuing people from fires. It is one of panicked fear.
She stood there, appearing almost immobile with dread. I could see the moment when she pushed past the terror and nearly sprinted away from me.
It was obvious that she was afraid, but of what? Me? That is the piece to t
