Chapter 23I arrive at the police garage at ten twenty-five. Jerome is already there, suited and booted. He hands me the protective clothing, but when I put it on he doubles up with laughter.
“You look like a kid wearing her Dad's overalls,” he says, rolling up the excess fabric at my wrists and ankles. “I guess these coveralls are designed for the men in the fire service.”
Jerome gently brushes my hair out of my eyes with his fingers, then seems embarrassed by his actions.
“Sorry,” he says and looks away, but not before I notice he's blushing. “You'd better tie your hair back. You don't want to touch it if you have blood on your gloves.”
I reach in my bag and fish out a scrunchie. “Is that better?” I ask. “I don't have a mirror. Have I got it all?”
He stares at me for a few moments. “
