3
Randall’s grip had been strong, solid. What Sheila would expect from a firefighter.
“Were you a SEAL too? Like Luke.” He asked as he led her toward the back of the building. It was dark except for the distant lights of the town reflecting off the snow, but the path was shoveled. She could smell the thick pine of the trees growing close behind the station.
He didn’t move like a trained hand-to-hand fighter. She’d wager she could take him down if necessary, even without her sidearm.
Shoulder carry, not hip. She still needed to change that habit.
“He’s a SEAL?” That fit. The silence and the arrogant level of self-assuredness. An unarmed man who simply said, “No need for that,” as she’d prepared to draw on him. SEAL? Unarmed? Not likely. “No. Not like Luke. There aren’t any SEAL women.
