Billy, the library’s volunteer, looked confused and slightly pale. The freckles smattered across the bridge of his nose stood out and his bright-blue eyes held a note of fear. “Are they upset?” she asked, standing from the bottom shelf she’d been restocking. “I don’t know. I think his face is just fixed into a permanent scowl.” Billy gestured toward the front of the building. His long russet hair fell across his eyes. “I left him at the desk. Do you want me to call security?” Excitement raced through her. Did Shooter actually come here? After two days of nothing, she’d chalked their night flirting to a one-off. “No, it’s fine, Billy. I think I know the person you’re describing.” She checked her hair for flyaways, smoothed the wayward pieces into place and straightened her white button-up and gray skirt. She took a deep breath and walked out of the row of books, careful to pace her steps. I don’t want to seem too eager. The biker shocked her with his charm, wit and though she was ashamed to say it, his manners.
