The Night Belongs to Fireman (11 page)

Fred swallowed hard. Rachel had broken her father's rules in order to share her secret with him. In return, he'd tossed it back in her face. He'd acted like a jackass. “I . . . I'm not the right guy. I already have a job. And I only won second place in that tournament. I don't have the skills.”

“You as good as won first. No one could beat Namsaknoi Yudthagarngam. He's been trained from birth.”

“Right?” Fred said eagerly, clapping his hands on his thighs. Sweet vindication. “No one believed me about that.”

“Believe it, it's true. You're even better than you thought.” Kessler gave him a funny half smile. “So are you in?”

“No. I don't know anything about being a bodyguard.”

“You're skilled with weapons.” It wasn't a question. Obviously, Kessler had done his research.

“Of course, everyone in my family is. Military, you know. But I don't like to use guns.”

“That's good. I don't want some trigger-happy jarhead around my daughter. I want someone smart, competent, skilled, courageous, and trustworthy. You're it. Driver, head back.”

Oh no. This was all moving too fast for Fred. Especially at this hour of the morning. “Mr. Kessler, I have a job already. I can't just leave the firehouse.”

“Two weeks. That's all I'm asking. Until my testimony's done. You can take a two-week leave, right? I checked your departmental regulations.”

Fred nodded dumbly. Yes, he could take a leave.

“I'll sweeten the deal. Something you can't resist.”

Kessler probably thought he could buy everyone under the sun. “I don't need any money,” he started to say, but Kessler cut him off.

“I know you don't. You do okay, and you're single with no dependents. I know money's not a big issue for you.”

Of course he knew. Was there anything he didn't know? Again, Fred thought uncomfortably of the way he'd kissed Rachel.

“But you do need to get the news media off your back. Two weeks out of the spotlight would help. And I can pull some strings at Channel Six. The news director owes me some favors. I can get Ella Joy to drop the Bachelor Hero stories.”

Fred stared. Could this man really do all that? Eyeing his emphatic, bony profile, Fred didn't really doubt it. “I would definitely appreciate some peace and quiet on that front.”

“I can't hypnotize the female population of San Gabriel, sadly,” added Kessler with a hint of dry humor. “But I can buy up all the fan club buttons.” He turned his head sideways, narrowing his penetrating gaze at Fred. “You aren't yet convinced, are you?”

Fred hesitated. “The thing is, I just passed all the training for USAR—Urban Search and Rescue. The crew needs me. There's only six of us in the whole city. I don't feel right walking away, even if it's just for two weeks. I worked my ass off for that gig. And I love it. I finally have a chance to prove myself, and—”

“How much did Rachel tell you?” Kessler interrupted again.

“Um . . .” Fred fumbled to remember. “Just who she was, and then I remembered that she was kidnapped, and—”

“Did she tell you that she escaped the bastard? On her own, except for the help of a stray dog? Did she tell you that he probably would have killed her if she hadn't? Did she tell you that the kidnapper was never identified, let alone arrested?”

The questions were coming fast as bullets. Fred froze, unable to move, even to shake his head yes or no.

“Here's something I'm certain she didn't tell you, because she doesn't know. I've never told her. Every few years, the kidnapper sends me a message. Know what that message is? Same thing he told her every time he put her back in that cage.” The rage vibrating through the man's body seemed to shake the car. “
To be continued
. That's what he says, taunting me like the sadistic demon he is. To be continued. So.” The car jerked to a stop next to Fred's truck. Kessler drilled Fred with eyes of midnight steel. “I'm going to ask you again, since I know what really drives you. I know you can't resist someone who needs help.
Are you in?
”

“N
o!” Rachel, doing a fair imitation of a violet-eyed Tasmanian devil, glared at her father, then Fred, then at Marsden for good measure. “I refuse.”

“There you go,” Fred told Kessler. “I told you she wouldn't go for it.”

“She'll go for it,” Kessler said grimly.

“Now you're talking about me right in front of me. That's even worse than trying to hire a bodyguard behind my back.”

“Two weeks, honey. That's all it's going to be. Until my testimony's done.”

“It's going to be zero weeks.” Rachel looked truly furious, and Fred couldn't blame her. The way Kessler treated her must make her feel like a child. “One bodyguard is more than enough, right, Marsden? You're being paranoid.”

“There are worse things than being paranoid.” Kessler scraped out the words.

Rachel flinched, then turned desperately to her security guard. “Tell him, Marsden. We're fine the way we are.”

“Truth is, I recommended him.” Marsden jerked his head toward Fred. “We could use him.”

Fred glanced at the older man in surprise. Not more than half an hour ago, he'd had the guy in a headlock. Now he was advocating for him?

“Been feeling some aches and pains lately,” Marsden added, though it clearly cost him to admit it. “Wouldn't want you to pay for that.”

Rachel looked stricken by that news. She bit her lip then whirled around, turning her back on them all. She had changed into work clothes, a light gray sweater and khaki pants. A clip held her hair in a knot, so Fred could make out the delicate tendons of her neck. Greta trotted to her side and rubbed her head against her leg.

“But why him?” she tossed over her shoulder. “He's a fireman, not a bodyguard.”

“I'm confident he's got the right skills,” said Kessler. “And you seem more comfortable with him than—”

Before he could continue, and before Rachel could erupt into a full-scale rejection of him, Fred interrupted. “Can I have a second to talk this over with Rachel?” And before she could get mad that he was excluding her, added quickly, “Is that okay with you, Rachel?”

Kessler gave him a long, intense scrutiny, then nodded once. “You have ten minutes. Marsden, come with me.”

The two men left, the door quietly sliding shut behind them. Fred wondered if they were going to watch the conversation on the hidden cameras. “Do you know how to disable the video system?” He asked Rachel.

Wordlessly, she walked to an Impressionist painting on the wall—he wondered if it was the real thing—flipped it up to reveal a console, and pushed a few buttons. She didn't meet his eyes, and a slight flush lingered on her cheeks. It occurred to him that she probably felt embarrassed.

“I didn't like the idea at first either,” he said matter-of-factly. “I flat-out said no, in fact.”

Anger flared in her eyes, which she finally raised to meet his. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Why would you want to play bodyguard to some incognito spoiled rich girl?”

“Come on now. I never said anything like that.”

“I can read between the lines.”

He tried a smile. “I overreacted, I was exhausted, but I never called you spoiled. I might have called you rich.”

Her lips twitched in a brief smile, which she quickly tamped down. She leaned one hip against the arm of her couch. Greta draped her chin across Rachel's thigh, begging for some petting. Rachel absently obliged.

“My father is very good at getting his way. He must have offered you something really big to get you to change your mind. Lots of money, of course. But it would probably take more than that. Does the fire department need something? A new engine or ladder or whatever?”

Fred held on to his temper. “We didn't even discuss payment.”

“Then what? What would make you leave your action-packed Bachelor Hero job to babysit a dog therapist for two weeks? How did my dad talk you into it?”

“I said yes on one condition.” It hadn't been easy extracting that concession from Kessler, but since it was a deal breaker for Fred, eventually he'd given in.

“What's the condition?” Rachel must have been rubbing Greta's head a little too roughly, because the dog gave a slight whimper.

“That he lets me tell you everything. So you know
why
he wants you to have more protection.”

R
achel froze, her
hand still on Greta's warm, silky head. She knew her father kept things from her. That was his nature. He consumed information like a crack addict, but he gave it out like Scrooge. It had always driven her crazy, but why would Fred care about that?

She eyed him closely, noticing the deep shadows under his eyes and the exhaustion sketched across his face in creases. The poor guy probably regretted ever walking into the City Lights Grill, into the Kessler vortex. But she couldn't let her softhearted side, which wanted to tuck him into a bed and let him sleep, distract her.

“All right. Tell me.”

Fred didn't dance around it. “The most recent message your father got from your kidnapper was about six months ago. It came to his private e-mail.”

Chills shot through her. She'd known the kidnapper made a periodic reappearance. Her father and Marsden gave her reports that she knew were carefully edited, but she always sensed when something had happened. Maybe it was time to hear the full truth, with no censoring. “And it said?”

“Like all the others.” He hesitated. “‘To be continued.'”

Nausea clutched her by the throat, darkness crowded the edges of her vision. She'd never forget those words, hissed in that man's sadistic, mocking voice. She jumped to her feet, dislodging Greta, and stalked into the kitchen. She was not, absolutely not, going to lose it in front of Fred.

She went to the coffeemaker and poured herself another cup, her hands shaking. No wonder her father was freaked out. His private e-mail—that meant that the kidnapper was still lurking around Dad's territory. She took a deep breath, then another. Okay, so the kidnapper was still tormenting her father. The fact remained he'd made no more attempts on her life or safety. Maybe he didn't know where she was. Maybe he intended to get to her father some other way.

Or . . . maybe he was just biding his time.

“I suggested that one of my brothers might be a better choice.” Fred's voice behind her made her jump. “I think Jack has some leave coming up.”

Rachel had a sudden panicked vision of a big military guy with a brush cut storming through her apartment. “No thanks.”

Face it, she was going to have to give in on the bodyguard thing. This new piece of information made it official. She hated the intrusion on her privacy, but she wasn't stupid. Would it be so bad having Fred around? Even at this moment, when she was still trembling from anger and shock, the presence of his strong body and square-jawed face made her feel safe.

For a moment, she thought about how things had been at his house, fun and normal and relaxed. So much for that. The Kessler curse had struck again.

She took another mug from the cupboard, poured coffee into it, and offered it to Fred.

“You'd be bored out of your mind shadowing me for two weeks.”

“I don't think so.” His firm, quiet statement made her flush. “I figure I'll focus on training Greta. Maybe learn how to splint an owl's wing or bandage a rabbit's foot. Would it be so bad, Rachel?”

His phrasing echoed her own thoughts. “We kissed,” she pointed out.

“I remember. I almost mentioned it to your father. Should I have?”

“No!” she snapped, then realized he was teasing. She tilted her head to the ceiling, praying for strength. Oh, this was turning out to be complicated. “We should pretend it never happened. You probably kiss people all the time. I know I do.”

Now
that
was a blatant lie. Getting involved with men held so many land mines that she rarely attempted it. And none of the sexual encounters she'd experienced held a candle to Fred's kisses. From under her lashes, she stole a glance at him. He was toying with his coffee mug, staring into the depths as if it held all the answers.

And suddenly she felt horrible.

“Actually, I don't kiss people all the time,” she corrected herself softly. His gaze flew to meet hers, and suddenly it felt as if a pathway had opened up between them, a river of connection, swollen and tumbling with confused emotion. If she dipped a toe into it, it would sweep her away.

“Besides, my father doesn't have to know everything,” she added.

“Does he know that?” Fred's dry question, delivered over the rim of the porcelain coffee mug, made her laugh. Clearly, Fred had already gotten the hang of the mighty Rob Kessler. It made her feel a little less alone, actually.

He put down his mug and ran his thumb up and down the handle. His thumb was large and sturdy, just like the rest of his hand. Her stomach clenched in a sort of electric shock. The force of it astonished her; she actually put one hand to her midriff. Never, ever in her life had she reacted to a man the way she responded to Fred.

If he was here, with her, around the clock, would she be walking around tingling all the time?

This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. She was crazy to even be contemplating it.

Greta trotted over to Fred, sniffed his pants leg, then curled up next to him, her chin on his shoe.

And suddenly she was back in that place, that lonely cage, where the only friendly face was that of a stray German shepherd. She used to watch him for hour after hour, soaking in his every twitch and growl, learning his moods. She called him Inga after her doll at home, even though she figured he was probably a boy dog. He was hungry all the time, so she tossed him food through the bars of the cage they kept her in. Then one day, when one of the hired guards had opened the cage door, Inga sank her teeth into his leg and wouldn't let go. In her mind, Rachel clearly heard the dog telling her to run. She scrambled out of the cage. The guard kicked her in the head with his free leg, but she kept going, out of the old warehouse. Gunshots rang out. She never knew if Inga got shot, or if the guard was shooting at her. If so, he missed. She kept running and running, into the desert, until she passed out. The next thing she remembered, she was in a hospital and her father was there.

Ever since Inga, she'd never gone wrong following the guidance of a dog.

“What are you thinking?” Fred's soft voice brought her back to the moment.

She took a long, bracing swallow of her coffee. “I guess . . . I guess I was thinking that we should do this.”

“You're right. We should.”

“But I still don't understand why you
want
to.”

He met her eyes, his expression so determined that she started. This must be the “badass” Fred his friend had mentioned at the City Lights Grill. “Believe me, as soon as your father filled me in on the situation, there was nothing on earth that could have kept me from taking the job.”

She screwed up her face in genuine puzzlement. “Is this a man thing? Do you
like
danger? Or wait, maybe it's a crazy firefighter thing?”

She didn't understand why that made him laugh so hard. “Don't think being my bodyguard gives you license to tease me,” she told him. That just made him laugh all the harder.

“A little teasing never hurt anyone,” he said with the ghost of a wink. “Take it from me.”

V
ader scowled at
Fred from behind his desk. Station 1's newest captain had always been the most fitness-obsessed in the crew. Thick ridges of muscle bulged against his uniform shirt. Powerful tendons flexed in his forearms. Fred couldn't help thinking that Vader would be a much better choice as a personal bodyguard. No one would dare mess with Rachel if Captain Brown was on the job.

On the other hand, he might be inclined to pick a fight just for the recreational benefit.

“How long of a leave of absence?” Vader asked.

“Two weeks. Maybe three.” Kessler's testimony was supposed to happen in two weeks, but Fred thought it wise to leave his options open.

“And what is this special project? Something to do with USAR?”

Well, it was a sort of rescue situation taking place in an urban area. “Something like that,” Fred murmured. “I can't say too much about it.”

“Military? Something to do with your brothers?”

“Nah, nothing like that.”

Vader narrowed his eyes at him. Fred wouldn't mind filling him in; it might help to have backup. But Rachel had asked him not to tell anyone at the station, in case word got back to Ella Joy.

“It's personal,” Fred finally said. “I can't say any more.”

“Is it about that girl? The one from the limo?”

How the hell did Vader guess? Fred didn't answer.

“I recognize trouble when I see it,” said Vader. “And that girl is five-alarm trouble.”

Well, yes, that was definitely true. Rachel had already upended his life in any number of ways. He could only imagine the challenges of guarding her. But Vader didn't need to know any of that.

“I'll take the time without pay. But this is something I have to do.”

Vader looked like he wanted to say more, and maybe in earlier days he would have. He would have found some way to tease Fred or coerce the information out of him. Instead, he offered him a nod of agreement. “All right. If you need anything, let me know.”

He stood, and they shook hands. It felt weirdly formal.

“Stud, I don't know what's going on with you,” Vader added, tilting his head to squint at him, “but you seem different. You all right? You're not into anything dangerous, are you?”

That might be understating it. “Everything's cool.”

After taking what he needed from his locker, he drove home. On the way, he dialed Lizzie. “Remember how you keep saying you owe me?”