The Night Belongs to Fireman (13 page)

Three days into the job, he headed out for a sparring session with his Muay Thai teacher. He went through the usual security routine, leaving Rachel immersed in research on a three-toed sloth someone had brought into the Refuge. As he walked through the elegant lobby, which was adorned with gilt-framed mirrors and an orchid arrangement, Marsden intercepted him.

“How are things going?”

“Fine, sir.”

The man nodded with an air of satisfaction. “Had a feeling it would work out.”

Since Marsden seemed to be in a talkative mood, which had never happened before, Fred jumped at the chance to ask a question that had been bugging him since that first day.

“Mr. Marsden, I've been wondering why you recommended that Mr. Kessler hire me. You know I'm not any kind of trained security specialist.”

“You do all right.” Ruefully, the man rubbed his throat, where Fred had gotten him into a headlock.

“She should have the damn FBI protecting her,” said Fred. “Not some fireman with a black belt.”

Marsden pulled him to the side, out of earshot of anyone exiting from an elevator. Fred's gym bag swung against his thigh.

“I've been working for the Kesslers for a long time, son. Rachel's one in a million. Brave as hell, and kind. She'd rather die than see someone get hurt. But in all my time, I've never known anyone as lonely as that girl. Rips your heart out.”

Fred's heart gave a weird little clench. The picture Marsden painted was so sad. “Are you saying she needs company?”

“She needs more than a dog and an old marine. But she won't do anything to upset Mr. Kessler, and he keeps a tight eye on her. Thought I'd maybe found a way to kill two birds with one stone.”

“You mean get her a guard and . . .”

“A friend.”

A friend
. Marsden had recommended him to Kessler for
that
? It seemed like an elaborate way to find someone to keep Rachel company. It wasn't exactly a hardship, after all. Fred eyed him closely, but the guard's face revealed nothing but innocent intentions.

A friend
. Was that really his true purpose here? In that case, it was too bad the fantasies keeping him up every night weren't at all friendly. He had to think this over in private. “Well, thanks for thinking of me.”

He nodded at Marsden and prepared to head out the door, but the man held him back with a hand on his arm. “Another thing, son.”

“Yeah?”

“If anyone heard me, Kessler'd have my ass.” He leaned closer. “Don't pay attention to him. He likes to believe he rules the world, and he's got his ideas of how people should treat his daughter. They're not always on the mark, if you ask me. Don't let him intimidate you.”

Fred cocked his head. “Just because he's a billionaire genius and I'm a firefighter? Why would that intimidate me?”

Marsden laughed. “He shits on a crapper like the rest of us.”

“I'm hoping I can take your word for that.”

The guard clapped him on the shoulder. “I knew this would work out.”

A
fter a week
of guarding Rachel, Fred knew there were two things about this arrangement that he hadn't considered. He adapted to her luxurious surroundings well enough, though he felt like a dickhead trying to figure out her high-tech appliances. Things like titanium, voice-activated toasters and a refrigerator that told you when you were low on eggs. He was pretty good with technology, with all his firefighter training. But computer voices rubbed him the wrong way.

The second thing—maybe not so unexpected—was how hard it was to be around her without revealing his raging lust for her. Being around her was so much more exciting than being around anyone else. Even though she was mostly reserved, when she did come out with one of her quick-as-a-flick responses or wide grins, the pleasure of it nearly knocked him off his feet. He wondered what she would have been like if her life hadn't been torn apart by a sadistic kidnapper. Would she be relaxed and giggly and carefree, more like Lizzie?

It was impossible to say, and he didn't need to know the answer anyway. He liked her just as she was. It was hard to remember that when he'd first seen her at the City Lights Grill he'd considered her a bit of an airhead. Now that he knew her better, he wished she'd let that goofy side of herself show more. She was too serious, too careful. She poured all her softhearted impulses into the animals at the Refuge. He'd like to see that carefree, laughing side of Rachel again someday. Where was that Rachel hiding?

“H
e's just providing extra security until the congressional hearings are over,” Rachel told Cindy in her private office. Cindy was worried that her ungainly young golden retriever, Sir Giggles, was getting too hyperactive and uncontrollable. At the moment, the dog was roaming the training room, investigating the various toys piled in the corners.

“Oh, I see. ‘Extra security.' Is that what they're calling it these days?”

Rachel turned red. “It wasn't my idea. Or his.”

“I think you should put the moves on him,” Cindy said in a loud whisper, crossing one leg over the other. She wore bright red shorts and a gold tank top. She lit up the little office like a torch. “He's coming to the wedding, right?”

“Yes, he has to come now—as my bodyguard. I have a date for the wedding.”

“Don't tell me it's that horrid Bradford.”

“He's not horrid. He's on the board of directors for the Refuge.”

“Yeah, because he's trying to get into your pants.” She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head.

“Cindy, I'm not like you. Guys don't act like that with me. They want . . . something different.”

Ebullient and gleefully, unabashedly plump, Cindy had been one of the most fun-loving girls in their year at San Gabriel College. She always came back from her wild parties with stories about the boys pining for her. Until she lost her heart to Bean. “You are so naïve. You're gorgeous, Rachel. Just because you don't play it up doesn't mean it ain't so.”

“Back to Sir Giggles. You said he's been almost biting? Grabbing your arms in his mouth?”

“Yes. Bean's worried that he's too aggressive.” Rachel glanced at the lively, curious dog nosing around the room. He didn't look aggressive in the least. “Now back to Bradford. When did I give you permission to bring that stuck-up stick to my wedding?”

“You knew I was going to bring him!”

“That was
before
you had a sexy bodyguard with a killer ass. Oooh, have you seen him naked yet? Like, when you're waiting for the shower, and he just happens to forget his towel when he comes out of the bathroom?”

“He has his own bathroom.”

“Judge, please direct the witness to answer the question.” Cindy lifted a gold, sparkly-tipped finger, as if signaling a judge.

“I haven't seen him naked.”

“Half naked?” Cindy asked hopefully. “Throw me a bone, here. Not you, Sir Giggles.” At the sound of his name, Sir Giggles trotted over to the table where they were sitting. “What degree of sexy fireman nakedness have you witnessed?”

Rachel always did have a hard time lying. “Okay. I saw him without his shirt once, and then another time I brought in his clean laundry while he was changing.” Even though she'd backed out right away, the image of his muscular butt in that dark blue underwear was seared permanently into her brain. He looked like some kind of model with his arms overhead, his back muscles rippling, his head caught in his white T-shirt.

It wasn't easy sharing living quarters with someone you were wildly attracted to.

“And?” Cindy asked impatiently.

“And nothing. A lady doesn't spy and tell.”

“Then who'd want to be friends with a lady?” Cindy looked genuinely outraged. Rachel couldn't help laughing.

“Okay, I will say that . . . as good as you might imagine he looks . . . multiply that by . . .”

Cindy leaned closer, her mouth, red as her pedal pushers, open in anticipation.

“Mmmm . . . maybe a thousand.”

Cindy sat back, surveying Rachel as if she'd just handed her a box of chocolates. “What was that you said once about a hidden camera system at your place?”

Just then, Sir Giggles apparently decided he wanted in on the party. He rose onto his hind legs and put one paw on the table.

Cindy turned to him, scolding in a playful voice. “Down, you goofy boy, you know better than that.”

Ears twitching eagerly, he put a paw on her arm. She gently pushed it off, then went for his collar. “Down, boy, don't you remember anything those trainers taught you? Honestly, I think it was all a big waste of money. Down, you, down!”

Sir Giggles's tail wagged madly back and forth. He put both his paws on her arms, as if they were about to dance, then mouthed her right forearm. Finally, with a constant, breathless running commentary, Cindy wrestled him to the floor. She sat back, exasperated. “See what I mean? He's impossible.”

Rachel nearly burst out laughing. “He thinks it's a game. He's not being aggressive at all.”

“A game? But I keep telling him to get down and he won't listen!”

“But you're interacting with him the way a dog at play would. If you want him to stop playing, you need to be very still. And your voice has to be serious, not fun. I know that's hard for you, because you're a fun person. Watch me. And don't say or do anything.”

The next time Sir Giggles put his paws on the table, Rachel gave a stern, no-nonsense gasp and kept her body ominously still. Surprised, he dropped back down to the floor.

“Good dog, very good dog,” she told him, and offered him a liver treat, which he gobbled up.

They went through the same routine again, a few times, until Sir Giggles finally got the point. Staying feet-to-the-floor meant a reward. Jumping on the table brought no fun. Cindy watched, mouth ajar, as Sir Giggles settled quietly and happily next to her chair.

“I don't get it. What have I been doing wrong?”

“Dogs pay attention to your body language even more than your words, so you have to make sure you're communicating what you intend to. Be careful about rewarding him for bad behavior with something that looks like pure fun to him. Sir Giggles is very smart, so he'll get it. He just wanted to play.”

“So he's not just a big rascal trying to get away with something?” Cindy bent and patted Sir Giggles on his side.

“There's nothing wrong with wanting to play, that's what dogs do. Dogs don't have hidden agendas, and they don't hide what they want. They're always truthful. The problem is, we don't always understand what they're saying. Dogs aren't like people. They don't know how to lie or manipulate, the way people do.”

Cindy's hand stilled, and she gave Rachel an uncharacteristically grave look. “Oh honey. You're breaking my heart.”

Rachel bit her lip. Had she revealed too much about her take on the world?

Cindy stood up and hooked Sir Giggles's leash onto his collar. “Thanks for your tip, Rachel. You're amazing. Here's a tip for you, because I love you. Ditch Bradford and bring Fred to my wedding.”

W
hile Rachel was
busy doing whatever she did with her “clients,” Fred used the time to explore the Refuge. More specifically, to scope out the security. The place had ten staff members, four of whom were security guards. Two were veterinarians, and the rest were called “techs,” but their jobs seemed to be mostly feeding animals and tending to the structures and grounds.

A small stuccoed bungalow from the pre-earthquake safety era served as the headquarters of the Refuge's security team. Fred thought about introducing himself, but he didn't know if the guards knew they were responsible for the daughter of America's third richest man. Instead, he avoided that building and wandered through the compound, noticing hidden cameras scattered throughout.

In the medical wing, he joined a small group watching the newly arrived three-toed sloth. The creature huddled in the corner of its cage, ignoring the pile of leaves collected for it.

“We can't keep it,” one of the techs was saying. “It belongs in the rain forest. It's not warm enough here.”

“Rachel won't send it away until it's feeling better,” said another.

“It's feeling bad because it's cold. We need to put it on a plane to Costa Rica.”

“You tell the princess.”

Someone cleared his throat, and Fred caught an embarrassed look from the tech. “Didn't see you there,” the guy said resentfully. He had long hair held back in a ponytail with a leather thong.

“Don't mind me. I've never seen a three-toed sloth before. Just came to check it out.” Fred wasn't surprised at the tech's comment; everyone at the Refuge treated Rachel as if she was one step away from royalty. Conversations in the kitchenette stopped when she walked in. No one cracked a single joke about the skunk with the scent gland disorder. It seemed strange to him. He didn't find her intimidating; why should they?

But the incident made him wonder how much she knew about the staff. When Rachel finished with her appointments for the day, he broached the subject while she locked up her office.

“Does the staff have to go through a security check?”

“Is the pope Catholic?”

“Hey. I'm just trying to be thorough.”

Rachel closed the front door, locked it, and went around back to the little fenced-in yard where Greta played during working hours. At the sight of them, Greta bounded across the grass in great leaps.

Fred persisted. “Kessler Tech owns this place, right?”

“Wrong. It's a private nonprofit. Kessler Tech helps fund it. There's a big difference.”

He flung up his hands. “Sorry. Didn't mean to offend you.” After a pause, “What's the difference?”

Rachel opened the gate and Greta rubbed against her legs with nearly orgasmic joy. “The Refuge was my idea. I had to fight for it. My father thought it was too risky. But I had some money left from my mother, and I lined up a board of directors, so Dad didn't really have a choice.” She shot him a gleam of a smile as she lavished caresses on Greta's head. “I'm a lot more stubborn than I look.”

Fred knew she was stubborn; he'd seen it in the limo. But he probably would have called it something else. Determined, or brave.

Rachel continued. “Dad eventually got on board, but he doesn't really understand why animals mean so much to me. As long I leave the security to him, he leaves me alone.”

“So everyone gets vetted?”

She let out a huge sigh. “Up the ying-yang, yes.”

“And you trust them all? You've worked with them enough to be sure they're safe?”

“What are you getting at?” She closed the latch of the gate and swung to face him.

“Well, I've been shadowing you for almost a week now. Your apartment building is more secure than the Pentagon. The only other residents are two elderly couples and a widow, all extensively vetted by the Kessler security team. Your car has bulletproof windows and a double-reinforced body. The big weak spot I see is this place.”

“It's surrounded by an electrified fence and has twenty-four hidden cameras.” She waved her arms at their surroundings. A slight breeze made the leaves of the aspens quiver. A small olive-drab bird rose into the air, then landed with a flick of its tail on a fencepost. Fred had to admit that the Refuge seemed too peaceful to harbor any danger. “You're being paranoid. Maybe Dad's insanity is catching.”

She stalked away from him, followed by the capering Greta. He hurried after her. His intention wasn't to tick her off, but he'd been hired to protect her, after all. These questions seemed important.

“What about when people bring in their pets, or injured animals? Do those people get checked out?”

“Yes! The security guards don't let anyone in here unless they've gone through a weapons check.”

“But what about the staff? How well do you really know them?”

“Fred! I trust my staff. I don't hire anyone who isn't a hundred percent committed to helping animals. Now will you stop this?”

“I'm just trying to—”

“I know what you're trying to do. Stop it . . . just stop it.” She reached the small gravel parking lot and started scrabbling through her purse. “
Damn it
.”

“Hey. Hey.” Fred gently took the purse from her and held it open so she could search inside. “Why are you so upset?”

“I'm not upset. Everything's fine. We've never had any problems here. It's a
refuge
. A safe place. Do you know what my father would do if you start making a fuss about the security?”

That brought him up short. He hadn't thought of that. “I'm just asking for my own information. I'm not going to say anything to your dad.”

“Aren't you? Don't you work for him? Do you have any idea what—” She broke off, grabbing her key out of her purse, then snatching back the bag. Before she could open the door, Fred blocked it with one hand.

“Finish your sentence. Do I have any idea what . . .”

She angled her head away from him, the dark strands catching amber light from the sinking sun. “Forget it,” she choked.

“Let me guess. Do I have any idea how much this place means to you? Do I have any idea how crushed you'd be if your father shut it down?”

Her slim body went still. The breeze caught at her spring-green blouse, made the thin material press against her back, outlining the clasp of her bra. The little detail tugged at his heart. He noticed that a whisper-slight strand of hair had caught in the chain of her necklace. Rachel might be rich beyond his wildest dreams, but she was also painfully vulnerable.

He cleared his throat. “Listen, Rachel. Remember how I set that condition when your dad wanted to hire me?”

She sniffed, lifting her head a tiny bit. The delicate tendons of her neck shifted under her baby-soft skin. He wanted to taste her there. He wanted to taste her everywhere.

“I told him I wouldn't take the job unless you knew the whole story. I'm not sure I ever explained why that was so important to me.”

She fiddled with her car keys. He really wished she'd look at him, but didn't press her.

“So here's the reason. It's
your
life. You deserve to be completely informed about it. You're not a child.” Thank God she wasn't, or he'd have to have a long talk with his lust-crazed body.