The Night Belongs to Fireman (24 page)

T
elling her story to Melissa McGuire wasn't quite as horrible as Rachel had feared. For one thing, Melissa was a sympathetic and patient interviewer. She didn't make Rachel feel uncomfortable at all, and didn't push her into areas she wasn't ready to talk about. But as much as she'd already revealed, she knew the kidnapper wasn't going to be satisfied until she mentioned the name of his wacko organization. She was getting to that. Really she was. But she really, really hated being forced into a public declaration that she didn't believe. Not that she didn't believe in animal rights. That was a given. But a quick check on BEAST had revealed that it advocated all sorts of extreme positions that she couldn't agree with. More funding for shelters? Yes. Ban on all consumption of meat products? Um . . .
really
?

Once she announced her support for BEAST, she would be linked to that crazy group. Even if she took it back later and said she'd been acting under duress, her statement would live on, on video, online, in people's memories. It would be impossible to erase.

So she was taking her time getting to that part of the interview. She was just explaining the reason for her love of dogs when she heard raised voices at the other side of the studio.

“He's coming out!” someone called. “We gotta switch over, now.”

And all of a sudden the little red light on the camera went off.

Melissa jumped to her feet. “What's going on?”

“Hostage situation's over,” answered the cameraman, who was now watching the on-air monitor. “Fireman got out on his own. Best story of the week.”

“Way to go, Fred!” Melissa sank back into her seat. “I was really worried,” she told Rachel. “But I probably shouldn't have been. Never underestimate a firefighter. We can continue the interview anyway, it will air later.”

Continue? Hell, no. Rachel stood, trailing microphone wires. “Is Fred okay?”

“They're taking him to get checked out just in case, but it looks like he's mostly fine,” answered the cameraman.

Melissa heaved a sigh. “I'm guessing my big exclusive interview just ended?”

“Sorry,” said Rachel, tugging at the little mic keeping her tethered to the set. “I have to get to the hospital.”

“That's all right.” Melissa helped disentangle her. “Go find your guy. Some things are more important than the news media, as my husband is always telling me.”

“He's not exactly my guy.”

“Are you so sure of that?” Melissa winked one forest-green eye at her. “These firemen have a way of sneaking into your heart before you realize it.”

Rachel wanted to stay and explain the exact nature of her and Fred's relationship, except that she wasn't entirely sure she could. Besides, the most important thing was to get to Fred. She ran out of the news studio and dashed to her car. Marsden sat in the driver's seat, already turning the key in the ignition.

“Hospital?” he said, barely making a question out of it.

“Have they said anything more?”

“Nope. Just that Fred's fans are going bananas.”

As they drove, Rachel's father called in with a report. “They're treating him for some abrasions and a head wound. They were worried about a concussion, but he seems to be fine.”

For once, she didn't mind him using his computer superpowers. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Don't thank me. Maybe you should worry about the grenade you just detonated smack in the middle of your life. I'm already getting calls. And I ought to fire Marsden.”

Rachel hung up. She didn't have room in her mind for that right now. She had to get to Fred.

Good Samaritan Hospital swarmed with visitors and thickets of camera equipment. Marsden shouldered through the crowd as she clung to the back of his jacket. At the reception desk, she hit a snag.

“No, I'm not family, but he was working for me,” she explained to the charge nurse. “He was injured because of me. I need to see him.”

“Family only.” The nurse waved her away. “And don't even try the long-lost sister act. We've had three girls try that already.”

“What about . . . but my name is . . . Rachel Kessler,” she said. She'd never tried to use her name to get special treatment before, but now that she'd gone public, why not reap the benefits? Turned out, there was no benefit. The nurse didn't even blink.

“You're welcome to wait in those chairs over there.”

Just then a dark-haired, frantic girl came flying through the big double doors of the ER. “Where's my brother?” She was gasping for breath. “Frederick Breen. He was brought in a few minutes ago.”

“Let me guess. Long-lost sister?” said the much-too-cynical nurse.

“What? No. I mean, yes. I'm Lizzie Breen. The rest of my family's right behind me.”

Rachel couldn't help it. She stared at the girl so intently she probably verged on rudeness. Lizzie's long dark hair swung behind her in a ponytail, her lively dark eyes brimming with fear.

“He's okay,” Rachel told her. “Head wound but no concussion. Some abrasions.”

The charge nurse gave her a hard look. “Who told you that?”

But Lizzie Breen ignored the nurse and grabbed Rachel by the arm. “Are you the girl?”

“What?”

“The girl who's been making him crazy. He won't give us your name but we've all been speculating.”

Rachel shook her head, bewildered. “He's been working for me. He was protecting me when he got kidnapped. Those men would have taken me if he hadn't stopped them. I'd really like to see him.” Her eyes filled with tears.

“Well, come with us, then.”

Lizzie clamped a hand onto her wrist and swept her into a hurricane of rushing, chattering Breens. Besides Lizzie, the group included an older couple and two tough-looking younger men with buzz cuts; they must be two of the military brothers. Rachel was carried along with them like driftwood on a current. She landed next to a bed on which sat Fred, his head bandaged, a scowl on his face. He looked wonderful to her, although the bruise on his jaw made her want to cry.

When he saw her, light blazed in his weary eyes. And then something else. Maybe . . . wariness?

“Hi Fred,” she said softly. “How are you—” But she didn't get a chance to finish the question as his family all burst out talking at once.

“I had palpitations when I saw the news, I swear I did!” his mother cried.

“We were already planning a rescue mission,” said one of his brothers. “You beat us to it.”

“Just had to be the hero, didn't you? When did you become such a camera hog?” asked the other brother.

“Yeah, I hear they're making a movie.
Zero Dark Salad
,” said the first. “Get it? Kale, salad?”

Fred's injured face turned a mottled shade of mauve. Rachel felt the urge to chase his brothers out, and wondered just how far her rusty Krav Maga skills would go.

“Leave him alone, Jack, you're going to give him a real concussion with all that noise,” said his father.

“Real concussion? What's not real about his concussion?” His mother ran a protective hand Fred's bandaged head.

“I don't—” Fred tried to speak, but didn't get far.

“He doesn't have a concussion,” said his father. “That's the whole point.”

Fred's mother barreled onward, ignoring her husband. She clutched Fred's hand, and drew one of her other sons against her side. “Do you realize that we have four out of five kids here at this moment? And all it took was a kidnapping to make it happen.”

The men laughed, the deep chuckles echoing off the medical equipment. Fred smiled gingerly, then winced.

Lizzie tugged at Rachel's arm and whispered in her ear. “The Breen family has a very weird sense of humor, generally. That's how we deal with deployments and fires and so forth.”

“Are you in the military too?”

“No, I'm more in Fred's line. I just finished EMT training, and now I'm working on my pilot's license. Mom, what are you doing?” Lizzie was yanked forward, into the circle of testosterone surrounding Fred's bed.

“I need a picture of this! I don't know when I'll have so many of you together again, especially since you all insist on picking professions guaranteed to give your poor mother a heart attack. Jack, Zee, get over here.”

Rachel took a step back, then another. She'd never felt so out of place in her life. “I should go . . .” she said, but no one heard her in the cacophony surrounding Fred. Mrs. Breen had drafted a doctor to take the picture, and the bewildered-looking woman was being directed and repositioned and generally manhandled by the Breen clan.

No one noticed as she slipped out the door. Her last thought, before fleeing down the hospital corridor, was that if it weren't for her, Fred wouldn't even be in that hospital bed. If only she could make it up to him. But she had no idea how.

W
hile he was
recovering in the hospital, Fred once again became a sensation. The footage of him emerging from the Carter Street apartment, Kale the kidnapper draped over his back, was replayed over and over again on the national cable news networks. The fact that the kidnapper was a slightly unstable twentysomething who'd only recently become passionate about animal rights didn't take away from the drama. The only other news story that got as much attention was the reappearance of Rachel Kessler.

Her interview was played over and over again. Fred, watching that night, after his mother and the doctor had insisted that he stay overnight in the hospital, noticed with fierce satisfaction that Rachel never mentioned BEAST. Kale and his cohorts hadn't gotten what they really wanted.

But it hardly mattered. Rachel's privacy was completely shattered, judging by the number of times her face appeared on the twenty-four-hour news channel piped into his hospital room.

What would she do now? Her life would never be the same, that was for sure. The news was already showing aerial shots of the Refuge and interviewing her coworkers there. She'd probably need a whole army of bodyguards now; or maybe she'd move somewhere else and adopt a new name and start over again.

The thought tore at his heart. The best thing she could do now was ride out the wave of media attention, then try to regain some sort of privacy. The worst thing for her to do would be to hang out with the so-called Bachelor Hero. Until some of that crap died down, he'd draw even more unwanted attention to her.

For the hundredth time, he relived those moments in Firefly's parking lot. If he were a better bodyguard, maybe he would have noticed the three men before they attacked. Or maybe he should have been quicker to counterattack. He definitely shouldn't have let himself get conked on the head. He'd been so focused on protecting Rachel that it had never occurred to him that he might be a potential target as well.

That oversight had caused this entire mess.

The next morning, he checked himself out of the hospital before any of his family members appeared. It had been great to see everyone yesterday, sort of like getting tossed into a mosh pit. Really fun, but crazy and overwhelming too. And poor Rachel, caught up in the midst of that chaos. As if exposing her identity wasn't traumatic enough, Rachel had been hijacked by his family. It was sort of a one-two punch, and he really had to know if she'd survived.

The get-me-out-of-here look on her face as she'd fled his hospital room didn't give him much hope.

He hailed a cab and gave the driver Rachel's address. On the way, he left a message for his mother and Lizzie. When he pulled up outside the building, he was relieved to see no reporters outside. Either it was too early, or they hadn't located her apartment yet. Something told him it would just be a matter of time.

Inside, he spoke for a few moments with Marsden, who surprised him with a big bear hug. Fred fought his way free.

“I wish people weren't making such a big deal out of it,” he told Marsden. “The dude was a few sandwiches short of a picnic.”

“Sometimes it's the crazy ones who are the most dangerous,” said the security guard gravely. “You can't say he didn't manage to hurt you.”

“Nothing to speak of,” grumbled Fred, rubbing his jaw, which still throbbed. “Do you have access to what the investigators are learning? Have they run up against anyone named Tree yet? He kept mentioning that name. I think Tree owned the place.”

“They all have code names like that, but I don't know which one is Tree. It looks like BEAST recruited Kale about six months after he got the job at the Refuge, which explains how he got past our security check. The three goons they hired don't know much. What are you thinking?”

Fred shrugged. “I don't know. It occurred to me that the group might be a front for Rachel's kidnapper. Tree could be his code name. Kale talked as if Tree was on a higher level than him, but for all I know, he's an imaginary friend. Or his pet caterpillar.”

“Might be possible, but this group is pretty young. No one over thirty-five. But it's worth checking out.” Marsden clapped him on the shoulder. “We're just glad he didn't do too much damage. And you kept him away from Rachel. You did your job, son.”

“Yeah,” Fred said despondently, as he headed to Rachel's private elevator. He wished what Marsden said was true, but he didn't believe it. The guy had done damage—to Rachel's life. Fred had kept him away from Rachel physically speaking, but not in the way that counted most. He hadn't prevented Kale from manipulating her into doing the thing she feared the most. As far as doing his job? That was crap. His job was to protect Rachel. Instead he'd exposed her to even greater danger.

He was trying to form the right apology in his mind when the elevator door slid open on the top floor. A blur of pale flesh and dark hair flew toward him.

“Fred! You're here!”