The Night Belongs to Fireman

by Jennifer Bernard

  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.”

  Vader 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?”

  “Yep,” she said cheerfully. “I probably owe you about fifty gallons of ice cream by now.”

  “I don’t want ice cream. I want a favor. You know the kids across the street? The ones with the single mom who always needs help?”

  “You mean the little ninja speed demons? Oh no.”

  “Oh yes. You offered, Liz.
”

  “I never offered babysitting!”

  “It’s not babysitting. It’s . . . ninja sitting.”

  “Can I actually sit on them? Because that would be a different story.” She giggled. “Fine. What night are we talking about?”

  “Well, that’s the thing.” He explained the situation in terms as vague as possible. A two-week special project that required his USAR and martial arts training. But Lizzie wasn’t buying it; she had a sixth sense for anything related to personal drama.

  “This involves a girl, doesn’t it?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “If it’s Courtney, count me out.”

  “It’s not Courtney. I told you we broke up.”

  “Yes, but I know her, and I know she wouldn’t put up with someone breaking up with her.”

  “Believe me, it’s over.”

  “So it’s someone different. Someone you like? A lot?”

  Fred let his silence do the talking, and it seemed to work.

  “So if I agree to help you, your love life might improve?”

  Again, he let Lizzie think whatever she liked. But once he started working for Rachel, any personal involvement would be completely unacceptable.

  “I’m taking your silence as a desperate plea for help in the romance department. And so I consent to your request,” Lizzie said graciously.

  “You’re a saint.”

  “As long as you let me meet her.”

  “You’re a saint and a blackmailer.”

  He had a much harder time explaining the situation to the Sinclair kids.

  “Someone needs my help,” he told them seriously, after he’d gathered them into his practice studio. “When someone needs your help, you can’t just walk away. At least, I can’t.”

  “But you help people all the time,” whined Kip. “And what about us?”

  “You’ll be fine. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  They all stared at him stonily. “That’s one of those bullshit things grown-ups say,” said Tremaine bitterly.

  “Hey,” said Fred gently. “I know it’s tough.” Maybe their father had said the same thing, right before shipping out for the last time. “But I’m not going off to war. I’m just going to help a friend for a few weeks. My sister’s going to house-sit and she’ll hang out with you. She knows a few self-defense moves, so you can spar with her. Maybe even teach her a few things. And I’ll call your mom every few days so you know I’m okay. How’s that?”

  When he threw in ice cream sundaes, they finally seemed to forgive him.

  He collected enough clothes for a few weeks and took care of some bills. Before he left the house, he did a quick Google search to refresh his memories of Rachel’s kidnapping. At that time in his life, when he was thirteen, he’d just gotten his first girlfriend and had been preoccupied with finding time to make out with her behind the half-pipe in the park.

  Rachel had been going through a very different experience. She’d been snatched on her way home from a neighbor’s house. Her bike was found later, mangled in the bushes. She’d been held for almost a month. The kidnapper had taunted Kessler by sending the local media distorted video clips in which he wore a Freddy Krueger mask. One of them had shown Rachel tied to a chair, blindfolded. In the video, the masked man had brandished a pair of scissors near her face. She didn’t make a sound, not one. In the end, all he did with the scissors was cut her hair, thick black locks falling to the dirty floor.

  How an eight-year-old had found the courage and daring to escape was pretty much a miracle, the reporters kept emphasizing. One article interviewed people close to the family about a year after her escape. Everyone agreed that Rachel wasn’t the same girl anymore. She didn’t talk for months after her escape, and when she did, she spoke slowly and cautiously. One doctor, who admitted he hadn’t treated her, speculated that she might have trauma-induced brain damage. The stories painted a picture of a previously boisterous tomboy who was now afraid to go outside. The fact that the kidnapper had never been caught haunted the family.

  No one knew how it affected little Rachel.

  The story tore at Fred’s heart and made him want to rip that evil man limb from limb. Rachel shouldn’t have to live with that sort of fear hanging over her. No one should.

  And if he could do something about it, even something as minor as hanging out with her until her father testified, he would.

  Chapter 12

  Rachel’s guest suite had its own bathroom, Jacuzzi jets in the bathtub, and a remote control for the curtains. Everything was decorated in shades of sage green and ivory, like a photo spread in one of the magazines Fred’s mother kept in the bathroom. A plush carpet cushioned the bedroom floor, and the bed itself was covered in a silk comforter as light as mist.

  He’d never experienced anything like the luxury Rachel took for granted. The Breen household had been chaotic and loud, and the brothers had been hard on the battered furniture. He’d shared a room with his brother Zee until his senior year. At the firehouse he slept on something little better than a cot. And he’d never given much thought to his own home decor.

  What must Rachel have thought of his utterly ordinary living quarters? Then again, who cared? He’d never aspired to be Martha Stewart.

  “I’ve been thinking about how to make this work.” Rachel appeared at his side with a pile of freshly washed towels. He jumped.

  “You know, I think this carpet’s a security risk,” he told her. “It’s too damn quiet.”

  “Want me to wear a bell?”

  Sure. And nothing else. Damn. He really had to do something about this crazy attraction. “Not you, silly. Anyone who tries to sneak in.”

  She laughed. “Wait until I show you the multilayered security system. You won’t be worried about the carpet. Besides, knowing my father, this carpet is programmed to recognize people’s body weight and set off an alarm if it doesn’t match someone on the approved list.”

  He eyed the ivory pile beneath his feet. “Remind me not to gain any weight.”

  “Anyway, about the ground rules.”

  “Right. Ground rules.” He took the towels from her.

  “First of all, I was thinking we should wipe the slate clean, so we’re starting over on a professional basis.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Her shoulders lost some of their tension. He wondered if it would be “professional” to offer her a neck rub. Probably not.

  She went on. “Neither of us wanted this arrangement, but if we’re very clear about our respective needs, we should get along okay.”

  Needs. Did she have to mention needs? Especially while she was wearing black yoga pants that showed off every curve of her legs?

  “I don’t have needs,” he said firmly, trying to convince himself. “I’m here to do a job, that’s all.”

  “Yes, but if you think about it, we’re going to be living together for at least two weeks. Like roommates,” she added. “When I roomed with Liza, Cindy, and Feather, we had a weekly meeting to air any issues we had.”

  “I’m not going to have issues.” He tried not to laugh at the idea. “I have brothers and I work at a firehouse. We never air any issues. Except after Double D’s meatballs. We have to air the whole place out then.”

  “That’s gross.” At the look of horror on her face, he gave in to his urge to laugh.

  “You have no idea.” He looked at the pile of towels she’d given him. “What’s all this for, anyway?”

  “Hand towel, bath towel, bathrobe, washcloth, just the basics.”

  He scowled down at the pile. “Do I have to use them all? I’m more of a single-towel kind of guy.”

  “You don’t have hand towels? What do you dry your hands on?”

  He shrugged, walking into the sunny tiled bathroom to deposit the towels on top of the toilet tank. Apparently that was the wrong place for them. She immediately hung a smallish towel and a washcloth on the rod next to the sink. The urge to tease her again came ov
er him. “I dry my hands on whatever’s available. If nothing else, the bath mat.”

  “The bath mat?” In the midst of hanging the bath mat on the side of the tub, she clutched it in horror.

  “Of course, I don’t always have a bath mat around. So sometimes I use my own hair. Or my ass cheeks.”

  “What?”

  He lost it, breaking into laughter. “We’ve really got to work on your gullibility while I’m here. Maybe I should charge your father extra for that.”

  She pinned him with wide, suspicious violet eyes. “So you don’t dry your hands on the bath mat?”

  “No, that part was true.”

  He kept his face deadpan, giving nothing away. She took a step closer, and the hair on his arms prickled. He tried really hard not to think about getting her naked in that Jacuzzi tub.

  “Well.” She gave him a sly smile. “Please don’t dry your hands on the living room carpet. The housekeeper would have a fit.”

  He laughed out loud. So Rachel could give as well as she got. Oh yes, this was going to be more fun that he’d thought.

  “We’ll put it in the ground rules. What about the bedspread?”

  “Definitely not, but I’ll consider the sheets.”

  Oh damn. Did she have to mention the sheets? The atmosphere in the bathroom tightened, as if someone had sucked some of the air out of the room. He felt a little light-headed. She must feel it too; her cheeks flushed and she ran her tongue across her lips.

  He took a quick step backward and bumped against the sink. Keep it professional. He wasn’t here to flirt, he was here to work. “How about you show me the security now?

  Rachel shook herself out of her trance and practically ran out of the bathroom. She was going to have to work on her immunity to Fred. Something about his sunny sense of humor really got under her skin. No one ever teased her. People tended to tiptoe around her, not joke around with her. Joking around with Fred felt good. Really, really good.

  She reminded herself that he was working for her father, and only for a couple of weeks, and that she’d been the one to declare their relationship purely “professional.”

  Regaining her cool, she showed him around the rest of her apartment, the spacious living room, the tricked-out office, the entertainment room, the kitchen. It took quite some time to demonstrate all the security measures her father had instituted.