Page 10 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

Reaching Vista Street, she turned right, toward her apartment building. It was only a few miles away. Surely she could face a short ride with Marsden at the wheel. She’d open all the windows and keep her head halfway out the window, like a dog enjoying the rush of wind against her face.

Okay, she could admit it. Her behavior wasn’t always what most people would call normal. But she’d learned over the years not to judge her occasionally weird reactions. Her only real regret was punching Fred, who’d been extremely cute and kind and strong and someone she could absolutely develop an enormous crush on given the opportunity. Which she wouldn’t have, thanks to her temporary return to Crazytown.

She wondered why the reporter had called him Stud. Most likely because she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed his thoroughly obvious hotness. Put him out of your mind, she advised herself. Punching someone who’s trying to rescue you, then fleeing with no explanation isn’t the recommended method for attracting a guy.

With a big sigh, she dug out her cell phone and called Marsden. “The limo had an accident,” she started to explain, her voice wobbling, the shakes starting again.

“Stay right where you are. I’m on my way.” His gruff, worried voice nearly made her cry.

“I’m at—”

“I have your location.” He ended the call. Of course he had her location. All Kessler employees were equipped with the most cutting-edge technology, as befitted members of the Kessler Tech empire.

She put her cell back in her purse, and rubbed her arms against the slight night chill she hadn’t noticed in the throes of her adrenaline rush. As soon as Marsden got her home, she’d feed Greta, her border collie; take a shower; change out of her blood-speckled party clothes; and go to the hospital to check on Cindy, Liza, and Feather. She’d overheard one of the paramedics say that everyone was alive and responsive.

But as she knew all too well, some injuries couldn’t be seen from the outside.

The next morning, Fred’s nose still ached and had turned purple. He considered blaming it on his epic bout with a Muay Thai master, but unfortunately, he was pretty sure the whole incident with Rachel had been caught on camera. As he padded gingerly through his sunny, tract-style house toward the kitchen, he vowed not to turn on the TV today. He did not want to know what that embarrassing moment looked like on Channel Six.

He also had no intention of setting foot inside his favorite spot, his garage–turned–martial arts studio. He’d started studying jujitsu, then gotten into Muay Thai, and become so dedicated he’d banished his truck to the street so he could use the garage to work out. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one who liked to work out there.

Barely eight o’clock in the morning, and already the three bright-eyed Sinclair kids from across the street were sitting on his front porch. As soon as they caught sight of him through the front picture window, they banged on the door until he opened it.

“You locked your door,” said ten-year-old Tremaine indignantly. “How we supposed to get in if you do that?”

“You’re not supposed to get in unless I want you to,” explained Fred. Not that he’d ever turn them away. He got a huge kick out of the kids, and they were nearly as obsessed with martial arts as he was.

“Aw, man. That’s cold,” complained Tremaine’s twin, Jackson, as they all bounded into his house, as if propelled by a slingshot. “Dude, whazzup with your face?”

“Accident,” said Fred shortly. He didn’t want to think about his damn nose. Every time he remembered last night, it throbbed. “Where’s your mom?”

“She’s studying.”

“No, she’s in the shower,” said little Kip, who was two years younger and very literal-minded. “Then she’s studying.”

With three rambunctious boys, their mother, Jasmine, had her hands full. Fred didn’t mind helping her out, but at the moment he could use some peace and quiet.

“Why don’t you boys come back later and I’ll teach you some new moves?”

“What about breakfast?” Kip, who was going through a growth spurt, asked.

“You haven’t eaten yet?” Fred winced as he bent to pick up the newspaper off the front porch. Maybe he’d go to the gym later for a sauna.

“Mama said she’d pay you back if you give us some Froot Loops or something. While she’s studying.”

“Froot Loops are not a healthy breakfast.”

“She said you’d say that, and that she’d pay you double for a healthy breakfast.”

Fred unrolled the newspaper. Usually he did a quick scan for news from the various parts of the world where his brothers were deployed. But today the crane accident dominated the front page. Crap. He rolled the paper back up. Maybe he’d give it to Stan, the firehouse dog, as a chew toy. “Your mom drives a hard bargain.”

Kip took his thumb out of his mouth again. “If that’s too ’spensive, we’ll take the Froot Loops. We won’t tell.”

Fred had to laugh at that. The kids were so cute. Their father, a member of the Army Rangers, had been killed in Afghanistan. They’d told him that they’d only seen their father for short bits of time. Jasmine got some money from the government, but her real challenge was time. She was trying to finish her real estate training so she could bring in some extra cash.

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