Page 13 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

Yup, that was life as the overprotected only daughter of America’s third wealthiest man.

Gathering herself together, she plucked her phone off her nightstand. “Yeah, Dad. I’m up.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Rob Kessler’s intense, rat-a-tat voice pulsed through her iPhone as if it was impatient with such a flimsy physical tool. It was like being woken by a jackhammer.

Right away her hackles rose. “Because I’m fine. My friends are fine too. Cindy has two broken ribs and Liza has a concussion and …”

“And Feather has multiple abrasions, I know. I have my sources at the hospital.”

“So much for patient confidentiality.”

Her father let out his trademark harsh bark of a laugh, as if a real laugh would take too much time. Rachel wouldn’t be surprised if her father had hacked into the patient records. When he wanted information, nothing stopped him. As one of the world’s foremost experts on computer security, he knew all the tricks. And he didn’t hesitate to use them when it came to his only child.

“I figured Marsden would fill you in on everything, so why take up your time with a redundant phone call?”

“He did. But that’s no excuse for not calling me. An agreement’s an agreement.”

Ever since her kidnapping—which was basically since she could remember—her father had been almost unbearably hyperprotective. She couldn’t blame him. To be helpless in the face of anonymous kidnappers must have been maddening. And then there was the unsettling fact that Rachel’s kidnapper had never been caught or even identified. It was like living with the proverbial other shoe hanging over your head. She tried to remember that at moments like this.

“I’m sorry, I should have called. I was with my friends at the hospital and then I came home and conked out. I was going to call you first thing.” She slid out of bed and padded into the living room, which was dominated by floor-to-ceiling windows. They didn’t open, of course, being made of special reinforced glass. The heavy drapes were actually bulletproof.

She drew one open and looked down at the rest of San Gabriel’s charming suburban landscape. In her opinion, spring was the most beautiful time of year here, when the jacarandas bloomed and the hills held a tender shade of green instead of their usual parched brown. Greta stood next to her, as if enjoying the view along with her. She held her favorite toy in her jaws, a simple length of rope that she loved to chase around the apartment. As a puppy, Greta had been abandoned in a concrete sewer. It was hard to believe she was the same traumatized pup.

Smiling fondly at her dog, Rachel tugged the rope from her clenched jaws and tossed it across the room. Greta went bounding after it.

“We might have another problem,” Rob Kessler said. She pictured her father, sitting tailor-style at the special desk where he kept his array of computers. He detested chairs, and always insisted that everyone sit on cushions on the floor.

“The reporters,” she guessed. “But I was careful to hide my face. That fireman helped me.”

“Frederick Lancaster Breen from San Gabriel Fire Station 1.”

She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Fred,” she corrected, to prove she knew something her father didn’t. Besides, she’d developed a real fondness for the name. It was so unpretentious and straightforward. It would always make her think of a helping hand reaching out in comfort.

“Also known as Stud.”

So much for knowing more than Rob Kessler. He probably even knew why Fred was called Stud, but she wasn’t about to ask that. “Okay, so you’ve already found out everything there is to know about the poor random firefighter who happened to stumble onto the scene. What’s the big problem?”

“One of Channel Six’s cameras managed to get a shot of your profile while Breen was carrying you to the ambulance. Somehow I missed that one. I managed to keep everything else off the air.”

Everything else. He must be referring to her freak-out.

Greta panted next to her, her moist brown eyes begging for another toss. “You’re insatiable,” Rachel whispered to her.

“I’ve put in a call to Dr. Stacy.”

Rachel gave a silent, horrified Noooo that made Greta back away. She’d had enough sessions with Dr. Stacy to last her two lifetimes. Sure, the therapist had probably saved her sanity. But she wasn’t that fragile anymore, no matter what her dad thought.

“It wouldn’t hurt to talk this over with her. It must have brought back … well, you shouldn’t have been stuck in that vehicle.” His voice deepened to a fierce growl. “Someone ought to be fired. Starting with that drunken construction worker.”

“Dad! Don’t you dare fire anyone.” After her kidnapping, Rob Kessler had fired his entire security staff, and he’d been a little trigger-happy ever since. “It was probably just an accident. Do they know what happened?”

“Untrained asshole downed too many six-packs, then decided to prove he could move a load of shingles. Charges are being filed, not by me but by his boss. I’m not happy with the limo driver either. He was supposed to keep you safe, that’s why I hired him.”

---