Page 34 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

And the worst of it was, Rachel looked as if she belonged here. With this backdrop, she looked rare and expensive herself. The thought of his spaghetti sauce and eight-year-old doorman named Kip made his face prickle with mortification.

“I’ll get the coffee. Sit down and rest.” Rachel pointed to a couch upholstered in buttery soft rust-colored suede. A woven throw was artfully draped over the back.

“If I sit down on that I won’t wake up until tomorrow,” he told her.

“Do you want to talk later? We can reschedule. I’m not due in at work until later this afternoon.”

“No, thanks. I don’t have a lot of time. A guy’s coming over to fix the toilet and …” He felt like an idiot talking about plumbing in this immaculate space, with this beautiful girl looking at him expectantly. “Never mind. What did you want to talk about?”

She bit her lip. “There’s a very uncomfortable chair in the corner. Guaranteed to keep you awake. I’ll be back in one second.”

Uncomfortable though it was—the fabric seemed to be made of recycled scrub brushes—he still nearly drifted off. He should have gone straight home for some shut-eye before coming here. He started when she appeared with a tray that held a silver coffeepot and two large mugs. A basket covered with a napkin released an amazing, buttery, sugary, life-is-good fragrance. Mingled with the aroma of rich, dark coffee, it was enough to make him decide the place wasn’t so bad after all.

She pulled another armchair across the soft carpet. “Do you want to sit here now? Have you had enough?”

“Nope. I’m good. My butt is used to it now.” He took a gulp of coffee and downed the pecan raspberry muffin she offered him. Moaning in appreciation, he barely remembered his original reason for being there. But he couldn’t delay forever. “So what’s up, Rachel? If it’s about the media, I’m doing what I can to keep it under control. But there’s not a whole hell of a lot I can do. I’m sorry about Ella Joy showing up the other—”

“My real name is Rachel Kessler,” she interrupted. “Allen was my mother’s name, so it’s not a lie. But my real last name is Kessler.”

“Oooo-kay.” This didn’t seem like groundbreaking news. So she used a different last name. Maybe she liked it better. He looked at her blankly, noticing the tension in her posture and the way she was watching him, as if cringing internally. “Cool,” he offered.

Man, he was tired. He swiped a hand across his eyes, trying to focus.

“That name doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?” The realization seemed to stun her.

He frowned. Rachel Kessler. Maybe it did have a certain ring to it. If only he weren’t so exhausted. “I suppose I’ve heard the name before, but I can’t put my finger on it. Rachel Kessler,” he repeated.

“Try Rob Kessler.”

Now that did strike a chord. A big one. How had he missed that? He shook his head to clear it. “The computer genius billionaire. That Rob Kessler?”

“Yes. He’s my father.”

Her father was Rob Kessler? Fred’s thoughts went on a dizzying carnival ride, the kind that spins you upside down and makes you throw up on your date. Rob Kessler was one of the richest men in the world. He’d invited the daughter of one of the richest men in the world to his house for spaghetti. Then he’d dropped the spaghetti on the floor and ordered pizza. Not only that—horror filtered through him. He’d kissed her. Twice.

Oh God. Did Rachel invite him here to warn him that Rob Kessler didn’t want Fred the Fireman touching his daughter ever again?

“I … I didn’t know,” he managed to get out.

“I know you didn’t know. That’s why I’m telling you,” Rachel said, a bit impatiently. “I felt you deserved to know why I’m so camera-shy, and why I had to leave that night at your house. Very few people in San Gabriel know who I am, and I definitely don’t want the local news to find out. Now you understand, right?”

Did he? He was so confused. So tired and jumbled up. So Rachel had a rich computer genius father, which somehow explained why she didn’t like the media. Yeah, he supposed that made sense. But it’s not like she herself was famous. Reporters didn’t bother with the adult children of billionaires unless they got a DUI or partied with Lindsay Lohan or did something else newsworthy …

And then some long-forgotten fact niggled at his memory. Rachel Kessler. A tech legend’s child kidnapped … held hostage … it had been on all the news channels. He’d been thirteen, and caught up in his own crap, but the story had been so chilling and dramatic, everyone had been talking about it. She’d been held in a tiny cage for weeks. It suddenly clicked.

“Small spaces.”

She gave a tiny, wistful nod, as if the world was closing in once again.

Chapter 10

In the time she’d known Fred, Rachel had never had any trouble interpreting his feelings. Exasperation, concern, the intent to kiss … it was all written right on his face with no attempt at disguise. But now, something had changed. He sat sprawled in her grandmother’s horsehide armchair, peering blankly up at her through bloodshot eyes. Rachel had no idea what he was thinking. Maybe her revelation was no big deal after all. He’d probably seen all kinds of things in his line of work. Maybe he was angry and didn’t want to tell her. Maybe … maybe …

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