Page 39 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

“I didn’t like the idea at first either,” he said matter-of-factly. “I flat-out said no, in fact.”

Anger flared in her eyes, which she finally raised to meet his. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Why would you want to play bodyguard to some incognito spoiled rich girl?”

“Come on now. I never said anything like that.”

“I can read between the lines.”

He tried a smile. “I overreacted, I was exhausted, but I never called you spoiled. I might have called you rich.”

Her lips twitched in a brief smile, which she quickly tamped down. She leaned one hip against the arm of her couch. Greta draped her chin across Rachel’s thigh, begging for some petting. Rachel absently obliged.

“My father is very good at getting his way. He must have offered you something really big to get you to change your mind. Lots of money, of course. But it would probably take more than that. Does the fire department need something? A new engine or ladder or whatever?”

Fred held on to his temper. “We didn’t even discuss payment.”

“Then what? What would make you leave your action-packed Bachelor Hero job to babysit a dog therapist for two weeks? How did my dad talk you into it?”

“I said yes on one condition.” It hadn’t been easy extracting that concession from Kessler, but since it was a deal breaker for Fred, eventually he’d given in.

“What’s the condition?” Rachel must have been rubbing Greta’s head a little too roughly, because the dog gave a slight whimper.

“That he lets me tell you everything. So you know why he wants you to have more protection.”

Rachel froze, her hand still on Greta’s warm, silky head. She knew her father kept things from her. That was his nature. He consumed information like a crack addict, but he gave it out like Scrooge. It had always driven her crazy, but why would Fred care about that?

She eyed him closely, noticing the deep shadows under his eyes and the exhaustion sketched across his face in creases. The poor guy probably regretted ever walking into the City Lights Grill, into the Kessler vortex. But she couldn’t let her softhearted side, which wanted to tuck him into a bed and let him sleep, distract her.

“All right. Tell me.”

Fred didn’t dance around it. “The most recent message your father got from your kidnapper was about six months ago. It came to his private e-mail.”

Chills shot through her. She’d known the kidnapper made a periodic reappearance. Her father and Marsden gave her reports that she knew were carefully edited, but she always sensed when something had happened. Maybe it was time to hear the full truth, with no censoring. “And it said?”

“Like all the others.” He hesitated. “‘To be continued.’”

Nausea clutched her by the throat, darkness crowded the edges of her vision. She’d never forget those words, hissed in that man’s sadistic, mocking voice. She jumped to her feet, dislodging Greta, and stalked into the kitchen. She was not, absolutely not, going to lose it in front of Fred.

She went to the coffeemaker and poured herself another cup, her hands shaking. No wonder her father was freaked out. His private e-mail—that meant that the kidnapper was still lurking around Dad’s territory. She took a deep breath, then another. Okay, so the kidnapper was still tormenting her father. The fact remained he’d made no more attempts on her life or safety. Maybe he didn’t know where she was. Maybe he intended to get to her father some other way.

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.”

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