Page 44 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

“You get used to it, I suppose. I knew the bathroom was safe, because my father wouldn’t be that invasive. I tend to take long baths.”

A sudden stillness made his shoulders rigid, as if she’d said something disturbing. Long baths. Did the mention of her taking a bath make him tense up?

“And I spend a lot of time naked in bed,” she added innocently. “Same situation there.”

Fred cleared his throat as he inspected a small statue of a shepherdess. “That’s cool.”

She smiled privately. Fred wasn’t the only one who could put something to the test. Their chemistry was still there, and not only on her side. Even though so much had changed between them, at least their attraction hadn’t disappeared.

“Do you have any guns in the apartment?” Fred was all business again.

“Yes, I have a .357 Magnum and a concealed weapons permit. But I don’t like carrying it with me, so it’s usually in that drawer there.” She showed him the ornate little vanity with the hidden drawer where she kept her weapon. “I have an identical one at work.”

“Why don’t you carry it with you?”

“Because I’m a horrible shot. Marsden tried to teach me and I did get better after a while. But not nearly good enough. It would be more likely that someone would grab the gun away from me before I could get off a shot.” Learning to shoot had been a nightmare. She didn’t like the pistol’s violent jerk and the deafening retort gave her terrible anxiety that lasted for days. And that was with ear protection. If she had trouble with the gun under the controlled circumstances of a shooting range, how would she manage in a crisis situation? Even her father had eventually agreed they were better off not relying on her skill with her revolver.

“Have you had any training in self-defense?” Fred was asking.

“Are you kidding? Of course, starting from the age of about twelve, from a former Mossad agent. Mr. Eli gave me Krav Maga lessons for years. I can handle myself pretty well, but I’ve gotten rusty since I went off to college.”

“I could work with you on that while I’m here,” Fred offered with a studied sort of casualness. She imagined the close contact a martial arts lesson would require. Pictured his hard body next to hers, adjusting her stance. He’d have to put his hands on her, probably, so she could practice a counterattack. She swallowed hard.

“I don’t know if we’ll have time,” she said awkwardly. “I have a lot of appointments this week. And then there’s Greta.”

“Right. Of course.”

A few days of living in close proximity to the most distracting, fascinating girl Fred had ever known forced him to develop a few survival techniques. He knew she liked to start the coffee so it perked while she showered. As soon as he heard her stirring, and knew she’d be emerging from her bedroom dressed in those silk pajamas designed to drive a man insane, he zipped out of the apartment to walk Greta. He spent the entire walk trying not to imagine her preparing for her shower. Sliding the silky fabric over her taut, ivory-skinned torso. Leaning in to test the water, like a naked nymph. What color would her nipples be? Pale pink, and tasting like rose petals? Or a deep, erotic brown? Usually, by the time he reached the little park where Greta relieved herself, he’d gotten a grip on himself.

But being with Greta reminded him of the way Rachel lavished kisses and cuddles on her dog. He’d never envied a canine before. Not that Rachel wasn’t kind to Fred as well. His favorite brands of Pop-Tarts and microwaveable dinners had mysteriously appeared in the cupboards. When she discovered his weakness for survival reality shows like Man vs. Wild and Naked and Afraid, she’d ordered them all on Netflix. That’s the way she was. Reserved on the surface, but with a hidden vein of thoughtfulness that could really get to you.

Three days into the job, he headed out for a sparring session with his Muay Thai teacher. He went through the usual security routine, leaving Rachel immersed in research on a three-toed sloth someone had brought into the Refuge. As he walked through the elegant lobby, which was adorned with gilt-framed mirrors and an orchid arrangement, Marsden intercepted him.

“How are things going?”

“Fine, sir.”

The man nodded with an air of satisfaction. “Had a feeling it would work out.”

Since Marsden seemed to be in a talkative mood, which had never happened before, Fred jumped at the chance to ask a question that had been bugging him since that first day.

“Mr. Marsden, I’ve been wondering why you recommended that Mr. Kessler hire me. You know I’m not any kind of trained security specialist.”

“You do all right.” Ruefully, the man rubbed his throat, where Fred had gotten him into a headlock.

“She should have the damn FBI protecting her,” said Fred. “Not some fireman with a black belt.”

Marsden pulled him to the side, out of earshot of anyone exiting from an elevator. Fred’s gym bag swung against his thigh.

“I’ve been working for the Kesslers for a long time, son. Rachel’s one in a million. Brave as hell, and kind. She’d rather die than see someone get hurt. But in all my time, I’ve never known anyone as lonely as that girl. Rips your heart out.”

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