Page 93 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

“I think I’ve been fairly patient.” There was her father’s “soothing” voice again. “You did that interview. Now you need more security. Breen proved he’s willing to take a bullet for you. When it comes to the issue of your safety, I have the final say.”

Rachel dragged in a deep breath, calling on all the grit she knew was in there somewhere, the grit that had gotten her out of that warehouse. “Well then, I’m calling your bluff. Keep the apartment. Keep your security guards.”

The red tinge creeping up her father’s neck told her exactly what was coming next. She held up a preemptive hand. “In case you’re about to threaten to withdraw funding from the Refuge, there’s no need. I reject any further donations from Kessler Tech. I’m going to handle things myself from now on.”

Chapter 27

Since Rachel wanted only to make a clear break, not give her father a coronary, she informed him she planned to stay at the Refuge until she found her own place. She also reminded him that her mother had left her some money, and even though she’d spent most of it on the Refuge, a small amount remained in her bank account. She wasn’t going to be destitute.

The shell-shocked look on her father’s face haunted her as she drove to her apartment building to pick up Greta and a few personal items. She hated making him worry, but how else could she get him to understand she needed a say in her own life?

In the foyer, she briefed Marsden on what had happened.

“I’ll come with you,” he said promptly. “You shouldn’t be on your own.”

“Of course I should be. I’m twenty-five. Everyone should be on their own at some point in their life, don’t you think?” She spread her arms wide and spun in a circle, as if testing her freedom. “I can’t pay you, Marsden, so you’d better stick with the billionaire who can.”

“You know he won’t let you wander around unprotected,” Marsden pointed out. “He’s probably already setting up a security team to tail you.”

Rachel glanced over her shoulder, into the darkness beyond the glass doors. “He might be. But you know something? He can do whatever he wants. I’m going to do what I have to do.”

“And that is?”

“I’m not exactly sure yet. It’s like jumping into a lake. You just close your eyes and go.” She leaned toward her longtime guard, wondering how much a hug would freak him out. Then she stopped worrying and threw her arms around him. His familiar scent of cigar smoke and detergent made her tear up. “Thank you for everything, Marsden. You’ll never know how much it meant to me that you were always nearby.”

He held her in a long embrace. “You have my cell number. Use it if you need me. I’ll come, no matter what.”

“I know you would. Thank you.”

After collecting Greta, her leash, some dog food, her toothbrush, and a bag of extra clothes, she rode her elevator one last time. As she left, she gave the foyer, with its gilt mirror and elegant orchid arrangements, one last sweeping, bittersweet glance, then walked out into the murmuring, starry San Gabriel night.

Here she was. Rachel Allen Kessler. Alone at last.

She glanced down at herself, barely remembering what she’d put on her body for dinner with her father. Skinny black pants, a silky patterned tunic top with a print of gold-stitched tulips. Comfortable black flats with a kitten heel. Most importantly, her biggest purse, a black leather satchel that contained her journal, her wallet, her cell phone, her phone charger, her e-reader, her iPad, dog treats, a first aid kit tailored to animals, a packet of hair ties, and a book of matches that she’d grabbed on her way out of Castles.

She intended to hang on to that matchbook to remind her of this momentous day in her life. Something told her it was going to rank right up there with that other big day, when she’d taken her life into her own hands and run out of that cage.

Once, her therapist, Dr. Stacy, had asked her how she made the decision to escape—what had made her think it was worth the risk. She’d answered that Inga had bitten the guard’s leg and she’d seized the opportunity. At eight, she hadn’t calculated the risks. But now, standing there in the warm May night, with the breeze kissing her face like hope itself, she knew there was a different answer.

Sometimes you just can’t do it anymore—whatever it is. Sometimes you reach that point where the unknown is the only choice you can make, because the known is no longer bearable.

So now what? It was almost midnight. She could find a hotel. She could roam the streets, reveling in her freedom. She could call Cindy and Liza and Feather, let them know about this seismic shift in her existence. More than anything, she wanted to talk to Fred, but she didn’t want to bother him in the middle of the night.

She looked down at Greta, who was surveying the lamplit street, ears perking this way and that, clearly fascinated by this unexpected change in routine. “Let’s go check out our new digs, shall we, Greta?”

The security guard on duty at the Refuge, Tony, looked shocked to see her. “Everything okay, miss?”

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