Page 98 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

Fred wanted to ask if “being there” had to mean poking him in the ribs, but instead he stayed quiet and let her pull the covers over him. Mercifully, she left him alone after that, announcing that she was going to make some grape Jell-O, their mother’s surefire comfort food.

Alone at last, he bunched up his pillow to make it more comfortable. Lizzie. What a pistol, cheerleading for him like that. The funny thing was, before he met Rachel, he would have thought Lizzie’s lecture was ridiculous, trying to convince him of his heroic qualities. But now … now … after everything that had happened, something had changed inside him. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t Rambo, or his brother Trent, or even Captain Brody. He didn’t need to be Prince William or Bill Gates either.

He was Fred, he was a firefighter, and he was the man who loved Rachel Kessler with his whole being.

And he was cool with that.

A short sleep, then he’d try Rachel again. And maybe Marsden for good measure. Marsden always knew what was going on. He’d know if someone had defaced Rachel’s car, or if the kids had imagined the bumper sticker and it was really a bumper car, and he’d bumped Rachel too hard against the side wall and sparks were flying everywhere, like thousands of fireflies released from a jar, and the light was so beautiful it was terrifying, and Rachel was cowering away from it, shielding her face with her arm, but it was no use, because …

He jerked awake. Something was wrong. Rachel was in trouble. He knew it. He didn’t know how or where, but he knew it.

Even though Rachel knew she’d be giving some control back to her father, she had to let him know about the bumper sticker. As soon as she left Fred’s house, she called Marsden.

“You’re sure it says, ‘To be continued’?”

“Of course I’m sure,” she snapped, not in the mood for silly questions. “But I don’t know how long it’s been there. I didn’t notice it until someone else pointed it out.”

“Do we need to check on that someone?”

“No! I don’t think an eight-year-old kid could be my long-lost kidnapper. Look, you know I hate to say this, but I need you. I don’t even have my gun. I left it in the apartment. Are you there right now?”

“No, your father switched up the security teams since you’re not living in the apartment anymore. I’m halfway to Marin, but I’m turning around right now.”

“No, no, that’s okay. Is there anyone still in San Gabriel? Oh, of course! The security guards at the Refuge. Do you know who’s on tonight?”

“I believe it’s Mick. He’s been with us for a while. Very competent. Want me to give him a call?”

“Yes. Tell him I’ll meet him at the Refuge. Thank you, Marsden, that makes me feel a little better. Maybe I’ll stop at the apartment and grab my gun. Two is better than one.”

“No, Rachel. Don’t stop that car until you get to Mick. He can take you back to your place. The building isn’t under guard right now, and whoever left that bumper sticker could be waiting for you there.”

“Crap, you’re right, you’re right.” Rachel pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. That bumper sticker had freaked her out so much, her thoughts were all scrambled. The sight of that message had made her realize that at some point, she’d stopped believing the kidnapper was still interested in her. Now she felt as if the world had shifted into a kind of doomsday scenario nightmare. “I’ll go straight to the Refuge. Will you call my father and let him know what’s happening? He’s probably still mad at me, but he’ll want to know about this.”

“You bet I will. He’ll definitely want to know. Tell you the truth, I think he’s still in shock that you haven’t called begging for his help yet.”

“I hope he doesn’t think that I’m begging for his help now. I don’t want his money, just a trustworthy guard for the night.”

“Don’t worry. Your dad will probably have security pouring back into town within a couple of hours. You’ll be all right. Lock your doors, keep driving, and don’t stop for any reason until you reach the Refuge. I’m beeping Mick right now.”

Relief flooded through her. “Thank you, Marsden. I feel better already.”

“Good. But don’t relax. Be smart.”

“I promise.”

After she ended the call, she saw that Fred had called. He was probably wondering why she’d been so rude. Should she call him and let him know what was happening? Absolutely not, she decided. He was injured, and she didn’t want him to jump into rescue mode. She could call him and try to explain away her weird behavior, but she doubted she could pull it off. Not when she was this rattled.

Instead, she sent him a quick text. Call you later.

Later, when she’d found Mick and gotten the situation under control.

Fred didn’t answer back. Despite her determination not to involve him while he was injured, she longed to hear his voice. What if she never got a chance to hear his voice again? What if she never got a chance to tell him she loved him?

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