Page 14 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

Rachel had caught a quick glimpse of the driver’s bloody face after the crash. The poor guy didn’t need her father on his case too.

“Dad, stop trying to blame someone. It was just an accident. They happen. You can’t control everything. And it turned out okay, didn’t it? None of us are hurt.”

“But a shot of you might have slipped through. I don’t like it, Rachel. My gut says this is trouble. It’s a sensitive time right now. My congressional testimony is scheduled for later this month and we’ll be beating off the media with a club. I’m sending an extra bodyguard down there.”

Rachel gripped her phone, feeling another primal scream coming on. She couldn’t let all her efforts to carve out her own life slip away. “No, Dad. No, no, no. I don’t need another bodyguard.” She didn’t mind security, but she hated being shadowed. “You already have Marsden reporting in twice a day. Why don’t you just implant some kind of chip in me so you always know where I am?”

A short silence followed. Horror washed through her.

“Dad. Please tell me I don’t have a chip.”

“You don’t have a chip.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Rachel. I would never do something like that without your permission. But it would give me some peace of mind.”

“Oh my God.” She clutched at her head, feeling a thudding ache coming on. “I’m going to forget you ever said that. And no bodyguard.”

Deciding that a large amount of coffee was needed to deal with this conversation, she crossed to the expansive, state-of-the-art kitchen. The coffeemaker was already set, which meant the cleaning crew had been in yesterday. She pressed the button, suddenly longing to be at work, where she actually did things.

“All right. No extra bodyguard for now. But you have to keep your eyes open. If anyone recognizes you from the news, you call me. I sent you some links to the footage that aired. You might be hard to identify, but then again, we don’t know who’s watching. Remember what happened your freshman year?”

“Of course I remember.” A rave at a San Gabriel College frat house, an accidental hit of Ecstasy, and she’d let her real identity slip. Luckily, the guy had accepted her father’s hush money. The experience had put her off partying for good. Except for last night, of course. A wistful smile crossed her face as memories from the City Lights Grill came back. For a short time, she’d actually felt lighthearted and carefree.

What had ever happened to Fred’s trophy, anyway?

“I’ll be careful, Dad. I promise. I mean, I already live like a nun, but I’ll try to kick it up a notch to saint.”

“That’s my girl.”

Rachel ground her teeth.

“Whatever you do, stay away from Channel Six. They’ll probably be trying to figure out who the crazy missing bridesmaid is.”

“Good to know I’ve made my mark.”

“Last resort, we hire another bodyguard.” He hung up before she could protest.

“Grrrrr.” Conversations with her father often left her in this state of mind, frustration in a tug of war with love. She knew her father would do anything for her, and anything to keep her safe. He’d failed once, and he’d never recovered from it. Neither of them had.

Standing at the huge picture window with its panoramic, bulletproof view, she stretched her arms overhead. A quick inventory of her various aches and twinges told her nothing was too injured.

A discreet knock on the door signaled Marsden’s arrival. “Come in.”

As her longtime security guard walked into the apartment, she realized with a pang that he was showing signs of age. His tight-curled, close-cropped brown hair was dappled with gray, he was getting a little jowly, and he moved with his usual morning stiffness. The man didn’t say much, and he didn’t try to boss her around, which made him the only bodyguard she’d ever felt comfortable with. He was from the South Side of Chicago, his wife had died a few years ago, and his two sons were grown. Other than that, he didn’t say much about himself.

“Thanks for filling in my father,” she told him as she poured him a cup of coffee. She added a dollop of cream and a healthy scoop of sugar, just the way he liked it.

He shrugged. “Seemed like he already knew.”

“Sometimes I think he has spy satellites on a direct feed to his brain.”

Marsden hmphed, sitting on one of the bar stools at her kitchen island and taking a long swallow of his coffee. “Nice brew. Thanks.”

She eyed him carefully, debating her next question. Marsden had been in the Marines for a long time before her father had hired him. He’d raised a family. He knew much more about the real world than she did.

“What do firefighters like?” she blurted. It had occurred to her that she ought to thank Fred the Fireman in some way.

Marsden barely raised an eyebrow. “Depends on the firefighter, I’d say.”

“Okay, well, a young firefighter.” A very attractive one. “Very … um … good at his job.” She pondered for a moment. “I was thinking maybe a fruit basket, like the ones Kessler Tech sends to clients.”

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