Page 35 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

Rachel clenched her hands around her mug of coffee. It smelled acrid to her, and the muffins she’d ordered from Cindy’s parents’ bakery clogged in her throat. This was a mistake, a huge mistake. What if he told someone else her secret? She’d have to leave San Gabriel and the Refuge and her only real friends and …

She made to stand up, but he snaked out an arm and stopped her. “Do I get to ask questions?”

She sat back down, jerky as a marionette. “Possibly,” she said, not wanting to promise too much. “What kind of questions?”

“Are you okay now?”

For a moment she went blank. “You mean since the kidnapping,” she said slowly as his meaning sank in.

“Well, yeah.”

Was she okay? Interesting question with no simple answer. “You’re looking right at me. What do you think?”

He narrowed his reddened eyes at her. “I think you’re avoiding the question. That’s okay, it’s probably a dumb question anyway.” He stopped, and scratched the back of his head, leaving a swath of mink-dark hair standing straight up. Staring into his coffee cup, he seemed to draw in a deep breath. “So you’re, what’s the word, the thing celebrities do when they don’t want anyone to spot them … incognito?”

She crossed one leg over the other, not liking the tone of his question.

“First of all, I’m not a celebrity. I’m just a person who happens to be the daughter of Rob Kessler, who happened to make a lot of money and a lot of enemies. Can you blame me for not wanting to walk around announcing my identity?”

He set down his mug with an ominous click. “I didn’t say I blamed you. I just asked.”

She hated the way he was looking at her, as if he was disappointed or maybe annoyed. Annoyed? What right did he have to be annoyed? She shot to her feet. “I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. If I used my real name, people would assume I’m trying to win special favors. If I don’t, then I’m ‘incognito,’ like some spoiled movie star. Incognito. Do I look like I’m incognito?” Even she knew she wasn’t making sense, but the unfairness of the situation made her blood boil. She hadn’t asked for any of this.

“Hang on a damn second.” Fred leaped to his feet too, brushing against his coffee cup, which wobbled dangerously close to the edge of the table. “You insist I come over here after the longest fucking shift in history, throw your fancy apartment in my face, and announce you’re a billionaire. Then I ask one simple question and you jump all over me.”

The shock of his reaction reverberated through her system. No one talked to her like that. No one. Not even her best friends. Definitely not the Refuge staff or Marsden or her father or any of her father’s household staff. “I didn’t throw my apartment in your face. It’s my apartment. That’s all. How do you throw an apartment anyway? I’m not Thor.”

He ignored her feeble attempt at a joke. “You could have met me at a coffee shop, or a park, or at my house. You wanted me to see your place.”

“So you could understand.”

“Understand what? That you’re wealthy? Point taken.”

Their gazes locked. Steam was practically coming out of Fred’s ears. She thought of the panic buttons installed throughout the apartment. One click and Marsden would be up here in a flash. He was probably waiting right outside the door.

She pictured Fred being dragged out of her apartment. That would teach him to be nicer to her. She’d shared her deepest secret; why was he focusing on her apartment? Who cared about that?

She tried one last attempt at an explanation. “I don’t want people to know me as Rachel Kessler, famous kidnapped kid. I want them to know me as Rachel Allen, dog therapist. Is that a crime?”

Fred struck the heel of his hand against his forehead as if a light bulb had just turned on. “The Refuge for Injured Wildlife. You own that place. That’s why there’s so much security. I thought you just worked there.”

“I never said that.”

“You can probably hire every dog trainer in California. I bet you were laughing your ass off at my pathetic little offer of help.”

“No, of course not,” she said hotly.

He didn’t seem to hear—or care. “Is that why you decided to come to my place? You were slumming it?”

“No! That’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous. Right.” Again he passed his hand across his eyes. “My God, and then I kissed you. I was one step away from boning you right there on the couch. You must have been thanking your lucky stars Ella Joy showed up when she did.”

The blood drained from her face. How dare he say something like that? Before he could say any more cruel things, she said loudly, “Three-two-seven,” the code numbers for the voice-activated panic button.

“Three-two-seven? What are you talking about?” Again, Fred scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Rachel, look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. That was way over the line. You threw me for a loop and I’m trying to get my bearings, that’s all.” He gave her an exhausted-looking smile. “Ask any firefighter’s family. End of a shift is no time for a serious conversation.”

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