Page 87 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

She held tight to his shoulders, suddenly anxious. “Isn’t this going to hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” he gasped, and lurched toward the door. “You know, the first time we met you punched me in the nose. I think things have gone downhill since then.”

“Will you ever forget that punch?”

“Nope. Can you get the button? Hands are a little full here.”

“Just put me down!” she protested. “You’re being crazy.”

“Button,” he insisted. She leaned down, pressed the button and the door opened. With him still carrying her, they made their way to the couch, where he dumped her, torn between laughing and scolding, onto the plush pillows.

Greta rushed to greet them both with an orgy of licks and tail wags. Fred crouched next to her, petting her and assuring her that he was all right and the world was still spinning. Rachel’s heart swelled as she watched the man she loved with her beloved dog. Right at that moment, she was sure she had everything the world could offer her.

When Greta was sufficiently reassured, she turned her attention to chasing down a piece of misbehaving rawhide. Fred rose to his feet and planted his hands on his hips. “Now, Ms. Rachel Kessler, I have a few things I need to say.”

Her heart raced. Was he about to tell her he loved her too? She hadn’t said the words to him, but he must know. The truth must shine out from every pore.

“First thing is, I need to apologize. I should have seen it coming, that I would be a liability because of the Bachelor Fireman thing. I never thought of myself as anyone someone might kidnap. I thought I was protecting you, but I ended up making things worse.”

Apologize? Of all the things he could have said, Rachel never would have imagined that. She scrambled to her knees on the couch so she was eye level with him. “What are you talking about, Fred? None of it was your fault! He was aiming for me, and he nearly got me. If you hadn’t been there, it would have been me who got kidnapped.”

“And if you had? Same thing would have happened. You would have done the interview and they would have let you go.” He shot her a dark, impossible-to-read look, then hesitated.

“What?”

Turning away, he walked to the big picture window, where he shoved his hands in his pockets and ducked his head. Her gaze lingered on his thick glossy pelt of hair, all adorably disheveled at the back. “I’m sorry you did the interview.”

“Well …” She felt completely at sea in this conversation. “Why are you apologizing? It wasn’t your fault some mentally unstable guy decided he needed more publicity. There are some crazy people out there, and sometimes they get what they want.” She knew it all too well; she could give a tutorial on the subject.

He didn’t answer, didn’t acknowledge her point other than with a slight hunching of his shoulders. The distance from the couch to the bank of windows suddenly seemed enormous, even unbridgeable. “What’s going on, Fred? Talk to me.”

After more silent struggle with himself, he straightened his shoulders and turned to face her, his usual easygoing expression turned mulish. “You shouldn’t have done the interview, that’s what. I would have gotten away from him sooner or later. I had the situation under control. He was probably the most incompetent kidnapper in history. He made the Shoe Bomber look like a genius. Why didn’t you trust me to handle it my way?”

Her hands flew to her stomach, as if she’d just taken a punch. “How was I supposed to know he was incompetent?”

“You got his message. Did he sound like a criminal mastermind to you?”

“But … it doesn’t matter! Anyone can be dangerous when they’ve taken control. Even an idiot.” The unjustness of this whole line of conversation finally sank in. “I was trying to help you!”

“You didn’t let me do my job.”

“How can you do your job when you’re a prisoner?”

“I had a plan,” he insisted, with what seemed to her to be sheer, pointless stubbornness. “It was just taking longer than I wanted. Why didn’t you at least give me a chance to make something happen? Instead you rushed ahead and gave him what he wanted. You sold yourself out on national TV. Exactly the sort of thing I was supposed to protect you from.”

“That was my choice.”

“And you chose not to trust me.”

She scrambled off the couch, so she could face him on two feet. Why was he being so obstinate? So unfair? She’d done the interview for him. Instead of gratitude, this was her reward? This completely unreasonable accusation? When people were kidnapped, you were supposed to try to rescue them!

She forced herself to stay calm. Fred just didn’t understand her side of things.

“It’s not that I didn’t trust you,” she said carefully. “It wasn’t that at all. You have no idea what it’s like watching someone get grabbed like that. It was horrible, Fred. I watched them heave you into that van like a sack of potatoes. I felt so helpless. I didn’t know if you were dead or hurt or what. Can you imagine what that felt like?”

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