Page 92 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

“He never had to prove himself to anyone,” Rachel answered, irritated on his behalf. “Anyway, I can’t just ‘get him back.’ He had a job, and he went back to it.”

“So? We’ll offer him more money. Double his salary. Quadruple it, who gives a fuck? Enough zeroes and he’ll come back.”

“Dad, it’s not about the money. In fact, he says he doesn’t want his paycheck.”

Her father tilted his head back and let out his odd, dolphin-squeal laugh. “That’s good. I like him. I like him a lot. Tell him we’ll double his salary. Hell, what else does he want? A house? A motorcycle? Figure out some kind of signing bonus type thing, and throw that in too.”

The brioche dish arrived, fragrant steam pouring from the little vents in the pastry. Rachel pushed it away from her. “You don’t get it, Dad. He’s done with the bodyguard job.” He was also done with her, but she didn’t want to mention that. It was still too painful, and her father didn’t even know they’d ever been involved. Better to keep it that way.

“I’ll talk to him,” he said, arrogance pouring off him the way the steam rose from the brioche. “Don’t worry about it. You watch, I’ll have him back at work in no time.”

“What are you going to do, Dad, kidnap him? I told you, he’s not interested.”

“I won’t have to kidnap him. I have other ways.” He tucked into his brioche, his eyes flickering shut for a moment as the flavors hit him. Rob Kessler loved his food, though he was notoriously particular. He’d probably only have one or two bites. He went for a brief dose of flavor, then moved on to the next dish. He’d once explained to Rachel that he liked to be in control of the food and not allow its savoriness to defeat his own willpower.

Her father’s willpower was a force of nature.

As she watched him consume his few bites of brioche, Rachel imagined her father marching into Fred’s firehouse, or maybe his little house in the suburbs, prepared to use all his weapons to bend Fred to his will. Bribery would come first. Then a threat of some kind. Maybe he’d try to make Fred feel worthless, as if he needed to be in the Kessler orbit to have any future. Maybe he’d play on Fred’s fear of not being as important as his brothers. When her father wanted something, he was relentless. The only time he’d failed was during negotiations with her kidnapper.

She rose to her feet, rattling the plates and drawing attention from nearby tables. She didn’t care. Her message to her father was too important to deliver sitting down. “Dad, listen to me very carefully. Manipulating me is one thing. I let you because I love you and I don’t want to hurt you. But you cannot, absolutely cannot, bother Fred.”

Her father blinked once, then put down his fork, and waved for a waiter to remove his plate. “I manipulate you? And you ‘let me’? I don’t know what you’re getting at, but you’re out of line.”

“You know exactly what I’m saying. If you mess with Fred, I won’t go along with your rules anymore. I’ll leave that apartment. I’ll walk around without protection. I’ll do whatever I want.”

“You’d do that?” A low, dangerous hum vibrated in her father’s voice.

Even though her hands were sweating so much she had to grip them together behind her back, she held her father’s snake-charmer gaze. She couldn’t back down. Not now. If she gave so much as an inch, he’d take it. “I would. I don’t want to, because I know how much you’d worry. I know how hard it was when the kidnapper had me. But I can’t let you bother Fred Breen. It’s not fair to him. I don’t have a lot of leverage here, but I’ll use what I have.”

“Rachel, I appreciate your concern for Breen.” He paused as the waiter set another plate before him, some sort of baked fish, its dead eyeball staring up at the two of them. “But I think you’re bluffing. You’ve lived under my protection your whole life. You’ve never lacked for anything. You don’t know how to survive on your own. Why would you want to? Yes, you’re bluffing.”

“I’m not. I’m not bluffing.” But she was shaking. She willed herself to stop, so that her father didn’t think she was afraid. She’d never stood up to her father in such a decisive way. She’d fought to go to a regular college, she’d fought to start the Refuge. But each time the final decision had been up to him.

This time, it wasn’t up to him. She couldn’t let it be.

“How do I know you’re not bluffing?” Her father dug a fork in the breading that encased the fish. Juice leaked onto the plate. He tilted his head at her, as if she was providing welcome entertainment, almost as good as the fish.

“Do you love me, Dad?” she asked suddenly.

“Of course.” His black eyes flashed with outrage. “How can you ask that?”

“Then why aren’t you listening to me?” She heard the helplessness in her voice, fought against it. More than anything, she hated feeling helpless. That’s how she’d felt in the kidnapper’s cage. And she’d felt that way, to some degree, every day since her kidnapping. Every day that she’d allowed her life to be dictated by someone else.

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