Page 91 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

He ran back into the firehouse and went straight to the kitchen. Ace, whose turn it was in the cooking rotation, always included vegetables in his meals. Fred flung open the refrigerator door. Jackpot! A plastic container of ripe tomatoes took up an entire shelf. He snatched it up and dashed back through the firehouse with it, ignoring Ace’s outraged yells behind him.

At the base of the tower, he dug his feet into the lawn, loaded up a big, fat, juicy tomato, and let it fly. It landed with a splat right in the middle of the painted 2. The tomato split against the sheet and the juices ran down the fabric. He launched another one, which landed on the F in Freddie. “Call us, reddie!” the banner now read. He could live with that. But he had more tomatoes, so he kept going. Boom, boom, boom. The sheet held up pretty well under the onslaught. Those sorority girls probably bought expensive bedding. He couldn’t bring down the banner, but by the time he’d emptied the bowl of tomatoes, not a single digit or letter could be identified.

He heaved a supremely satisfied sigh. Finally, his world felt a little more like it belonged to him.

“You’re making dinner tonight,” grumbled Ace, who stood to his right, gazing up at the tomato-spangled sheet.

“You can make your damn salad without tomatoes,” said Fred. “Nobody eats it anyway.”

Ace scratched his blond head, then pretended to have a light bulb moment. “Hey, I know what I’ll use instead. Kale.”

“Ha ha.” Fred gave himself lots of credit for keeping his cool.

“There’s a lot you can do with kale, you know? They say it’s a very versatile green. Kale soup, kale salad, kale stir-fry …”

When Fred refused to react, Ace wandered off. “Kale chili, kale casserole …”

Sabina jogged up on his other side. “Good God, Fred. Have you totally lost it? That banner looks like a bad remake of Carrie.”

“You ought to know, Scream Queen.” Fred realized he must feel better, if he was able to dish it back. Sabina didn’t exactly enjoy references to her previous career in the movies.

She gave him a nasty eyebrow-raise. “Joke now, but if that’s a news helicopter up there, you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do. It looks like a murder scene. I can see the headlines now. ‘The Bachelor Hero Massacre. No Tomato Left Alive.’”

Fred felt a smile get started. “Maybe that sorority will take it as a warning.”

Mulligan arrived behind him; Fred knew because a hard clap between his shoulder blades made him rock forward. “It’s good to have you back, Freddie-boy. I was getting tired of collecting all the panties the ladies were leaving for you. It’s hard work, man. You owe me.”

His smile gained steam. God, he loved this firehouse. Loved his job, loved his crew.

More of Vader’s statements came back to him. Women will fight like demons for someone they love.

Rachel hadn’t mentioned anything about love, but what if … what if … ?

His smile suddenly expanded into an all-encompassing, beaming grin.

“You all right, Stud?” Sabina took a wary step away from him. “You look like you just took a hit of something.”

“Yeah. Well, sort of. Maybe. Or I will be. Maybe. If what I think might be true is true.”

Mulligan and Sabina stared at him in mystified silence for a moment. Then Mulligan threw up his hands. “Aw hell. I recognize that expression. Another one bites the dust. You’re in love, Freddie. Aren’t you?”

Rachel’s father arrived without warning, as usual. She couldn’t seem to convince him that the fact that he owned the apartment didn’t give him carte blanche to barge in whenever he wanted. He whisked her off to dinner at Castles, where they ate surrounded by his security guards.

Rachel tried not to think about the last time she’d been there, for Cindy’s wedding, the night she and Fred had finally made love. It had been one of the most amazing nights of her life, and now everything between them was ruined. She still didn’t understand how or why, even though she’d been thinking about nothing else.

Inside the restaurant, a few curious glances came their way, but not nearly as many as she’d feared. Maybe the reappearance of a long-ago kidnapping victim wasn’t all that fascinating.

“You’re not happy,” said her father in his abrupt way, after they’d ordered mushrooms en brioche a la diable over a saffron-infused risotto—or something along those lines. Fancy food was lost on her. “Why aren’t you happy? You got your way. Breen got out. You didn’t even have to mention that ridiculous group.”

“I’m happy.” But even to her ears, she didn’t sound happy.

“What’s wrong? Something happen I don’t know about? How’s Breen? Hospital said he walked out on his own.”

“I think he’s fine.”

Her father pounced on that. “You think? Where is he? You give him the night off because we’re covered?”

“He … um, isn’t guarding me anymore. It was only until your testimony, remember?”

He fixed her with that relentless black stare of his. “He left? Get him back. You need a bodyguard more than ever, thanks to your brilliant move. Breen proved himself.”

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