Page 96 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

“Thank you, kind sir,” she told him with a princesslike nod. Greta rushed past her, running to each boy in turn to sniff and make friends.

“Welcome to the ’hood,” said one of the twins. “We been practicing our routine. Want to see?”

“I’d love to, but I’m looking for Fred—”

“What you want with him?” The second twin sidled closer to her. “He’s no fun anymore. We wanted to spar but he kicked us out, said we had to play by ourselves for a while. I don’t know if he’s gonna want to see you.”

Rachel didn’t know either, but she figured she had to take her chances. “So he’s here?”

“He’s inside with his sister,” said the kid. “Talk about no fun! She babysat us for two weeks and we had to do our homework every day. Every day. You know how hard that is? Every day!”

“Sounds completely inhumane.”

“And you know what? I know that word, ‘inhumane,’ because she made us spell it. Spell it. What’s the point of studying spelling when everyone’s got spell-check? Even my cheap-ass phone got spell-check.” The boy’s righteous indignation made her laugh.

“It sounds like she took good care of you.”

“And no Froot Loops either,” piped up their little brother.

“Yeah, she made us eat muesli. That’s what she called it. Meeeyoooslee. What kind of food’s named muesli? Sounds like a damn Pokemon.”

Rachel burst into laughter, which made the boys look even more disgruntled. The front door opened, and Fred stepped out, with Lizzie right behind him. The sight of him sparked tremors all the way to her core. He looked so yummy, barefoot, in a white T-shirt and black sparring pants, his dark hair just a little rumpled, his square-jawed face lit with a big smile just for her. Even though he looked tired and bruised, the eager light in his shining dark eyes still pulled her like a beacon.

That horrible, distant, hurt look he’d had during their fight was completely gone. Her heart jumped. Maybe there was hope for her. For them.

The boys were still talking but she no longer paid any attention. She took a step forward, toward the man who truly was the light of her life. Everything would be okay between them, it had to be. Once she’d explained that she’d acted out of love, he’d understand. He’d kiss her and hold her and make love to her and …

When a small hand grabbed her pants leg, she stumbled.

“Let me go,” she said to whoever was keeping her from Fred. “What are you doing?” When the tugging didn’t stop, she finally looked down. The smallest boy held a handful of her black pants. He gestured toward her car.

“Why you have a bumper sticker on your door?”

“I don’t have any bumper stickers,” she said, turning back to Fred.

“Yeah, you do. It sure is a funky one,” said one of the twins. “Says … To Be …”

She swung around, nearly sending the youngest brother flying. A bumper sticker was plastered on the passenger door of her car, at an angle, as if someone had just flung it there in passing. But it wasn’t a mistake. Oh no. Not with that message.

To be continued.

Shock fizzed from her head to her fingertips. The kidnapper was here. Or he’d been near her. He knew her car. Who knew what he was planning? Whatever it was, she couldn’t put these little boys in danger. She needed to get away from here. Now. Get out. Get out.

Waving at Fred, Lizzie, and the boys, she called, in as normal a voice as she could manage, “I forgot I’m supposed to be somewhere. Greta, come.” Looking a bit confused, Greta trotted to the car and jumped in. “I’ll call you later, Fred, okay? Bye, guys. Bye, Lizzie. Have a nice night.”

She managed to buckle herself in without giving away her panic. Barely daring a last precious glance at Fred, who was staring after her with a puzzled frown, she started up the car and pulled away from the curb.

Chapter 28

“What was that about?” Lizzie peered after the taillights of Rachel’s reinforced Saab.

Fred shook his head slowly. “Maybe the boys said something to upset her. Or maybe she wasn’t ready to see me yet. I was an asshole the last time I saw her.”

“Yeah, but she drove all the way over here. Why would she turn and run as soon as she saw you? I mean, that bruise is bad, but not flee-at-the-sight-of-you bad. Not even puke-at-the-sight—”

“I get it. I look like hammered shit.”

“See, I never understood that one. Who hammers shit? Why? Why would anyone—”

“Lizzie, don’t you have somewhere to be? I really don’t need this twenty-four-hour guard service.” His family had refused to give him a moment’s peace. They called it keeping an eye on him in case he showed symptoms of concussion. He was starting to call it harassment. He hadn’t even had a chance to see Rachel, even though he’d been thinking about her nonstop; now she’d disappeared right before his eyes.

“A soldier never leaves his or her post,” said Lizzie with a mock salute. “Especially a Breen.”

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