The sound of a scuffle followed, but since Marsden was a highly decorated former Marine she had no doubt how it would turn out.
She was wrong.
“The least you could do is tell me you want me to leave,” came Fred’s furious voice. She spun around. Astonishingly, he had Marsden in a headlock, and didn’t even seem to be breathing hard. “You invited me here, Rachel Kessler. Don’t you think it’s a little rude to throw me out?”
She clutched her hands together. “Stop it! You’re hurting him.”
“I’m not hurting him.” He released Marsden, who stumbled forward, his hand at his throat. Rachel rushed to help him.
“I’ll be leaving now,” Fred announced to them both, then glanced around the room. “I’m leaving now,” he repeated, more loudly. “In case anyone at the other end of a hidden camera wants to know.”
And he stalked out of her apartment.
Rachel helped Marsden onto the suede loveseat, where he sat, taking in deep, wheezing breaths. “Are you okay?”
“Humiliated. But okay.”
“Oh, that jerk! I can’t believe he did that to you!”
Marsden gave a dry chuckle. “Child, I started it. Took him about half a second to get the best of me. Kid’s got some moves.”
“Well, it seems very rude to me. Stay right here, let me get you some water.” Moves, she thought indignantly as she hurried to the kitchen. He had moves all right. I was one step from boning you right there on the couch. Shivers raced through her at the memory of that statement. Is that really what would have happened if Ella Joy hadn’t appeared? Spontaneous, hot sex—that was the kind of thing Liza did. And hadn’t Cindy had sex in the kitchen the first time she and Bean had gotten together?
As she filled a glass from the filtered water spigot on the front of the fridge, another thought struck her. Fred hadn’t coddled her the way many did. He’d shown her his honest reaction, whether she liked it or not. For better or worse, he hadn’t held back. A secret sense of astonishment curled through her. Whatever else that exchange had been—surprising, distressing—it was real. So few things in her life, aside from the dogs she worked with, ever felt real. Even the Refuge was a carefully guarded bubble.
And in thanks, she’d kicked him out of her apartment. Well, tried to kick him out. Even in that, Fred the Fireman had surprised her.
Fred was halfway down the street, completely caught up in his fury at Rachel’s actions, when he noticed the black sedan cruising next to him. It had black-tinted windows and a German name he didn’t recognize. It looked like the sort of car the CIA might use, or some international assassin. When the rear passenger side window rolled down, he half expected a revolver with a silencer to come next. Except that this was sunny San Gabriel, California, not some spy movie. Instead of a gun, two very intense dark eyes aimed virtual bullets at him.
“Frederick Lancaster Breen. Let’s talk.” The man in the sedan had a deep voice, and sounded like he was in a big hurry.
Fred kept walking. “I don’t talk to strangers. Especially anonymous ones who know my middle name.”
After a brief silence, the man said, “I’m Rob Kessler. Please, this won’t take long. I’ll drive you home.”
“That would be counterproductive, since my truck’s right over there.”
“Then we’ll take a short drive. We’ll be done in fifteen minutes. That’s all I can spare.”
Now that made Fred want to laugh. God forbid he take up too much time during a conversation he hadn’t asked for. After amusement came curiosity. Given how he’d just left things with Rachel, he couldn’t imagine many fond feelings would be coming his way from her father. But maybe he didn’t know about the scene in her apartment. Or maybe he did, and wanted to yell at him about it. Since there was only one way to find out, he got in the car, circling around to slide onto the rear driver side seat.
The black leather interior welcomed him like some kind of exclusive men’s club. He caught the scent of smoky green tea. Steam curled from the stainless steel mug in Rob Kessler’s gloved hand. The man was long and lean, almost emaciated, and sat tailor-style on the backseat. He had dark slanting eyebrows—much like Rachel’s—and a chin studded with dark stubble. He wore a black turtleneck and wire-rimmed glasses.
Fred had read a few things about Rob Kessler over the years, but in his advanced state of exhaustion, he couldn’t remember any of them. Not that it really mattered at the moment.
“What do you want?” he asked bluntly. “I’m late for my nap.”
“I don’t sleep much myself,” said Kessler, taking a sip from his mug. “Rarely more than two hours at a time.”
“Then you’d make a good firefighter.”
“Not a career I ever considered,” he said dryly.
Fred gave an unwilling laugh. “Yeah, well, only a certain kind of lunatic does.”
“Have you ever thought of a different career?” At some unseen signal, the driver began coasting forward. “Around the block, that’s all,” Kessler told them both. “We should be able to finish our business by then.”
“Probably, since I can’t imagine what business we might have.” Fred was truly bewildered, and he didn’t think it was due to sleep deprivation. Something strange was going on here. “As for your question, I considered the military. Air force, most likely. But I ended up with the fire service.”
“You have an excellent record.”
He shifted uncomfortably on the sleek leather. “You checked? Why?”
“I’m an information addict. I can’t ever know enough.”
“But why would you want information about me? I barely know your daughter. And after this morning, I’m sure I’ll never see her again.” That statement made him suddenly miserable. He’d behaved horribly to her, he knew it. Finding out she was Rachel Kessler was like finding out she was Beyoncé—completely and terminally out of reach. “You can stop collecting information on me.”
“Not true,” said Kessler sharply. “You will see her again. I want to hire you.”
“What?” He shook his head, certain he’d misheard. “What the hell for?”
“Protection.”
“She has a security guard. The dude who kicked me out of her apartment.”
“That’s not what the tape shows.”
“I knew there were hidden cameras!” Fred’s triumph shifted to disgust. “You spy on your own daughter?”
“Only when necessary. An unknown man coming to her apartment made it necessary. The video camera activated when she gave the alarm code.”
Fred remembered all the things he’d said to Rachel. Hadn’t he mentioned boning her on his couch? Was Kessler going to murder him now? Was that what this was all about? But no . . . she’d said the code after that part of the conversation. After he’d been so rude.
“What I saw was the second-place winner of the Southern California Muay Thai Championships kicking my security guard’s ass. I want to add you on as a second bodyguard.”
“What . . . no . . . what?” He’d officially stepped down the rabbit hole and landed in a train wreck. “I’m not a bodyguard. I’m a firefighter.”
Kessler ignored him, continuing in his intense, vibrating voice. “I have congressional testimony coming up. That means extra, undesirable media attention. I need someone with my daughter twenty-four hours a day. I need someone living in her apartment with her. Someone quick and smart and strong. Someone she’s comfortable with.”
“That is not me,” Fred said firmly. “She just booted me out.”
“Yes, but you were there because she invited you. She’s never invited anyone inside before. Except her friends, and none of them are bodyguard material. She trusts you, or she never would have told you who she was. I’ve forbidden it.”
Fred swallowed hard. Rachel had broken her father’s rules in order to share her secret with him. In return, he’d tossed it back in her face. He’d acted like a jackass. “I . . . I’m not the right guy. I already have a job. And I only
won second place in that tournament. I don’t have the skills.”
“You as good as won first. No one could beat Namsaknoi Yudthagarngam. He’s been trained from birth.”
“Right?” Fred said eagerly, clapping his hands on his thighs. Sweet vindication. “No one believed me about that.”
“Believe it, it’s true. You’re even better than you thought.” Kessler gave him a funny half smile. “So are you in?”
“No. I don’t know anything about being a bodyguard.”
“You’re skilled with weapons.” It wasn’t a question. Obviously, Kessler had done his research.
“Of course, everyone in my family is. Military, you know. But I don’t like to use guns.”
“That’s good. I don’t want some trigger-happy jarhead around my daughter. I want someone smart, competent, skilled, courageous, and trustworthy. You’re it. Driver, head back.”
Oh no. This was all moving too fast for Fred. Especially at this hour of the morning. “Mr. Kessler, I have a job already. I can’t just leave the firehouse.”
“Two weeks. That’s all I’m asking. Until my testimony’s done. You can take a two-week leave, right? I checked your departmental regulations.”
Fred nodded dumbly. Yes, he could take a leave.
“I’ll sweeten the deal. Something you can’t resist.”
Kessler probably thought he could buy everyone under the sun. “I don’t need any money,” he started to say, but Kessler cut him off.
“I know you don’t. You do okay, and you’re single with no dependents. I know money’s not a big issue for you.”
Of course he knew. Was there anything he didn’t know? Again, Fred thought uncomfortably of the way he’d kissed Rachel.
“But you do need to get the news media off your back. Two weeks out of the spotlight would help. And I can pull some strings at Channel Six. The news director owes me some favors. I can get Ella Joy to drop the Bachelor Hero stories.”
Fred stared. Could this man really do all that? Eyeing his emphatic, bony profile, Fred didn’t really doubt it. “I would definitely appreciate some peace and quiet on that front.”
“I can’t hypnotize the female population of San Gabriel, sadly,” added Kessler with a hint of dry humor. “But I can buy up all the fan club buttons.” He turned his head sideways, narrowing his penetrating gaze at Fred. “You aren’t yet convinced, are you?”
Fred hesitated. “The thing is, I just passed all the training for USAR—Urban Search and Rescue. The crew needs me. There’s only six of us in the whole city. I don’t feel right walking away, even if it’s just for two weeks. I worked my ass off for that gig. And I love it. I finally have a chance to prove myself, and—”
“How much did Rachel tell you?” Kessler interrupted again.
“Um . . .” Fred fumbled to remember. “Just who she was, and then I remembered that she was kidnapped, and—”
“Did she tell you that she escaped the bastard? On her own, except for the help of a stray dog? Did she tell you that he probably would have killed her if she hadn’t? Did she tell you that the kidnapper was never identified, let alone arrested?”
The questions were coming fast as bullets. Fred froze, unable to move, even to shake his head yes or no.
“Here’s something I’m certain she didn’t tell you, because she doesn’t know. I’ve never told her. Every few years, the kidnapper sends me a message. Know what that message is? Same thing he told her every time he put her back in that cage.” The rage vibrating through the man’s body seemed to shake the car. “To be continued. That’s what he says, taunting me like the sadistic demon he is. To be continued. So.” The car jerked to a stop next to Fred’s truck. Kessler drilled Fred with eyes of midnight steel. “I’m going to ask you again, since I know what really drives you. I know you can’t resist someone who needs help. Are you in?”
Chapter 11
“No!” Rachel, doing a fair imitation of a violet-eyed Tasmanian devil, glared at her father, then Fred, then at Marsden for good measure. “I refuse.”
“There you go,” Fred told Kessler. “I told you she wouldn’t go for it.”
“She’ll go for it,” Kessler said grimly.
“Now you’re talking about me right in front of me. That’s even worse than trying to hire a bodyguard behind my back.”
“Two weeks, honey. That’s all it’s going to be. Until my testimony’s done.”
“It’s going to be zero weeks.” Rachel looked truly furious, and Fred couldn’t blame her. The way Kessler treated her must make her feel like a child. “One bodyguard is more than enough, right, Marsden? You’re being paranoid.”
“There are worse things than being paranoid.” Kessler scraped out the words.
Rachel flinched, then turned desperately to her security guard. “Tell him, Marsden. We’re fine the way we are.”
“Truth is, I recommended him.” Marsden jerked his head toward Fred. “We could use him.”
Fred glanced at the older man in surprise. Not more than half an hour ago, he’d had the guy in a headlock. Now he was advocating for him?
“Been feeling some aches and pains lately,” Marsden added, though it clearly cost him to admit it. “Wouldn’t want you to pay for that.”
Rachel looked stricken by that news. She bit her lip then whirled around, turning her back on them all. She had changed into work clothes, a light gray sweater and khaki pants. A clip held her hair in a knot, so Fred could make out the delicate tendons of her neck. Greta trotted to her side and rubbed her head against her leg.
“But why him?” she tossed over her shoulder. “He’s a fireman, not a bodyguard.”
“I’m confident he’s got the right skills,” said Kessler. “And you seem more comfortable with him than—”
Before he could continue, and before Rachel could erupt into a full-scale rejection of him, Fred interrupted. “Can I have a second to talk this over with Rachel?” And before she could get mad that he was excluding her, added quickly, “Is that okay with you, Rachel?”
Kessler gave him a long, intense scrutiny, then nodded once. “You have ten minutes. Marsden, come with me.”
The two men left, the door quietly sliding shut behind them. Fred wondered if they were going to watch the conversation on the hidden cameras. “Do you know how to disable the video system?” He asked Rachel.
Wordlessly, she walked to an Impressionist painting on the wall—he wondered if it was the real thing—flipped it up to reveal a console, and pushed a few buttons. She didn’t meet his eyes, and a slight flush lingered on her cheeks. It occurred to him that she probably felt embarrassed.
“I didn’t like the idea at first either,” he said matter-of-factly. “I flat-out said no, in fact.”
Anger flared in her eyes, which she finally raised to meet his. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Why would you want to play bodyguard to some incognito spoiled rich girl?”
“Come on now. I never said anything like that.”
“I can read between the lines.”
He tried a smile. “I overreacted, I was exhausted, but I never called you spoiled. I might have called you rich.”
Her lips twitched in a brief smile, which she quickly tamped down. She leaned one hip against the arm of her couch. Greta draped her chin across Rachel’s thigh, begging for some petting. Rachel absently obliged.
“My father is very good at getting his way. He must have offered you something really big to get you to change your mind. Lots of money, of course. But it would probably take more than that. Does the fire department need something? A new engine or ladder or whatever?”
Fred held on to his temper. “We didn’t even discuss payment.”
“Then what? What would make you leave your action-packed Bachelor Hero job to babysit a dog therapist for two weeks? How did my dad talk you into it?”
“I said yes on one condition.” It hadn’t been easy extracting that concession from Kessler, but since it was a deal breaker for
Fred, eventually he’d given in.
“What’s the condition?” Rachel must have been rubbing Greta’s head a little too roughly, because the dog gave a slight whimper.
“That he lets me tell you everything. So you know why he wants you to have more protection.”
Rachel froze, her hand still on Greta’s warm, silky head. She knew her father kept things from her. That was his nature. He consumed information like a crack addict, but he gave it out like Scrooge. It had always driven her crazy, but why would Fred care about that?
She eyed him closely, noticing the deep shadows under his eyes and the exhaustion sketched across his face in creases. The poor guy probably regretted ever walking into the City Lights Grill, into the Kessler vortex. But she couldn’t let her softhearted side, which wanted to tuck him into a bed and let him sleep, distract her.
“All right. Tell me.”
Fred didn’t dance around it. “The most recent message your father got from your kidnapper was about six months ago. It came to his private e-mail.”
Chills shot through her. She’d known the kidnapper made a periodic reappearance. Her father and Marsden gave her reports that she knew were carefully edited, but she always sensed when something had happened. Maybe it was time to hear the full truth, with no censoring. “And it said?”
“Like all the others.” He hesitated. “‘To be continued.’”
Nausea clutched her by the throat, darkness crowded the edges of her vision. She’d never forget those words, hissed in that man’s sadistic, mocking voice. She jumped to her feet, dislodging Greta, and stalked into the kitchen. She was not, absolutely not, going to lose it in front of Fred.
She went to the coffeemaker and poured herself another cup, her hands shaking. No wonder her father was freaked out. His private e-mail—that meant that the kidnapper was still lurking around Dad’s territory. She took a deep breath, then another. Okay, so the kidnapper was still tormenting her father. The fact remained he’d made no more attempts on her life or safety. Maybe he didn’t know where she was. Maybe he intended to get to her father some other way.
The Night Belongs to Fireman Page 11
