The Night Belongs to Fireman

by Jennifer Bernard

  Fred paid close attention as she showed him the hidden alarms, the reinforced glass in all the windows, the bullet-proof drapes, the motion sensors.

  “Every time I leave the apartment, I set the alarm that activates the motion sensors. It would be highly unlikely that anyone could come in here undetected.”

  “Is it hooked up to a monitoring system?”

  “Yes. There are cameras all through here.” She waved at the upper corner of the living room, where a discreet wall sconce disguised one of the cameras. “They deactivate when I turn off the alarm system, but any panic button or a voice code will reactivate them. Marsden has access to the video feed and so does the security team at Cranesbill. That’s my father’s place in Marin.”

  He waved his hand in front of the wall sconce, which was cast from imported Italian bronze. “How do you know someone isn’t watching right now?”

  “Because I turned off the alarm. All the cameras are dead.”

  “Do you know that for sure?”

  Rachel shrugged uncomfortably. She’d made her father promise not to ever invade her privacy by activating the cameras himself. She chose to believe he’d honor that vow, but did she know for sure? “I’ve never put it to the test, put it that way. But my dad promised and I believe him. Anyway, he’s a busy man. He has better things to do than spy on his daughter. He just wants to know that all measures are being taken.”

  Fred didn’t look convinced. “Maybe it’s time we put it to the test.” He put his hands to the top button of his jeans.

  “What are you doing?” Alarmed, Rachel grabbed at his arm.

  “Stand back,” he said with mock seriousness. “This is man’s work.”

  “What . . .”

  Turning his back to the camera, he unbuttoned his jeans. From where she stood, a step or two to his right, she caught only a side view, but enough to be struck dumb, like one of those nightmares in which everything moves in slow motion. By the time she gathered the words to protest, he’d already pulled down the top of his jeans, revealing the upper half of his muscular rear.

  Fred was mooning the million-dollar Kessler security system.

  Rachel squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the sky to cave in. Her father would never tolerate a gesture of disrespect like that. If any of the security team saw it, not a second would pass before they’d be pinging their boss, shooting him a still shot of his daughter’s new bodyguard’s ass.

  But nothing happened.

  “How long would it take?” Fred asked cheerfully.

  She pried one eye open to see that he’d refastened his jeans, and was settling them back into their comfortably butt-hugging position. “What?”

  “For your father to be notified, and for you to get a call. What else would you be waiting for? You look like a bomb’s about to drop.”

  “It wouldn’t take long,” she admitted. “By now you’d be fired.”

  “First of all, I doubt that. Your father got the message. Second, now you know.”

  “Know what, that you have a cute butt?” she shot back.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that a fact?”

  Fizzy energy shot through her. Joking around with Fred was better than playing Ping-Pong while sipping Bellinis on a cruise to Mexico. “What I saw of it was all right.” She sniffed. “I didn’t get the full view.”

  “I’m not getting paid enough for the full view.” He winked. “Though I did dance at a bachelorette party once. Just think, if you and your friends had hired some fireman strippers instead of renting a limo, we might never have met.”

  She pretended to consider that. “There’s always next time. Liza’s getting pretty serious with her boyfriend. Anyway, even though what you did was completely inappropriate, I’m glad you did it. You proved my dad isn’t spying on me.”

  “Not really. Just that he’s not spying on you at the moment.” Fred made a circuit of the room, peering at all the electronics nestled in corners and potted plants. “It must be a strange feeling to think you’re being watched all the time.”

  “You get used to it, I suppose. I knew the bathroom was safe, because my father wouldn’t be that invasive. I tend to take long baths.”

  A sudden stillness made his shoulders rigid, as if she’d said something disturbing. Long baths. Did the mention of her taking a bath make him tense up?

  “And I spend a lot of time naked in bed,” she added innocently. “Same situation there.”

  Fred cleared his throat as he inspected a small statue of a shepherdess. “That’s cool.”

  She smiled privately. Fred wasn’t the only one who could put something to the test. Their chemistry was still there, and not only on her side. Even though so much had changed between them, at least their attraction hadn’t disappeared.

  “Do you have any guns in the apartment?” Fred was all business again.

  “Yes, I have a .357 Magnum and a concealed weapons permit. But I don’t like carrying it with me, so it’s usually in that drawer there.” She showed him the ornate little vanity with the hidden drawer where she kept her weapon. “I have an identical one at work.”

  “Why don’t you carry it with you?”

  “Because I’m a horrible shot. Marsden tried to teach me and I did get better after a while. But not nearly good enough. It would be more likely that someone would grab the gun away from me before I could get off a shot.” Learning to shoot had been a nightmare. She didn’t like the pistol’s violent jerk and the deafening retort gave her terrible anxiety that lasted for days. And that was with ear protection. If she had trouble with the gun under the controlled circumstances of a shooting range, how would she manage in a crisis situation? Even her father had eventually agreed they were better off not relying on her skill with her revolver.

  “Have you had any training in self-defense?” Fred was asking.

  “Are you kidding? Of course, starting from the age of about twelve, from a former Mossad agent. Mr. Eli gave me Krav Maga lessons for years. I can handle myself pretty well, but I’ve gotten rusty since I went off to college.”

  “I could work with you on that while I’m here,” Fred offered with a studied sort of casualness. She imagined the close contact a martial arts lesson would require. Pictured his hard body next to hers, adjusting her stance. He’d have to put his hands on her, probably, so she could practice a counterattack. She swallowed hard.

  “I don’t know if we’ll have time,” she said awkwardly. “I have a lot of appointments this week. And then there’s Greta.”

  “Right. Of course.”

  A few days of living in close proximity to the most distracting, fascinating girl Fred had ever known forced him to develop a few survival techniques. He knew she liked to start the coffee so it perked while she showered. As soon as he heard her stirring, and knew she’d be emerging from her bedroom dressed in those silk pajamas designed to drive a man insane, he zipped out of the apartment to walk Greta. He spent the entire walk trying not to imagine her preparing for her shower. Sliding the silky fabric over her taut, ivory-skinned torso. Leaning in to test the water, like a naked nymph. What color would her nipples be? Pale pink, and tasting like rose petals? Or a deep, erotic brown? Usually, by the time he reached the little park where Greta relieved herself, he’d gotten a grip on himself.

  But being with Greta reminded him of the way Rachel lavished kisses and cuddles on her dog. He’d never envied a canine before. Not that Rachel wasn’t kind to Fred as well. His favorite brands of Pop-Tarts and microwaveable dinners had mysteriously appeared in the cupboards. When she discovered his weakness for survival reality shows like Man vs. Wild and Naked and Afraid, she’d ordered them all on Netflix. That’s the way she was. Reserved on the surface, but with a hidden vein of thoughtfulness that could really get to you.

  Three days into the job, he headed out for a sparring session with his Muay Thai teacher. He went through the usual security routine, leaving Rachel immersed in research on a three-toed sloth someone had brought in
to the Refuge. As he walked through the elegant lobby, which was adorned with gilt-framed mirrors and an orchid arrangement, Marsden intercepted him.

  “How are things going?”

  “Fine, sir.”

  The man nodded with an air of satisfaction. “Had a feeling it would work out.”

  Since Marsden seemed to be in a talkative mood, which had never happened before, Fred jumped at the chance to ask a question that had been bugging him since that first day.

  “Mr. Marsden, I’ve been wondering why you recommended that Mr. Kessler hire me. You know I’m not any kind of trained security specialist.”

  “You do all right.” Ruefully, the man rubbed his throat, where Fred had gotten him into a headlock.

  “She should have the damn FBI protecting her,” said Fred. “Not some fireman with a black belt.”

  Marsden pulled him to the side, out of earshot of anyone exiting from an elevator. Fred’s gym bag swung against his thigh.

  “I’ve been working for the Kesslers for a long time, son. Rachel’s one in a million. Brave as hell, and kind. She’d rather die than see someone get hurt. But in all my time, I’ve never known anyone as lonely as that girl. Rips your heart out.”

  Fred’s heart gave a weird little clench. The picture Marsden painted was so sad. “Are you saying she needs company?”

  “She needs more than a dog and an old marine. But she won’t do anything to upset Mr. Kessler, and he keeps a tight eye on her. Thought I’d maybe found a way to kill two birds with one stone.”

  “You mean get her a guard and . . .”

  “A friend.”

  A friend. Marsden had recommended him to Kessler for that? It seemed like an elaborate way to find someone to keep Rachel company. It wasn’t exactly a hardship, after all. Fred eyed him closely, but the guard’s face revealed nothing but innocent intentions.

  A friend. Was that really his true purpose here? In that case, it was too bad the fantasies keeping him up every night weren’t at all friendly. He had to think this over in private. “Well, thanks for thinking of me.”

  He nodded at Marsden and prepared to head out the door, but the man held him back with a hand on his arm. “Another thing, son.”

  “Yeah?”

  “If anyone heard me, Kessler’d have my ass.” He leaned closer. “Don’t pay attention to him. He likes to believe he rules the world, and he’s got his ideas of how people should treat his daughter. They’re not always on the mark, if you ask me. Don’t let him intimidate you.”

  Fred cocked his head. “Just because he’s a billionaire genius and I’m a firefighter? Why would that intimidate me?”

  Marsden laughed. “He shits on a crapper like the rest of us.”

  “I’m hoping I can take your word for that.”

  The guard clapped him on the shoulder. “I knew this would work out.”

  After a week of guarding Rachel, Fred knew there were two things about this arrangement that he hadn’t considered. He adapted to her luxurious surroundings well enough, though he felt like a dickhead trying to figure out her high-tech appliances. Things like titanium, voice-activated toasters and a refrigerator that told you when you were low on eggs. He was pretty good with technology, with all his firefighter training. But computer voices rubbed him the wrong way.

  The second thing—maybe not so unexpected—was how hard it was to be around her without revealing his raging lust for her. Being around her was so much more exciting than being around anyone else. Even though she was mostly reserved, when she did come out with one of her quick-as-a-flick responses or wide grins, the pleasure of it nearly knocked him off his feet. He wondered what she would have been like if her life hadn’t been torn apart by a sadistic kidnapper. Would she be relaxed and giggly and carefree, more like Lizzie?

  It was impossible to say, and he didn’t need to know the answer anyway. He liked her just as she was. It was hard to remember that when he’d first seen her at the City Lights Grill he’d considered her a bit of an airhead. Now that he knew her better, he wished she’d let that goofy side of herself show more. She was too serious, too careful. She poured all her softhearted impulses into the animals at the Refuge. He’d like to see that carefree, laughing side of Rachel again someday. Where was that Rachel hiding?

  Chapter 13

  “He’s just providing extra security until the congressional hearings are over,” Rachel told Cindy in her private office. Cindy was worried that her ungainly young golden retriever, Sir Giggles, was getting too hyperactive and uncontrollable. At the moment, the dog was roaming the training room, investigating the various toys piled in the corners.

  “Oh, I see. ‘Extra security.’ Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

  Rachel turned red. “It wasn’t my idea. Or his.”

  “I think you should put the moves on him,” Cindy said in a loud whisper, crossing one leg over the other. She wore bright red shorts and a gold tank top. She lit up the little office like a torch. “He’s coming to the wedding, right?”

  “Yes, he has to come now—as my bodyguard. I have a date for the wedding.”

  “Don’t tell me it’s that horrid Bradford.”

  “He’s not horrid. He’s on the board of directors for the Refuge.”

  “Yeah, because he’s trying to get into your pants.” She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head.

  “Cindy, I’m not like you. Guys don’t act like that with me. They want . . . something different.”

  Ebullient and gleefully, unabashedly plump, Cindy had been one of the most fun-loving girls in their year at San Gabriel College. She always came back from her wild parties with stories about the boys pining for her. Until she lost her heart to Bean. “You are so naïve. You’re gorgeous, Rachel. Just because you don’t play it up doesn’t mean it ain’t so.”

  “Back to Sir Giggles. You said he’s been almost biting? Grabbing your arms in his mouth?”

  “Yes. Bean’s worried that he’s too aggressive.” Rachel glanced at the lively, curious dog nosing around the room. He didn’t look aggressive in the least. “Now back to Bradford. When did I give you permission to bring that stuck-up stick to my wedding?”

  “You knew I was going to bring him!”

  “That was before you had a sexy bodyguard with a killer ass. Oooh, have you seen him naked yet? Like, when you’re waiting for the shower, and he just happens to forget his towel when he comes out of the bathroom?”

  “He has his own bathroom.”

  “Judge, please direct the witness to answer the question.” Cindy lifted a gold, sparkly-tipped finger, as if signaling a judge.

  “I haven’t seen him naked.”

  “Half naked?” Cindy asked hopefully. “Throw me a bone, here. Not you, Sir Giggles.” At the sound of his name, Sir Giggles trotted over to the table where they were sitting. “What degree of sexy fireman nakedness have you witnessed?”

  Rachel always did have a hard time lying. “Okay. I saw him without his shirt once, and then another time I brought in his clean laundry while he was changing.” Even though she’d backed out right away, the image of his muscular butt in that dark blue underwear was seared permanently into her brain. He looked like some kind of model with his arms overhead, his back muscles rippling, his head caught in his white T-shirt.

  It wasn’t easy sharing living quarters with someone you were wildly attracted to.

  “And?” Cindy asked impatiently.

  “And nothing. A lady doesn’t spy and tell.”

  “Then who’d want to be friends with a lady?” Cindy looked genuinely outraged. Rachel couldn’t help laughing.

  “Okay, I will say that . . . as good as you might imagine he looks . . . multiply that by . . .”

  Cindy leaned closer, her mouth, red as her pedal pushers, open in anticipation.

  “Mmmm . . . maybe a thousand.”

  Cindy sat back, surveying Rachel as if she’d just handed her a box of chocolates. “What was that you said once about a hidd
en camera system at your place?”

  Just then, Sir Giggles apparently decided he wanted in on the party. He rose onto his hind legs and put one paw on the table.

  Cindy turned to him, scolding in a playful voice. “Down, you goofy boy, you know better than that.”

  Ears twitching eagerly, he put a paw on her arm. She gently pushed it off, then went for his collar. “Down, boy, don’t you remember anything those trainers taught you? Honestly, I think it was all a big waste of money. Down, you, down!”

  Sir Giggles’s tail wagged madly back and forth. He put both his paws on her arms, as if they were about to dance, then mouthed her right forearm. Finally, with a constant, breathless running commentary, Cindy wrestled him to the floor. She sat back, exasperated. “See what I mean? He’s impossible.”

  Rachel nearly burst out laughing. “He thinks it’s a game. He’s not being aggressive at all.”

  “A game? But I keep telling him to get down and he won’t listen!”

  “But you’re interacting with him the way a dog at play would. If you want him to stop playing, you need to be very still. And your voice has to be serious, not fun. I know that’s hard for you, because you’re a fun person. Watch me. And don’t say or do anything.”

  The next time Sir Giggles put his paws on the table, Rachel gave a stern, no-nonsense gasp and kept her body ominously still. Surprised, he dropped back down to the floor.

  “Good dog, very good dog,” she told him, and offered him a liver treat, which he gobbled up.

  They went through the same routine again, a few times, until Sir Giggles finally got the point. Staying feet-to-the-floor meant a reward. Jumping on the table brought no fun. Cindy watched, mouth ajar, as Sir Giggles settled quietly and happily next to her chair.

  “I don’t get it. What have I been doing wrong?”

  “Dogs pay attention to your body language even more than your words, so you have to make sure you’re communicating what you intend to. Be careful about rewarding him for bad behavior with something that looks like pure fun to him. Sir Giggles is very smart, so he’ll get it. He just wanted to play.”