The Night Belongs to Fireman (23 page)

“Nutty as a Waldorf salad,” muttered Marsden.

“Yes, but
he has Fred
. We have to do something. The money's not going to be enough. He sounds like he's on a crusade. I have to do what he says.”

Marsden swung his grizzled head back and forth like a prizefighter scoping out an opponent. “Might be a fake-out. Enough cash might change his mind.”

“I already sent double,” said her father. “The original amount was almost embarrassing.”

“You already sent double the amount?” Rachel put a hand to her head. Her body still ached from her struggle with the would-be kidnappers. Fred had taken even more abuse; she hated to think how he must feel right now. “That proves it. If money was what they wanted, Fred would be free by now!”

“That kid is tougher than he looks,” said Marsden. “Military family, great firefighting record, fight training. He might be able to take care of himself just fine.”

“Might?
Might?
” Rachel wheeled on him. “He's in danger because he was protecting me. I know what it's like to be totally at some stranger's mercy . . .” Her throat closed up. Ever since she'd watched Fred get bundled into that van, horrible bits of memory had been jumping into her head. The black slime in the corner of the abandoned warehouse. The cockroach family that had scuttled freely across the floor. The sour, gagging stench of the bucket in which she peed.

“Rachel, think rationally for a minute,” said her father in his “soothing” voice that he used to talk her into his demands. It made her want to shred glass. “If you go on TV, your privacy will be gone
forever
. You won't ever be able to have a normal life again. People will know what you look like. You'll be a constant target.”

“I haven't had a normal life since I was eight, Dad! And we don't know for sure that I'll be a target,” she added desperately, even though the picture he painted was basically her worst nightmare. “People have a lot more interesting things to think about than me. It'll be fifteen minutes of fame and then someone else will grab the spotlight. Someone who wants it.”

Her father looked like he wanted to jump through the flat-screen and strangle her. “I'm not talking about the media. I'm talking about people who
wish me harm
. Or the people who want my money. Most importantly, I'm talking about the one who already kidnapped you once and promised to do it again. Have you lost all sense, Rachel? Do you think Fred would want you to do something so risky? Of course he wouldn't. That's why he took this job, so you'd be safe.”

Of all the arguments her father had made, that one hit home. He was right that Fred wouldn't want her to put herself at risk. But this wasn't Fred's decision to make; it was hers. “I already have insanely tight security, Dad. I'm sure that won't change.”

“You're goddamn right it won't. Don't be surprised if it doubles by tomorrow.”

“Fine. Double my security. Do whatever you have to do to keep from getting blackmailed. You're not the only wealthy man in the world. Other people have to deal with this. So we'll deal with it. Just like we always have.”

She focused on her cell phone, even though her hands were shaking so hard she didn't know how she'd manage to dial. As far as she was concerned, the discussion was over. She'd felt obliged to inform her father of what she intended to do, since it affected his life too. But as soon as she'd heard the message, she'd known what she would do.

“I'm sorry, Dad. But I've made up my mind. I'm going to do whatever it takes to get Fred released.”

“If you do that, I'll withdraw all funding from the Refuge.” Her father's harsh statement sliced through the room. His face had gone dull red, his eyebrows slashing across it as if they'd been drawn by Sharpies. “I always knew it was a bad idea. Clearly this lunatic group has some connection to that place. We'll be chasing that down, guaranteed. I already have people researching BEAST. I want to know how they found out who Rachel is, and how they got past our screening.”

“You will,” Marsden said grimly.

Rachel didn't doubt it. But none of that was the point right now. “You want to shut down the Refuge?”

“I want to, yes. I don't think it's safe anymore. But I won't if you agree to let us handle this. I can't permit you to risk your own life for some . . . hired help.”

For Rachel, staring at her father's face on the flat-screen, time seemed to stop. Electric fury performed a sort of catalytic conversion inside her, burning away her fear, her obedience, her caution. Once, she'd watched an oak leaf catch fire, until all that was left was a burning skeleton of veins traced in glowing red. That's how she felt now.

“That's a shameful, despicable way to try to control me,” she said in a low, shaking voice. “This is my decision, Dad. Not yours.”

Her father looked past her. “Marsden,” he said quietly. “Take care of this.”

Rachel swung toward the security guard, who wore a look of deep regret. Would her oldest, most loyal guard, the only one she'd ever truly trusted, try to stand in her way? Would he really do that to her?

She addressed him and her father equally, clutching her cell phone like a lifeline, speaking in low, vibrating tones. “If either of you try to stop me, you're no better than the man who kidnapped me.”

“Rachel, listen to me,” Marsden said softly, holding up his hands to show he wouldn't use force. “We're tracking down the Escalade. As soon as we get the other two men apprehended, we'll know where the kidnapper is, and we'll go in and put things right so no one gets hurt. There's no need to do something you can't take back.”

Despite herself, she wavered. She'd fought so hard for each precious bit of autonomy. Would she have any freedom left once she exposed her identity to the general public?

Marsden pressed his advantage. “Why don't you trust your security team to do our jobs? I'm on your side. I like Fred. Respect him. I don't want to see him hurt any more than you do.”

He'd almost convinced her, but then her father spoke up. “We'll make sure Fred gets a bonus when all this is done.”

At that, all her determination came flooding back, along with her fury. Money couldn't fix everything. It hadn't gotten her free from her kidnapper, and it wasn't going to free Fred. She snatched up the remote control for the TV and clicked the off button. Her father's image disappeared.

The power of that one simple act registered with a kind of shock. She'd never dared to do that before. He must be going crazy onboard his jet somewhere over the Midwest, where he couldn't control things. Couldn't control her.

With Rob Kessler's overwhelming presence suddenly removed, she and Marsden faced each other. He was a military-trained, battle-tested, mentally superior warrior. They both knew she couldn't best him in a physical fight. It would take a lot more than some Krav Maga lessons to make her equal to him.

She could think of only one way to beat him. “Marsden, you've been guarding me for what, fifteen years now?”

He nodded warily.

“I'm grateful for every moment you've protected me. You know me better than almost anyone. Maybe even my own father. You've kept me safe. You've been the best guardian anyone could have.” She reached deep, calling on the bedrock truth of her soul. “But if I don't do something to help Fred, it won't matter how safe I am. Because I won't be able to live with myself. I'm asking you as one human being to another. Let me do this.”

After a long, endless moment, he gave a slow nod. When she dialed the phone number she'd already put into her phone, the one that would change everything, he didn't stop her.

“N
ow we're talking.” Kale said gloatingly, from across the room. “If only you could see all the reporters out there. It's nuts, man. They're going crazy.”

“I don't know if that was such a good idea, calling the news. How are you going to get out of here without getting arrested?”

Fred heard quick footsteps, then felt a whack across the side of his head. He'd received quite a few such blows since he'd been captured. But all his martial arts training was standing him in good stead. He knew how to maintain his focus through pain.

“You're a
hostage
,” said the guy in that whiny, know-it-all voice that was really starting to grate on Fred. “That's the whole point of taking a hostage. They won't do anything to me while I have you. And you're not just any old hostage. You're one of the Bachelor Firemen. Not just that, but you're everyone's favorite. Fred the Bachelor Hero. I couldn't have planned this better. The media's eating this up. This'll put the pressure on Rachel. Big-time.”

Fred ground his teeth. He hated being helpless to correct this ridiculous situation. He didn't mind being tied to this chair, didn't mind the occasional blows, didn't mind the cramps in his legs from being in the same position so long. If the guy hadn't called all the local news stations, he'd be in pretty good spirits.

But knowing that word was getting out, that reporters were gathering, that his family and the crew of the firehouse must be worried—that, he loathed. Just for that, he intended to make this guy suffer.

Unfortunately, Kale had noticed that Fred's wrist bindings were getting loose, and he'd retied them. Fred had to start all over again. And now he felt even more pressure to free himself. Because the kidnapper was right—the more media attention Kale got, the more Rachel would worry about him. He was afraid she was going to do something crazy, like go along with this dickhead's demands. He had to get out of here before she ruined her life on his behalf.

When Kale had refastened his bonds, he'd wrenched Fred's arms together higher up on his back, not noticing that there was a screw protruding from the metal folding chair. If he could just move his arms up and down without the guy noticing, he could snag the bindings on that screw and rip them open.

But now Kale was close by—Fred felt his presence—so he kept still. Kale put a hand on his shoulder, as if they were old friends. The arrival of the reporters had definitely improved his mood.

Kale clicked the TV on again. “Let's see if we're famous yet. Oh yeah. Now that's what I'm talking about.”

The sound of Ella Joy's overly dramatic voice penetrated the room. “I'm live tonight outside a dingy little garage apartment where one of our favorite Bachelor Firemen is apparently being held at gunpoint. Firefighter Fred Breen, who's recently been involved in a series of heroic rescues, is apparently inside that little room up there, at the mercy of a deranged and alleged kidnapper who has yet to make any demands. The San Gabriel Fire Department has been notified, but they've received no communication from the mysterious alleged kidnapper. Breen's family, likewise, has heard nothing. For the last two weeks Breen has been on leave for a special assignment. Although we don't like to speculate, it seems this current situation is perhaps related. Unfortunately, no one at Station 1, where Fred Breen works, is talking.”

Vader's furious voice came next. “Anyone who would threaten harm to a firefighter or to any other public service officer deserves a special place in hell. That's not a threat, mind you. Just something to think about.”

Ella Joy continued. “Reading between the lines, that alleged kidnapper better watch his back. Allegedly.”

“I didn't say that,” said Vader.

“I said allegedly. Anyway, back to the current crisis. A hostage negotiator has been brought to the scene, but so far no one has been able to contact anyone inside that place of hellish captivity. One must wonder what sort of conditions our Bachelor Hero is enduring. Is he being starved? Beaten? Deprived of water? Members of the Fred's My Hero fan club are arriving on the scene, bringing cookies and flowers and teddy bears and anything else they can think of. And look. A banner. ‘Marry Me, Fred!' How cute is that?”

Fred groaned, while the kidnapper laughed like a coyote on meth. “You're media gold, Fred! Pure gold! Seriously, I can't believe how great this is working out! Tree is going to shit himself.”

Fred tried again. “Who's Tree? Why isn't he here?” Even though he no longer thought this kidnapping was connected to Rachel's—Kale had his own agenda—he wanted to find out everything he could.

But Kale shushed him as the next interview started, this one with the San Gabriel chief of police. “We don't comment on ongoing hostage situations. You should know that.”

“Always worth a try, right?” Only Ella Joy could get away with that jaunty shrug of a response. “I thought you might like to help me get the facts right.”

The police chief muttered something along the lines of “hopeless case,” but then rallied. “The only fact is that we will not rest until Fred Breen is safe.”

“There you have it. Chief Rollins, sending a crystal-clear message to that alleged kidnapper. The only question now is, will it work? We will be here, standing vigil with the rest of San Gabriel as . . . Hang on. My producer is saying something in my earpiece. It's so distracting, I mean honestly . . . oh. We're breaking away for a special interview from Melissa McGuire.” She spat out Melissa's name as if it were made of battery acid. Fred still remembered perfectly the time Ella Joy and Melissa had come to dinner at the station. That's when everyone first realized that Melissa and Captain Brody had something going on. Ella Joy and Melissa had been coworkers back then, but now Melissa was an award-winning independent producer.

If Rachel was going to call anyone in the media, it would be Melissa. His stomach sank.
No, Rachel, don't do it
.

“This is it, Fred.” Kale's whiny voice vibrated with excitement. “Special interview. That's got to be it. Yeah, baby! Yeah!”

“Dude, how about you take off my blindfold? You won, right? You're getting your moment of fame. I'd kind of like to see it.”

“But then you'll see
me
, bozo.”

“Don't you want everyone to know the genius behind this whole plan? What point is fame if no one knows who you are?”

Kale grunted. Fred realized he was too caught up in the TV to pay any attention to him. He put all his energy into working the bindings against the metal screw in the folding chair.

With a sense of despair, he heard Melissa's melodic voice float from the TV set. “Thank you, Ella Joy. I'm here with someone we've all wondered about over the years. Seventeen years ago she went through a horrific kidnapping, and today she's coming forward to tell the rest of her story. Rachel Kessler is here with us in the Channel Six studios. In case you don't remember her case, she's the daughter of Rob Kessler, the founder of Kessler Tech. At the age of eight, she was held for ransom for almost a month. She escaped on her own. A truly extraordinary story, but after that she dropped out of the public eye. It turns out that she's been living right here in San Gabriel for the past seven years. Today she contacted me and expressed the desire to introduce herself to you, her neighbors. Rachel, thanks for being with us here on the Channel Six News.”

“Thank you, and thanks for having me.”

Fred heard the nervousness in Rachel's soft voice as she cleared her throat. He imagined how she must look. Did she have that wary look in her violet eyes? Was she smiling at all, or was she hiding that wonderful grin from the public?
Don't do it, Rachel
, he wanted to scream.
This idiot isn't worth it
.

Kale clapped his hands. “There she is,” he said gleefully.

Fred's stomach clenched.

“I'm sure the question on most of our San Gabriel viewers' minds is what you've been doing here, of all places you could choose? Why San Gabriel and not Paris or Argentina, or somewhere far more glamorous?”

“To be honest, I'm not a glamorous person at all. I came here to attend San Gabriel College, and I liked the city so much I wanted to stay. For most of my life, I've been devoted to helping animals, and that's what I do here as well. I run the San Gabriel Refuge for Injured Wildlife. We take in wild animals that have been injured and we also work with some pets when people can't afford veterinarian care. Basically if any animal needs help, it's welcome at the Refuge. We're a nonprofit that survives thanks to our generous donors.”

“Come on, Rachel, say what I told you to say!” the kidnapper yelled at the TV. “This isn't about you and your fucking Refuge!”

Melissa spoke next. “I assume one of those donors is your father, Rob Kessler?”

“He has been, yes.” A hint of hesitation entered her voice. “Along with several other wonderfully generous investors.”

What was that all about? Fred didn't have time to wonder. Just then, the cotton around Fred's wrists separated down the middle with a scratchy
rrip
. If the kidnapper hadn't still been shouting at the TV set, he would have noticed. Luckily, the sound was lost amid his furious curses.

“When you called me, you said you had a message you wanted to deliver,” said Melissa.

“Yes. I wanted to tell you the story of how I escaped my captivity, and how it has guided the direction of the rest of my life, and why it made me so dedicated to helping animals.”

It sounded as if Kale thumped the TV set with his fist. “That's a start. Now mention BEAST.
BEAST
. Just like I told you.”

Fred saw his chance. While the kidnapper kept yelling, he ripped the rest of the bindings off his wrists. He spent a precious moment flexing his hands, getting the blood moving again, then inched up his blindfold to check the lay of the land. Kale was bent over the TV set, his back to Fred. Tall and gaunt, wearing a red plaid, long-sleeved shirt, he hunched over the TV, lit by its blue glow. His mud-brown hair was in a short ponytail.

Just as Fred had thought, he was the tech who'd referred to Rachel as “princess” that day at the Refuge. He gave a quick glance around the dim little apartment and located the knife and a gun, both sitting on a card table shoved up against one of the windows. God, this guy was stupid. Still, he might have more weapons on him. Better be as quick as possible.

Fred reached down, maneuvered the bindings off his feet, quietly rubbed his thighs to get the blood moving, then bounded to his feet. He was on top of Kale before the kid knew what hit him. As they crashed to the ground, Fred felt an elbow crush into his ribs. He ignored it.

“It's over, Kale,” he growled.

“Get the fuck off me!”

He yanked Kale's head backward and wedged an elbow around his throat. “I could kill you right now for what you did to Rachel, asshole. But I know she wouldn't want me to. So we're going to get up and go outside and you're going to surrender to the fucking chief of police. Got it?”

“Fuck you.” Kale twisted around and tried to bite him, which Fred figured gave him license to knock him out. He did that by banging his head against the floor. Then he hauled himself to his feet, shook his arms and legs out—pins and needles everywhere—and slung Dale over his shoulder in the classic fireman's hold.

On the TV, Rachel was still talking to Melissa, selling herself out for his sake. Goddamn it. Why couldn't she have waited even a few more minutes? He uttered a few more curses. He'd been kidnapped by someone named
Kale
. His brothers would laugh their asses off at him.

He headed for the door of the empty little apartment. On his way out, he grabbed the gun and the knife, just in case someone else popped out of nowhere and tried to stop him. The mysterious Tree, for instance.

“You're such an ass,” he muttered to the guy as he manhandled him down the stairs. “You're going to make your stupid animal organization look bad. No one's going to support an idiot who holds a firefighter hostage. Not only that, you made
me
look bad. My brothers are going to eat this up.”

As the only nonmilitary Breen, Fred was already their favorite punch line. But now, he felt even more ridiculous, like a mockery of a “hero.”

The stairwell was empty. The door at the bottom opened onto a dark garage, which was also empty. Maybe the guys in the Escalade had been smart enough to ditch this operation before it got too stupid. Maybe Kale was acting on his own and had simply hired the thugs who'd attacked them outside Firefly. Maybe there was no Tree, no group called BEAST. The whole thing was unbelievably irritating, and to top it all off, his precious two weeks outside the media spotlight were definitely over.

As he pushed open the side door of the garage, the glare of camera lights flooded his vision. When his eyes adjusted, he caught sight of several police cars, a throng of cameras, and some girls crowded behind a barrier. A couple of them screamed, “It's him! It's Fred!”

He held up his free hand, dropping the knife to the ground to demonstrate he wasn't a threat. Nothing like having a bunch of guns trained on you to make you move very carefully. He caught Chief Rollins's eye and indicated the man slumped over his shoulder. “This is the idiot. What do you want me to do with him?”