Titanium

by Linda Palmer

  Titanium

  By

  Linda Palmer

  Uncial Press Aloha, Oregon

  2015

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-199-8

  Titanium

  Copyright © 2013, 2015 by Linda Palmer

  Cover design © 2013 by Linda Palmer

  Manipulated art from canstockphoto /Aaronamat,

  canstockphoto /Mikdam,

  canstockphoto /andreykuzmin

  All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five (5) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Published by Uncial Press,

  an imprint of GCT, Inc.

  Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com

  In memory of

  Andrea Gayle Thorn

  November 29, 1998 - December 22, 2013

  A fierce warrior in her own way.

  Chapter One

  Riley

  October 21

  To: rileyamcconnell@sananelec.com

  From: stevem@stmcenterprises.org

  Subj: Let's talk

  Riley, I know I haven't been much of a dad to you, and for that I'm sorry. Things are different now. I'm different now. Can we talk? Better yet, spend Thanksgiving or Christmas together this year? Baby Ginny would love having a big sister, and my wife Kari hopes you'll be part of our lives, too.

  Dad

  I read the message twice before I slapped my laptop shut in total disbelief.

  Talk?

  Yeah, sure. If the world stopped turning.

  And maybe not even then.

  * * * *

  The food court at City Center Mall was especially crowded for a Saturday night thanks to the Halloween costume contest being sponsored by some of the merchants and our coinciding extended shopping hours. So far, I'd sold tacos to a Lady Gaga, an Iron Man, and a Katniss Everdeen, all of them adults way too old for dress up, even if there was a five-hundred-dollar prize up for grabs.

  So I hustled to keep the diverse waiting line at Tacos y Más short. Behind me, Analena Rodriguez barked orders when simply helping out would've done more good. But that's not the way she rolled, and since she owned the food, I faked a smile and murmured, "Yes, ma'am," every time she yelled at me, which was often. What I really wanted to do was point out how all the changes I'd suggested--and she'd shot down-- would've streamlined the serving line.

  "Is it my imagination, Riley, or is that dude over there stripping you with his eyes?" Shannon Willis handed me a wrapped taco, while never taking her eyes off of the tables in the center of the court.

  "Ew." I tucked the food into a sack bearing the T&M logo and thrust it at the fuming clown glaring across the counter at me. "Thanks for your patience, sir. Enjoy your meal."

  With a growl, the man snatched the bag and stalked off in a very unclownly way. I stole a peek at the guy supposedly ogling me from the east edge of the table area. Sure enough, a good-looking male wearing a burnt orange University of Texas, San Antonio, hoodie and stonewash jeans stared at--or maybe through--me, a slight frown on his face. Was he lusting after my bod?

  I wished.

  But how could he be when my yellow T&M tee and ugly black granny pants hid any curves I might've had? Pleats and cuffs, anyone?

  To be honest, his gaze constantly shifted while he waited for the crowd to thin out. At least that's what I assumed he was doing. At any rate, he didn't have any food on the table at which he slouched alone, with his arms crossed over his chest and his long legs stretched out as if he'd been there forever.

  "Riley! Stop loafing!"

  I automatically grabbed a sack and snapped it open so I could set it on the counter before looking right into the eyes of a zombie with peeling gray facial skin streaked by fake blood. Yikes. He had his hood up, so I couldn't tell hair color, but his eyes were all black, including the part that should've been white, which made him look, well, dead. "That'll be six dollars even."

  As the young man dug his wallet out of his pocket, Shannon passed me his food. He handed me a five and a one. I gave him his sack. When he caught my hand in his, I glanced up in surprise.

  "You're Riley McConnell, aren't you?" His voice sounded gravelly and affected, sort of like Christian Bale's did when he played Batman. He gazed at the plastic tag pinned to my T-shirt, which had my full first name and my last-name initial on it.

  "Yes."

  "Thought so."

  "Do we know each other?" I tried to envision his eyes without the contacts.

  "We had a class together at UT."

  "Oh." Try as I might, I couldn't place the guy, but his face was a mystery at the moment. As for the tall rest of him, a ratty black hoodie and baggy black jeans hid body shape. "Sorry. I can't remember your name."

  "Jason."

  "Hi, Jason. It's nice to see you again."

  "Same." With an enigmatic smirk, he left.

  Shannon elbowed me in the ribs. "Hot guy."

  "How can you tell?"

  She burst out laughing.

  "Shannon! Get a move on!"

  With an eye roll, Shannon got busy making the next hungry customer's order.

  For over an hour, I didn't give staring dude another thought or glance. So when I abruptly realized he was my next customer, I was pleased since I could say with certainty that he was totally hot. With a smile, I began stuffing his food into a sack. "That'll be five-thirty-five."

  He handed me a ten. I dug change from the cash drawer, highly aware of his unblinking gaze. "Three-sixty-five is your change. Enjoy your dinner."

  "Four-sixty-five. It should be four-sixty-five."

  Of course it should. "You're right. I'm a total idiot." With hands that inexplicably shook, I grabbed another dollar from the cash drawer and wished like heck I'd simply looked at the register, which plainly displayed correct change for cashiers who couldn't think on their feet.

  He stuffed the money into the pocket of his hoodie and glanced at my nametag before he turned to go. I couldn't seem to drag my eyes away from his wide shoulders and was still staring when he abruptly pivoted to face me again. "Watch your back, okay?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Nothing. I-- Nothing." Shaking his head as if he wished he'd kept his mouth shut, he walked back to his table.

  Was he limping? Not really, though something about his gait wasn't quite right. Judging from his height and build, he had an athlete's body. Add that to the UT hoodie, and I had good reason to assume he'd twisted an ankle playing football, basketball, or some other sport.

  "Did that guy just threaten you?" Shannon asked.

  Threaten? "Actually, I think it was a warning."

  "What's the difference?"

  "A threat is scary. A warning is...confusing."

  "Shannon! Riley! Madre de Dios. What is wrong with you two?"

  "Nothing, Ms. Rodriguez. We're on it." Shannon got right back to business. I, on the other hand, fumed.

  Why was I even working there? Since being hired, I'd honestly tried to offer ideas for improving the way Analena ran T&M. In some scenarios, specifically ours, more servers equated to less efficiency, as in we bumped elbows
and tripped over each other constantly. Unfortunately, Analena's solution to every problem usually involved hiring another of her son's idiot friends. If she only knew how they acted when she wasn't around and he was in charge.

  Zander

  Watch your back? Had I really just told a perfect stranger to watch her back?

  Yeah, I had. Why? Because "Riley M" was.

  Perfect, that is.

  And a stranger, something I'd have been tempted to change in the past since she was just my type. Now, if she hadn't immediately written me off as psycho, she'd be looking over her shoulder all night.

  Why couldn't I just keep my big mouth shut? Zander Bennett trying to save the world again, I guess. After all, it had worked out so well for me before.

  I snorted a dry laugh and shifted my left leg, which hurt like hell, as usual. My taco wasn't half bad. I could even have eaten a couple more, but I'd have to face the girl with the million-dollar smile again, something I couldn't bear to do.

  I had my reasons--reasons Dr. Darla Davies, my shrink, would've hated. She was all about jumping right back into dating.

  As effing if.

  My world had never been more upside down. I blamed that on the scars, both mental and physical, that no amount of pain pills, antidepressants, exercise, or even pep talks would heal.

  Time, everyone said. These things took time.

  Well, I had plenty on my hands now.

  So I sipped my giant Coke, and let my restless gaze shift from the beautiful brunette with the big brown eyes to the weirdo in the zombie get-up who'd been seriously scoping her out for the past two hours. What the hell was his deal? When he bought his food earlier, he'd struck up a short conversation, but I could tell by Riley M's face that she didn't know him.

  I wished I could read minds. But my psychic gifts didn't stretch to that.

  Bemused, I focused on my queso, which was going cold. So I almost missed the zombie signaling someone. My gaze automatically swung to where he looked and riveted to a body double, right down to the war paint and black gear. When that dude signaled someone else, I realized there was a third zombie and a fourth.

  My skin crawled the way it used to in Kabul.

  These weirdos were up to no good and it involved Riley M, a girl who'd probably lived a life as sheltered as mine had been until four years ago. She had that look about her--the sweet, cherished, completely naÏve persona that meant she'd never understand how much evil there was in this world, much less take my vague warning seriously.

  Should I talk to her again?

  Try to explain the nebulous danger knotting my gut?

  Nah, I decided. Not when my anxiety might be related to my vivid nightmares or, more likely, be a remnant of the paranoia I'd experienced overseas. Death came in so many shapes and sizes. A woman. A kid. An old man without teeth or limbs. Any of them could be under the thumb of the Taliban. Any could be armed.

  But that was then.

  Now I sat in a crowded mall in the land of the free, a mall I visited several times a week, but not to shop. I did other things there: walk, ride the escalator, practice my social skills, which in my case meant brushing shoulders with strangers without flinching. Should've been an easy thing to do, but it wasn't. Not without my M4 carbine within reach, anyway.

  Dr. Davies promised me I'd get better.

  I hoped to hell I would.

  Meantime, I focused on the physical side of my so-called transition back into civilian life, still wondering why in the hell Joey had died in that blast and not me.

  Chapter Two

  Riley

  When my supper break finally arrived, I went to Giovanni's next door and bought two slices of cheese pizza. No tacos for me. By then just the aroma of Mexican food made my stomach knot and my head ache.

  I ate all alone at one of the tables--sadly, hot guy had moved on--dialing up my aunt Leslie while I chewed.

  "Hey, honey."

  "Hey." Chomp. Chomp. "Did you, by any chance, give Steve my email address?"

  I heard the TV go mute in the background. "What was that?"

  I repeated it.

  "Of course not. Why? Did he contact you?"

  "Last week, I think. Or maybe it was the week before."

  Aunt Leslie gasped. "Don't feel obligated to do anything you don't want to do."

  "What?"

  "If that man asks for bone marrow, or a kidney, or something else, you don't owe him a thing."

  I burst out laughing. "You've been watching too many Lifetime movies."

  She wasn't amused. "I'm serious, Riley. That money he's sending doesn't mean a thing."

  I froze, a pizza slice halfway to my mouth.

  "He's only done what the law requires. What matters is that he's never called or visited in the ten years we've had you."

  "What money are you talking about?"

  Silence. "I'm sure we've mentioned your trust fund."

  "And I'm sure you haven't. Are you saying that Steve McConnell is sending me money?"

  "Not nearly enough. When I think how he treated my poor sister..."

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  "For how long?"

  "Their entire marriage."

  "No, no, no. How long has he sent money?"

  "Since we took you in. I can't tell you how badly I've wanted to send it all right back, but Clint wouldn't let me. And now that you've blossomed into a beautiful young woman, Steve is undoubtedly going to use that money to weasel his way back into your life."

  I dropped my uneaten pizza in its Styrofoam container and pushed it away. I couldn't possibly stomach it now. "It never occurred to you that I might want to know this?"

  Another weighty silence. "We did what we thought was best. Steve doesn't deserve you, Riley. He's obsessed with his career. He drinks too much. He cheated on your mother. I didn't want his bribe to sway your feelings toward him."

  "Do you think I'm that shallow?"

  "I'm just saying it would be easy to forgive and forget if he bought you a new car or something."

  "Really, Leslie? I mean, really?"

  "You don't know how he is, Riley Ann. A charismatic, amoral genius who talks the talk but has no comprehension of what love really is. Why, your amazing mother, smart as she was, fell right into his arms. I tried and tried to warn her, but--"

  "I can't talk now." I abruptly ended the call, stunned, hurt, and confused. How could Leslie and Clint have kept something this important from me?

  It changed everything.

  Just everything.

  Beginning with the fact that I wasn't the girl I'd always thought I was.

  Decidedly dazed, I worked in silence and in a funk until midnight, when we finally closed. Since less greedy vendors had done that two hours ago, the food court lay empty and quiet when I joined my fellow workers in the nightly shut-down ritual of T&M. Trash this. Scrub that. Count every freakin' thing. Analena Rodriguez didn't trust anyone and steadfastly compared what food went out against cash register receipts. Heaven forbid someone should help themselves to a soda or snag a stray tortilla chip while we slaved for her.

  Five minutes before one, I finally dragged my tired butt out a back door of the mall. Chilly damp air swirled around me. I zipped my fleece jacket. Having left my car where mall employees were supposed to park--the back of beyond--I had a miserable walk across the asphalt. And since I was the only T&M employee who'd done what she should, I braved it alone and under spotty lighting.

  I saw there were three other cars parked back there but not another human in sight, which always made me wonder why they'd been abandoned. Had the owners hooked up with someone? Did the cars belong to carpoolers? Or were they still there because they wouldn't start?

  I didn't consider these mysteries long. Instead, blocking all thoughts of aunts, uncles, and MIA dads, I mentally worded the notice I would soon place on every bulletin board on the UT campus: Wanted. Housemate who doesn't smoke, drink, or live like a slob. Yeah. Me needing help
with the rent unless... Wait. How did trust funds work, anyway?

  "Hello, Riley."

  I squealed and fell back, my heart thumping wildly. "Jason? Wow. You scared the crap out of me." Ha. Ha. Ha. Or not. "Why are you still here? The mall closed ages ago." I began walking again, faster since the hairs on the back of my neck now stood on end.

  He kept up. "I thought you might need a ride home."

  "Me? Nah. I have my car." I pushed the unlock button on my hand-me-down Honda's key remote. Blip-blip. Flashing taillights on a vehicle parked way too far away. "See?"

  A shadow to my right shifted and split from one of the parked cars in my path. Another zombie joined us, his face a replica of Jason's, making me the middle of an undead sandwich. He wasn't much taller than I, but still scary as hell. "Hey, Riley."

  A shiver ran down my spine. "Do I know you, too?"

  "As well as you know Jason."

  Which, I now realized, was probably not at all. Could this really be happening to me? Dead of night. Deserted parking lot. One nervous girl and two zombies.

  Make that three.

  Another shadow had peeled free of another car and now kept pace behind us, this guy tall and lanky. My heart pounded so hard and fast that it hurt. I wished for the pepper spray I kept in my makeup bag. A lot of good it did me there. Should I scream? Run? Fight? Anything but play victim to this pathetic trio of losers.

  I abruptly braked and challenged them. "What do you guys want?"

  Jason answered. "Thought the four of us could hang out for a while."

  "Not happening." I began walking again, my anxious gaze on my car, just a few yards away now and unlocked. The zombies stayed close. Too close. Much to my annoyance, my knees wobbled with every step. Worse, I couldn't seem to catch my breath. So when I got to my car, I yanked open the door with relief.

  Jason blocked my way inside it and held out his hand. "Keys, please."

  Instead of handing them over, I desperately chucked them into the bushes and spun away. But the other two zombies had formed a barricade with their bodies. Swinging my hobo bag, I nailed one in the head. He ducked under his arms with a yelp. I sprinted across the parking lot to the building I'd just exited, with them two steps behind me. I wrenched open the back door...or tried to.