Titanium

by Linda Palmer

  I pulled into my driveway around two-thirty, just in time to see Zander exiting the house. He wore nice jeans and a rust-colored polo shirt that made his brown eyes pop. I braked. He waited, clearly wondering what I was doing there that time of day.

  "You look very nice," I told him as I walked up.

  "Thanks. Why are you here?"

  "I've been sacked."

  His eyes flew open wide. "Are you shitting me?"

  "Nope."

  "Why? A trained chimp could've done what you were doing."

  "Gee, thanks."

  He winced. "That came out wrong. I meant the work didn't look all that hard, and you did it so well."

  I hooted and gave him the scoop.

  "You could probably complain to someone and get your job back."

  I thought about it for a nanosecond. "I'm not sure I want it. Where are you going? Not that it's any of my business."

  "I'm meeting a friend. Don't know how long I'll be gone."

  "Okay. Have fun." I watched until he got into his truck and left. Was I wondering who the friend was? Not exactly. Gender interested me more than a name. Just as I stepped on my porch, Cheap Charlie stuck his head out his door. I reluctantly wiggled some fingers in hello.

  "You should've told me you were looking for a roommate," he said.

  "It's okay to have one, right?"

  "Sure. I was just thinking that we could've consolidated space and freed up one side of the house."

  So he could make more money? As if. "Zander's an old friend."

  "Ah."

  For the zillionth time, I wondered what the guy did for a living besides own the duplex. He called himself an "entrepreneur," but all I'd ever seen him do was jog early every morning. No matter what time of day I came or went, his battered Ford Pinto always sat in his drive. And when I asked him to fix things on my side of the house, he invariably went the least expensive route to do it. Hence the nickname I'd given him.

  "Would you like to go to a movie sometime? I have a friend who works at the theater. He can get us in for free."

  "I don't have time to date." I escaped into the house where I shook off his cooties with a full body shiver before I got busy doing laundry and washing dishes. That finished, I stood in the living room wondering if I should do a little cleaning.

  "What would Aunt Leslie do?" I spoke aloud. "Yep. Get her nails done. The cure-all for everything."

  When I stepped out of the nail salon almost two hours later, sporting a French manicure unemployed me couldn't really afford, the sun had begun to sink on the western horizon. Listening to the radio in my car, I pretty much zoned during the drive home until I realized that the same silver SUV had been following me for miles.

  I instantly turned down a side street. So did the SUV, which followed me all the way to the duplex. It took a lot of courage for me to bolt from my car and run to the front door even though the SUV had gone right past when I wheeled in and parked. What if the driver had stopped somewhere just out of sight? What if he came back on foot? Assuming it was a he. The tinted windows of the vehicle had hidden the identity of the person driving.

  Ducking inside, I whirled and locked the door. Whew. Was I losing it? Seeing danger where there wasn't any? Very possibly. But my heart pounded anyway.

  I turned and hung my purse on the hall tree before I started toward the kitchen. Two steps later, I stopped in my tracks. Something didn't feel right. What, exactly, I didn't know. But I was decidedly spooked when I began moving again. Snagging a couple of the cookies, I took my Coke and went back to the living room. That's when I caught it--the subtle scent of men's cologne.

  Although I'd never smelled that particular brand before, I couldn't be sure it wasn't Zander's. So I went to his room, spotted some on the dresser, and sniffed it. Different. Had someone been in the apartment? Goosebumps skittered down my arms. I immediately began an inspection of the area to find out if anything had been taken. But everything looked fine.

  Had Cheap Charlie let himself in? He had a key now, and I wouldn't have put it past him. In my opinion, he was the kind of creep who'd drill tiny holes in the walls to spy on naked renters.

  When no one jumped from a closet or behind a door, I began to settle down. Paranoid much, Riley?

  Zander got home around six. Though he didn't have a long golden hair on his shirt or lipstick on his collar, he was definitely in a good mood, which made me wonder he'd just made a booty call.

  Oddly enough, he, too, stopped in his tracks and inhaled the air. "What's that smell?"

  "It's not your cologne?"

  "Nope." Like a bloodhound he began to walk around the room, sniffing. He zoned in on the couch, where he snatched up one of the matching throw pillows. Sniff. Sniff. "Did you spray this with something?"

  "No." I took it from him and sniffed. My nose filled with the scent. My eyes met Zander's.

  "This is new, right?" he asked.

  "Are you kidding? That thing's older than dirt."

  "I meant the smell."

  "Oh. Yeah, it is."

  "Someone was here. Someone who deliberately sprayed this thing so you'd know."

  I sank to the cushions. "Oh God."

  "Don't freak, okay? We'll figure this out."

  I couldn't even answer. Someone had walked around and touched my things. Some sick someone who wanted me to know. "Do you think it was Charlie? He has a key."

  Zander shook his head. "He'd be a fool to leave you a clue. You might move out, and this place isn't exactly prime rental property."

  "That's true."

  "Don't give whoever's doing this your peace of mind."

  "How can I not?"

  He pulled me to him. "You can remember I'm around, that's how. You're safe with me."

  Loving the way it felt to be in his arms, I tipped my head back to look at him. "Unless we handcuff ourselves together--which sounds like fun, by the way--there will be times you're nowhere around. You have your life; I have mine."

  He frowned slightly. "Maybe we should buy you a gun."

  I slipped out of his embrace. "I'd probably just shoot myself or, better yet, arm the enemy."

  Zander stood in silence for a few moments, clearly lost in thought. "We should go somewhere for a few days. You're free. I can be."

  "Like where?"

  "Let me think on it. Meanwhile, I'm going to use the ground beef that's in the freezer."

  "You cook?"

  "One of my many talents."

  "Should I call Sergeant Brian about this?" I wondered aloud, my gaze on the pillow.

  "And tell him what, exactly?" Zander left me and went into the kitchen, where he washed his hands. When it came to drying them, he was out of luck. I had paper towels on my grocery list, which didn't help now, and all the kitchen towels were in the dryer. I pointed in that direction. He left me to get one, leaving droplets of water in his wake.

  When he came back, he had a sage green hand towel I instantly recognized. "What'd you do with the stuff that was laying on that?"

  "There wasn't anything."

  Brushing past Zander, I went into the tiny cubbyhole that was the laundry room. He was one step behind me. I patted the top of the dryer. "You got it from here?"

  "Roger that. Why? What's wrong?"

  "I had clothes spread on it to dry." I searched all around, but they just weren't there.

  "What kind of clothes?"

  "Undies. Delicate stuff the dryer wrecks over time."

  Zander got very still. "Are you sure?"

  "Of course I'm sure!" I pounded my fist on the dryer this time. "They were right here!"

  "Shit!" His cheeks flushed. "What's Sergeant Brian's number? I'm calling him."

  "No, I'll do it."

  The sergeant answered on the first ring. "Brian here."

  I told him everything. A long silence followed my rush of words. "Does the dryer belong to you?"

  "Came with the apartment."

  "That eliminates fingerprinting. Wouldn't be much
point. And there were no visible signs of a break in?"

  "None."

  "Have you asked your neighbor if he's seen anything suspicious?"

  "No, but I will."

  He sighed. "I hate to say this, but I don't think there's anything I can do for you right now. I'll make a report, of course, and I want you to call me if anything else happens, big or little. If this guy's escalating to another kidnapping attempt, I need to know."

  "Okay."

  "Are you and Zander still just friends?"

  What a question. "Uh-huh."

  "But he's staying close, right?"

  "Very."

  "Thought that might happen." His voice had a laugh in it. "Call me if you need to. Anytime."

  I ended our conversation and turned to Zander, who stood inches away. "Would you mind asking Cheap Charlie if he saw anyone lurking today?"

  His eyes narrowed. "Why me?"

  "Because I don't want to talk to him again."

  "Again?"

  "He asked me out." I opened my mouth and stuck a finger in it, pretending to gag. But Zander didn't laugh.

  "No shit." He glanced toward the door, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah, I'll definitely ask for you."

  Out he went. A couple of minutes later, he came back. "Says he hasn't seen anyone around."

  "Was that the truth?"

  "No."

  I gasped. "Then you have to make him talk."

  "You mean beat the crap out of him?"

  "No, no, no!" I never doubted he could do just that. "Isn't there another way to get to the truth?"

  Zander grinned. "Yes. I rephrased the question. I asked if he'd seen any strangers around. He said he hadn't."

  "So wording of the question matters?"

  "Always."

  "Tricky gift, that built-in lie detector."

  "You have no idea," he told me with a heavy sigh.

  Zander

  "Fan outrage continues to escalate as Steve McConnell releases more details of his current project, bringing his wildly popular Titanium graphic novel series to the big screen. Steve, what do you say to fans who think Cory Walls is the wrong choice to play your iconic hero?"

  Steve McConnell again, still trying to defend his decision to go Hollywood. I had a pretty good hunch that his finances had something to do with. He might be cool, but he probably needed money just as much as the next writer. Tie-ins--movies, toys, video games--equaled wealth.

  Riley instantly swiveled her chair from the desk so she could see the TV better. That didn't surprise me. She liked to keep up with the stars as evidenced by the websites she surfed. And though I hadn't seen any graphic novels lying around, she'd probably read a comic book at some point.

  "I'm asking Titanimites to give him a chance. Cory is very talented. I believe he'll do the part justice."

  "Did the studio influence your choice in any way?"

  "My contract with Warner Brothers states that I retain full creative control."

  When Riley caught sight of me standing in the doorway to the kitchen, she abruptly turned her chair back around to begin typing again. An email, I assumed. From a boyfriend? She looked a little flushed. Or maybe just some of her friends from home staying in touch. God knew she didn't seem to have many in San Antonio. In fact, the only person I'd heard her mention was some chick named Shannon, apparently a coworker at the taco stand.

  Well, since she couldn't seem to remember to log off-- obviously hadn't shared a computer before--I'd probably find out when I got on to check for mail from Angela and the Army buddies I kept up with. With that on my mind, I tried to call Kyle again. Still no luck.

  My thoughts jumped to Riley and her random comment about the handcuffs. Did she have any idea what teasing like that did to a guy who hadn't had sex in way too long? Not that I was into handcuffs. But they did bring to mind a vivid image, and like most males I tended to be very visual. I allowed myself to think about sex with Riley for two seconds--okay, maybe three and a half--before I shut down that side of my brain. There'd be no sex with Riley or any other woman for a long, long time. And only then if I was much more comfortable with my body than I was now.

  Yeah, my sex life could be counted as another casualty of war.

  My bedroom thoughts segued naturally to the stolen lingerie. I'd kill that bastard Jason with my bare hands if I ever caught him inside the apartment. The mystery of his managing to get in today consumed me when I wasn't obsessing over Riley. No broken glass. No scratched up locks. How the heck had he done it? And why hadn't I asked Cheap Charlie straight up if he'd let someone in? My not doing it proved how pissed I'd been that he'd asked Riley out. With my short fuse, I didn't dare go back over there tonight.

  Riley thought he must be working from his home or living off rental properties. We'd ruled out wealth. Why would a rich guy be content living in half a house? This dump, in particular? And the car he drove was a certifiable POS, as in piece of shit even older than Riley's dinosaur.

  Turning, I got back to the business of cooking. Chili, something I did well. Riley would definitely be impressed. I smiled, but only for a second before I frowned.

  Why would I try to impress Riley?

  Chapter Nine

  Riley

  Though I typed a reply to an email from Lilly Baker, a high school friend, my mind stayed on my father, whose face I'd just seen plastered all over the TV screen. Had he missed me since he ran away? Had I crossed his mind every once in a while or not at all? I supposed he had to think about me sometime. After all, he sent money every month even though the courts had surely let him off the hook when I turned eighteen. But why contact me now instead of before? Was it because I could take care of myself? Or was Leslie right in assuming he had an ulterior motive?

  He appeared to be in good health, so clearly didn't need my body parts. Had he emailed because his shiny new wife wanted him to? Or because of their baby? Had Ginny's birth reminded him he had another daughter out there? But no. He'd started sending me money from the get-go. All at once, I needed answers. Abandoning the computer, I went to my room. I stared out my window, my back to the door, as I waited for Leslie to answer her cell phone.

  "Riley! Finally. Is your phone working? I've left a hundred voice mails."

  "I got them."

  "Why haven't you called me back?"

  "How much money has Dad sent me? And I want specifics, please."

  "Why? Has he emailed you again?"

  "I asked you a question, Leslie. Can you please just answer it?"

  "Hmph! You'll have to talk to Clint. I leave all that to him."

  "Fine. Is he there?"

  Dead silence was my answer. My uncle got on the line. I asked him the same question, but only after I confirmed that the checks were still coming in.

  "You have over one-hundred thousand dollars in your trust fund."

  My cell phone hit the hardwood floor with a clatter. Thank God for Otterboxes.

  "Riley? Are you there?"

  I scooped up the phone. "Steve has sent me that much money?"

  "Not exactly. I've invested wisely through the years."

  "Thanks for that. Tell me how trusts work. Can I get into mine?"

  "Not until next year without penalty. Why? Do you need money?"

  "I just got fired from a crappy job and was already living on Raman noodles and TV dinners. So yeah. I do. How much do I have in savings?"

  "The sale of your mother's house and car netted you fifty- thousand. Ten thousand has been spent on tuition and books so far."

  "So I have forty thousand dollars. Wow. Can I withdraw funds from that account?"

  "I suppose so. How much?"

  "A grand for starters." A grand? Who was I, Bonnie Parker?

  "All right." There was a long pause. "We've encouraged you to live frugally because you still have years of college to go and might need that money down the road." He seemed to be choosing his words with care. "And a job is good training for your future."

  "First off, I'm
never going to put another taco in a sack as long as I live, so the training thing doesn't apply, at least to the job I just lost. Second, don't worry. I'm not going to Vegas or even to the mall. I just don't want to worry about writing a hot check if my car quits, which it could well do. It's pushing two-hundred-thousand miles, you know."

  "Call me if it does, and I'll deposit more into your account. Now about your father..." Clint hesitated as if looking to be sure he was alone. "He and your aunt have a history, and I'm not referring to his heartless treatment of your mother. Leslie and Steve dated briefly before he met Ramona, who'd come home from college for the weekend. The moment Steve laid eyes on your mother, he was a goner and vice versa. They secretly dated and eventually eloped. When Leslie found out, she blamed everything on him."

  Of course she did. What loyal sister wouldn't? "Why hasn't anyone every told me this stuff before? It's not like I'm some little kid you have to protect from the truth. I deserve to know everything."

  "And you shall the next time you come home, whether Leslie likes it or not. Meanwhile, I'll deposit the money you need into your checking account." He sighed. "It's hard for me to admit you're old enough to handle your own affairs."

  "Old enough, yeah, but am I smart enough? That would be a no. The stock market makes no sense to me. So you just keep doing what you're doing, okay? At least for now."

  "Of course. If that's what you want." He sounded pleased.

  I ended the call a few seconds later and turned to find Zander leaning on the door jamb, the oddest look on his face.

  "How long have you been standing there?" I asked.

  "Long enough to know Jason might have a motive for kidnapping you, after all."

  Trust my body guard to think of that. My soaring spirits immediately took a sharp nosedive.

  * * * *

  After a dinner of some dang good chili and a discussion of my financial status, we watched an old movie neither of us had seen before--Guarding Tess. I quickly fell for Nicolas Cage, who played a frustrated secret service agent guarding an ex-President's rather crusty widow. Toward the end of the movie, she was kidnapped, and though horrified, I couldn't drag my eyes away.