Titanium

By

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

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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.

October 21

To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
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.

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.

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."