Titanium (8 page)

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.

"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?

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."