Titanium (19 page)

"No..."

His hands slid over me.

I bit my lip to keep from giving Ti the terror he wanted, but
just couldn't do it. "Stop! Please!"

Dad broke in. "Okay, okay. I'll try ET again. As for the other
stuff, there are contracts, schedules, loans. If I can't give anyone the
real reason I need to fire Walls and kill the script, I'm going to catch a
lot of flak that could end the franchise and the series. Maybe if I had
more time."

"You have until tomorrow." Ti ended the call and once again
took the phone apart and stomped it to pieces with a vengeance. He
caught Panther's eye and smirked. Panther nodded.

So Ti
was
taking lessons in brutality. Well, he clearly
had a good teacher. "What happens if my father doesn't give in to
your demands?"

Panther answered for everyone by growling like the animal
he was.

McConnell stared in shocked silence at the iPhone in his
hand.

With a roar, I lost it and kicked over a kitchen chair. I was
about to put my fist through one of Cheap Charlie's walls when
McConnell surprised me with full Nelson hold. I automatically
countered with a release that reestablished my balance and
challenged his. Though he immediately let me go, he'd made his
point.

Calmer, I shrugged my shirt to rights and avoided the heavy
gazes of my buddies. "I'm fine, okay? I just..." I took in a deep breath
and slowly exhaled. "If they hurt her, I swear to God I'll kill every last
one of them."

"We'll help," said Dom.

McConnell nodded. "And I get to go first."

I knew he meant that and for the first time got an idea of his
true feelings. His past actions still had me wondering, even though
I'd made my own share of mistakes. I pulled my cell from my pocket,
ready to try Brian again. Didn't have to. "Titanium" blasted as it
vibrated in my hand. "Hello?"

"It's Brian. What's up?"

"You said we could call. I know you meant it." I told him
what had happened, and what we'd done so far, which was basically
nothing.

"So you're just now reporting this?"

I scrambled for an excuse. "Isn't there some kind of twenty-
four-hour wait on missing persons?"

"Only in the movies. I'll see you in fifteen minutes. I don't
want anyone to do anything else until I get there. Do you
understand?"

"Roger that." As I tucked my cell into my pocket, Wilson and
Simms walked in and joined us.

"Got something." Grinning, Wilson held up his cell phone.
We crowded around him. "Lady across the street took these." He
showed us two pictures of a silver SUV, parked in Charlie's drive.
"She was getting a shot of her Halloween decorations."

I took his phone and enlarged the photo with a sweep of my
fingers. The license plate, almost hidden by a ghost, read TITANUM.
Our man for sure. "Thanks, guys."

"No problem, Xman. Wetsu."

We eat this shit up
. Yeah, they did, but this time their
efforts might save the girl I loved. A sudden surge of hope and
gratitude choked me up. I walked right through the kitchen and out
the back door, where I stood on the tiny slab of concrete that was our
porch.

The rain continued to pour, pinging off the aluminum grill
nearby and getting one of my sleeves wet. A breeze rustled the limbs
of the maple in the yard, shaking off the colored leaves that had
managed to cling to the branches. My head began to clear.

Someone else stepped outside. A backwards glance revealed
McConnell, taking a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his leather
jacket.

"If my wife caught me doing this, I'd be single again." He lit
one and inhaled deeply before blowing smoke from his mouth and
nose. "Are you in love with Riley?"

I shrugged. "Probably."

"Is she in love with you?"

"I sure as hell hope not."

"Why?"

I pulled up the left leg of my jeans just enough that he could
see the prosthesis.

"
That's
your reason?"

"Reason enough, don't you think?"

He snorted a dry laugh. "Unless Riley has changed since
she's grown up, she's not the type to hold a bum leg against you. That
girl was always bringing home butterflies with broken wings, baby
birds that'd fallen out of the nest, kittens that had to be fed from a
doll bottle."

"I don't need her pity."

"You're confusing pity with compassion, son. Did that
myself, once. Ever heard of Guillain-Barre syndrome?"

"No."

He took another drag on his cigarette. "Neither had I, but I
got it anyway. Or maybe it got me. Anyway, I wound up flat on my
back with a machine doing my breathing for a while. Kari, my
girlfriend who is now my wife, by the way, stuck with me even
though I begged her to go. At first I hated it. But I began to
understand that she wasn't there out of pity or even some misguided
sense of duty. She stayed because she wouldn't abandon the man she
loved. For the very first time I understood what real love meant. I
realized that I'd only cared about two people in that way--her and
Riley--and I'd deserted Riley when she needed me most."

I knew he was telling the truth, but still couldn't believe my
ears. "You didn't love Riley's mom?"

"Not like that, I'm ashamed to say. But Riley, well, I couldn't
have been crazier about that precious little girl." He smiled as if
remembering something special.

I just didn't get it. "What made you go?"

"Leslie told me I wasn't fit to raise a daughter, and she was
right. At the time, my best friend was a bottle of booze and my
favorite hangout, an art table stuck in the corner of the bedroom. I
spent hours slumped over a sketch pad caught up in pulp fiction. I
forgot to eat, bathe, and sleep. How would I ever remember I had a
kid to feed? I kept telling myself that many of the greats were at their
best when they were high--Hendrix, Poe, Freud. What I forgot is
that's what killed them, too." He grimaced. "Not a pretty picture,
huh?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. He was telling the truth.

"So now I'm dealing with the guilt of not loving Ramona and
giving up Riley." He dropped the cigarette and rubbed it into the
concrete. "I think you might know a little about regret."

"You been talking to Dom?"

He shrugged. "Your friends are pretty worried about you.
For what it's worth, you should listen to what they say. If you don't,
your guilt is going to consume you and affect the people you love in
the worst of ways."

"How can you say that when you don't even know me?"

"I know enough. What happened to you wasn't karmic
payback for something you did or didn't do. Shit happens, period.
Whether or not you want to believe it, you're one of the good guys
and always will be. But I'm sure you've heard that before." He
glanced toward the door. "I think your cop's here."

Pissed that Dom had talked about me, I followed McConnell
into the kitchen. We told Sergeant Brian everything we knew so far
and showed him the shot of the SUV. He called in the plates and got a
name and an address. Though Brian didn't share them with us, Dom
quietly maneuvered himself so that he could read what the cop
wrote. His wink told me he'd gotten it.

"I'm going to run by the station and do some checking up on
this guy before I drive out there. I don't want any of you to do
anything until you hear from me. This is police business now. Stay
out of it."

"We will." I lied through my teeth.

Brian just shook his head as if he could spot lies, too.

"May I come with you?" McConnell asked.

"Sure." Brian caught my eye. "Have you got a permit for that
thing?" His gaze dipped to my hoodie pocket, where the Glock was
still stashed.

"Roger that." I wondered how he knew it was there. It didn't
show.

With a solemn nod, Brian left with McConnell right behind
him.

"Did you get it?" I quietly asked Dom.

"Jeremy North, 32 Tolkien Avenue, San Antonio."

We waited until we were sure both Brian and McConnell
were gone before we loaded up in the two trucks.

Destination? Tolkien Avenue, of course.

Long after Ti left me, I sat in the dark with my pulse racing.
I needed to escape and even had a plan of sorts, but the time had to
be right for it.

Ti told my father that he'd lived Eric's life. Did that mean he
had wealthy parents somewhere doling out cash to keep him
invisible? Parents who just didn't get him? His having money might
explain how he could so carelessly dispose of cell phones and have
access to a building with a safe room. It could also be the reason
Panther kept hanging around. Well, that and the fact that he got off
on fear and pain.

If I just knew where I was.

Alone and scared, I couldn't help but wonder why my other
senses hadn't kicked up a notch. I hadn't seen the light of day in what
felt like forever. Shouldn't I at least be able to hear better? Or was
that just a myth? Had I been so caught up in my misery that I'd
ignored hints I desperately needed?

With that in mind, I sat very still, deliberately tuning in to
my surroundings. As I soaked in the stillness, I began to hear things.
Sort of like my eyes adjusting from dark to bright. I discovered I
could make out voices, but not from the hallway. They came from
beyond the wall I now leaned against. I heard other noises--car doors
slamming, a rain wall engulfing the building, the sounds of multiple
tires on gravel or rock.

Amazed I could make out so much, I stood and walked the
room as I had before, this time with my hand high on the wall. I
discovered windows. Two of them. Boarded over to keep out the
light as they were in the bathroom. I felt better knowing they were
there, even if they did me no good. I also wondered why a so-called
safe room would have any kind of opening to the outside. Was this
really that or somebody's basement?

Rustling outside the door made me hurry to it. "Al? Is that
you?"

No answer.

"So everyone gets to leave while you're stuck here? Why?
Did you piss off Ti when you talked to me?"

"Who says they left?" Definitely Al.

"The house is very quiet."

"Who says it's a house?"

I sighed. "Could I please have a flashlight?"

"Nope."

"How about a TV? My iPod? A radio? Whatever you've got?
I'm going nuts in here. You seemed so much nicer in the parking lot. I
got the feeling you didn't want to hurt me."

"Wasn't there."

"Whatever. Why are you doing this? I know that you know
how petty and ridiculous Ti's demands are."

"Shut up."

"Do you really want to go to prison over a stupid graphic
novel? Come on, dude. You're smarter than that. If you let me go
now, I won't tell anyone anything. I swear."

"I'm not listening."

"Just think about it, okay? When your relief shows up,
mention it to him and see what kind of response you get. Tell him I
won't talk. Tell him I'll pay. I have money, you know. Over a hundred
thousand dollars. I'll give all of it to you guys."

"Nobody needs your money. Ti's doing this for the
fans."

"For the fans? Or for himself? Who really wins here, Al? Are
you going to help write Ti's script? Will you have a part in his
movie?"

No answer.

The silence stretched forever. Finally, I got the nerve to
speak up again. "Would you tell me the Titanium story?"

"You don't know it?"

"Nope, and take your time, would you? It's way too quiet in
here."

After a long silence, he began to talk, telling me a tale I
already knew, but in the words of an obsessed fan, which Zander so
wasn't. Even though Al's utter devotion creeped me out, I
deliberately asked questions to keep him engaged, dreading the
moment when his relief would show up and I'd be stuck in the dark
with no one to talk to.

I couldn't bear for that to happen. Was it time to make my
move?

"I need to pee."

"Again?"

"You're keeping track of potty breaks? Let me out, please. I
drank that whole Coke and ate the ice, too." I heard his heavy sigh
and the shuffle of his feet as he stood. Quietly removing the top of the
"lip gloss," I placed a forefinger on the valve of my tiny can of pepper
spray--one of those practical gifts from Clint--and waited for the bolt
to slide back, my heart thumping. Though I'd been through hell,
doing what I had to do still didn't come easy.

As Al opened the door, I squirted him right in the mask.
Apparently some got into his eyes, as I'd intended. He ripped off the
mask and doubled over, cursing, his hands clawing his face. I blasted
him again and shot past him down the dark hallway. But there was
no way out there. Pivoting, I charged the other way and found the
stairs. I took them two at a time, stumbling once and almost falling
because my eyes were on fire, too.

Al, clearly in agony, started after me but didn't get far before
he stopped, howling in pain. I reached the door at the top of the steps
and slowly tested the knob, unsure of what awaited me. Wasn't
locked. I pushed the door open a crack and, when I saw no one,
widened the opening enough to slip through and lock it behind
me.

With my heart in my throat, I crept through a big dark room
in search of an exit. I heard Al pounding up the stairs, still cursing.
Although I felt a twinge of remorse, I forgot it when I realized I'd
entered a room that could've belonged to the CIA. Flat screens,
computers, maps. I stopped so fast that my upper body didn't,
causing me to fall forward and have to catch myself. My mouth
dropped open.

What the hell?

Was that...? Oh my God! It was! Steve McConnell aka
my
father on one of the monitors, which was divided into six
frames. He had his phone to his ear as he paced in what appeared to
be a plush office. From his agitated gestures, I could tell he was
arguing with someone. A scan of the other frames showed me
interiors of a huge house, one of the shots of a baby's room. Nearby
monitors had the same type of split screen, but the frames were all
blank...until I got to one with my very own bedrooms and bathroom
on it.