Titanium (15 page)

Assuming things were ever that black and white.

Which they weren't.

All I knew is that my country's Constitution gave me the
right to be armed. Soldiers had died protecting that Constitution--
soldiers I'd known and loved. Husbands, sons, brothers, dads. Wives,
daughters, sisters, moms. So no matter how anyone else felt about
the gun issue, I respected the right to bear arms and believed our
forefathers had been correct in writing an amendment ensuring our
freedom to choose how we kept ourselves safe.

Did I buy the Glock because I planned to kill someone? Of
course not. I'd seen enough death to last ten lifetimes, most of it
resulting from something that exploded--bombs, missiles,
shells...you name it. I owned the gun because I'd fought for freedom,
and freedom in the USA meant I had the right to carry it. Besides
that, I wanted to protect the ones I loved.

Bottom line: I'd paid dearly for the privilege to be
armed.

And while I never carried my concealed weapon to the mall,
or the park, or a restaurant, I was damn glad I had it now.

Surprisingly, I slept. And when I woke on Saturday, I found
Zander zonked out on the couch. Glad he'd rested, too, I dressed and
slipped outside to made tracks to the quaint outhouse, with my gaze
bouncing from tree to tree. The wooden stall didn't smell as bad as
I'd expected. When I stepped outside moments later, I spotted a cast
iron hand pump mounted on a square of concrete. I tried it out and
finally got gushing cold water for my trouble. I washed my face,
gasping when the icy splash touched my warm skin.

I belatedly realized Zander was standing on the porch,
watching me. Deliberately not thinking of last night's rejection, I
flashed a smile that came right from the heart. He slowly descended
the steps, the oddest look on his face, and walked right up to
me.

"What?" I asked, baffled by the vibe I got.

"You are so damn beautiful." He sort of swooped in, planting
a hard kiss right on my lips. I staggered back slightly, but recovered,
throwing my arms around his neck and kissing him back with
abandon. When we ended it, he didn't let me go. "Would you really
have slept with me last night?"

"
Slept
with you?"

He smiled.

I framed his face with my hands. "Yes, Zander, I would've
slept
with you--last night, today,
now
..." I brazenly
cupped my boobs.

Zander groaned.

I just laughed at him. "We're going to need some groceries to
get us through the weekend, assuming we're staying that long. And I
should've asked last night, but do you have condoms? Because I
don't."

"You're killing me, baby."

That made me very happy. "So are we staying all weekend
or what?"

"Definitely staying."

As we turned toward the house, Zander froze in place.
"What the..."

My gaze followed his to the truck. It took a second, but I
realized all four tires were flat. Slashed? My blood ran cold. "Oh God.
They're here."

"That's impossible unless they've stuck a GPS to the truck or
something. Never thought of that." He started toward it, but then
stopped to glance back at me. "Would you try to locate a tire dealer?
Looks like we need four." Zander actually told me the size as he
moved forward and knelt to peer underneath the pickup.

"Wouldn't it be better to call Sergeant Brian?"

He didn't answer.

"Zander! Should I call Brian?"

"Huh? Oh. No. He's city. This is county. I'll report it after I
check things out."

With a sigh, I walked back to the cabin and opened the door.
The minute I stepped inside, someone clamped a smelly hand over
my mouth from behind. My feet came up off the floor. I kicked and clawed...until a
third man stepped into view. He wore a silver full-cover mask.
Shocked to see it, I froze just long enough for him to plaster duct tape
across my mouth.

Angry shouts outside made me twist to see what was
happening, but I couldn't. A single shot rang out. And then a second
one. I fought with everything I had, but a cloth bag, black and heavy,
dropped over my head. Duct tape secured it around my neck. More
tape bound my wrists and ankles. One of them tossed me over his
shoulder as if I weighed nothing.

A blast of cool air told me we'd left the cabin, probably
through the back door. The uneven gait of my captor meant we were
crossing some pretty rough ground. I soon heard the lap of water
and felt the bobbing of a watercraft as he unsteadily boarded it,
almost losing his balance in the process. Cursing, he tossed me onto a
cold metal floor I knew was the deck of a boat.

My heart raced. I strained to hear if Zander was safe. I got
nothing. The boat rocked as others boarded it--two for sure, maybe
even three. I heard the motor roar to life. The boat, which must've
been big, tilted back and picked up speed. Cold, damp air tugged at
my clothes, chilling me to the bone.

We flew across the lake. During that time, no one talked at
all. Finally the hum of the motor slowed to a putt-putt that could only
mean we'd reached our destination. Helpless to get away, I endured
being lifted and carried to a vehicle. Someone threw me inside,
banging my elbow and knee. A door that sounded heavy slid and
slammed shut. A van, maybe? I felt the vehicle shift as at least two
people got into the front, and I heard those doors shut, too. The
motor revved. The crunch of gravel beneath the tires told me we
were on the move again.

Zander, where are you?

I pictured him hurt or dead and began to cry, even though
my hopeful heart provided another scenario, one in which Zander
had escaped and run for help. But he'd never leave me. I knew that as
surely as I knew I loved him. Something had happened back there,
and whatever it was couldn't be good.

I began to pick at the tape around my neck, but wasn't able
to peel a single edge from the bag that blinded me. It was that
sticky.

Had one hour passed? Two? Dazed by fear, I thought we'd
never stop. Finally someone killed the engine and, in the resulting
silence, I heard gravel crunch as another vehicle pulled in behind us.
That engine went silent, too. I was ready for the guy who slid open
the side door and blindly kicked at him with both feet. He simply
grabbed me by the ankles and dragged me out, immediately
throwing me over his shoulder. His hand cupping my butt held me
there.

I could see and smell nothing, and no one said a word. How
many were there? I tried to tell, based on the footfalls, but quickly
gave that up. It didn't really matter how many were involved. Taped
and blindfolded, I couldn't do a damn thing about it.

We went up two steps, across a flat space, and down at least
twenty. Were they putting me in a basement? Anything but a hole in
a barn where I might be forgotten like Tess in that movie. I landed
hard on a concrete floor a moment later. A knife freed my wrists and
ankles. I instantly went for the bag, but still couldn't get hold of the
sticky tape securing it to my neck. Hands pushed mine away. A knife
slit the tape there, nicking my flesh. I cried out with pain.

"Oopsy."

Furious, I jerked the bag off my head, but still saw nothing.
The mouth tape came next, ripping off some of my lip with it. I
blinked several times, trying to clear my vision, and yelped when a
bright light blinded me. Someone set a flashlight on the floor, a few
inches from my leg. Though the shadows it threw into the corners
were deep, I could make out dark silhouettes within them. Men. Five
of them at least. One stepped forward. I saw that creepy silver mask
again and abruptly realized who it was supposed to be. Titanium.
The antihero beloved around the world, but not by me.

Never by me.

Did that mean this whole thing revolved around Steve
McConnell? I could actually believe it. His movie deal had blown up
the internet, and movie critics, entertainment shows, and trendy
magazines were still fueling the rage. In short, Steve's sell out had
shocked the world. Even worse was his casting of Cory Walls in the
part of Eric...or so everyone seemed to think.

But what did all that have to do with me, the daughter he
hadn't laid eyes on in ten years or even contacted until mere days
ago?

My heart stopped.

Was that it? Had a single out-of-the-blue email set this
nightmare in motion? Only if someone had hacked my father's
account, I thought. No one would bother getting into mine.

My ears buzzed so loudly they muted the chaos around me.
Through a haze of debris and dust, I could just make out foot soldiers
in action, weapons at the ready as they pushed back civilians and
maneuvered through what was left of the house we'd used for the
interrogation.

I rolled off Marty and onto my back. He gave me a thumbs
up, even though I could see he'd been hurt. To my right, Dom lay
sprawled under the splintered remains of the table I'd shoved over.
He writhed in agony. A gut wound.

I looked around for Joey and found him lying nearby, his
eyes open, his body a bloody tangle of muscle and bare bone. I'd
tried to warn him, but he'd been closest to the kid. I belly-crawled to
get to him and feel for a pulse. My fingers slipped off his jugular. So
much blood. I put my ear to his chest. Nothing. But I still couldn't
hear shit. I thought of his wife and kids. Joey could not be dead. He
just couldn't.

"Medic! Over here!" I yelled.

A couple of guys got to us. One knelt to check out Joey. The
other set his gun aside and took off his belt, looping it around my leg.
I struggled to see why. My whole left side looked like mush, my camo
fatigues were in blood-stained shreds, and below them the remains
of my left boot lay in a spreading pool of red. "Don't move,
Sarge."

I could barely answer with my mouth so dry. "I need
water."

A drop of wet landed on my forehead. The battle ground
slowly receded. My eyes opened. For several seconds I lay there in
utter confusion, trying to get my bearings. Muddy ground. Storm
clouds. Trees. Where in the hell was I?

Plunk.

Plunk. Plunk.

Plunk. Plunk. Plunk. Ping.

The skies opened up. Rain mixed with sleet quickly soaked
my face and clothing. With a curse and a shiver, I sat up and looked
around, noting that my truck stood within reach, the door wide open
and the key alarm buzzing. Stuck somewhere between reality and
my nightmare, I raised my head to check out my legs. I saw that my
jeans had been cut from hem to just above my left knee, a ragged
slice. My prosthesis was nowhere in sight. Some asshole's idea of a
joke, I guess.

All at once everything came crashing in. A cabin. Those
amazing kisses. Flat tires. I knew exactly where I was.

I also knew who should be there with me.

"Riley!" I frantically jerked my head around to scan the area.
"Riley!"

With my gut in knots, I patted my pockets for my cell. No
luck. Couldn't find my gun, either. I remembered firing once in
response to someone else's shot. Had I been hit? Sometimes it took a
while to realize it.

A guy could even lose a leg and not have a clue.

But no blood stained my clothing. I could only hope my
bullet had hit its target, whoever he was. I wished I knew how many
guys had jumped me. I'd only seen two. I'd heard more.

Riley. Oh God.

I'd told her she'd be safe with me. But I'd failed her, just as
I'd failed everyone else I cared about.

Was she scared? Hurt?

If one of those creeps touched her...

I rolled over and crawled on my knees to the truck, my
balance off and my head swimming. I grabbed the seatbelt and
hoisted myself to my one foot. That's when I saw my phone, lying
just where I'd put it, on the console.

Only fools would've left me that. Fools or kidnappers
confident that it would do no good. They were right. No freakin' bars,
at least here. I opened the door to the back seat. My crutches lay
right where I'd tucked them when we packed up yesterday. They
made things a lot simpler.

I must've looked like an idiot walking around the muddy
yard on crutches that squished in the mud, the left leg of my jeans
flapping in the breeze, my phone as high in the air as I could manage
without dropping a crutch.

One bar. Another. Twenty yards from the cabin, I got enough
to do it. I called Sparks first. He'd know how to get to me fast.

A man dressed in silver-gilded black stepped forward and
squatted in front of me, his Titanium mask right in my face. It looked
as if he'd spray painted his clothing in some kind of weird, shiny
camo pattern.

"Where's Zander?" I asked before he could speak.

He just laughed. "Here's what's going to happen."

I'd have known that gravelly voice anywhere. Jason. My
stomach lurched; bile burned my throat, making me cough.

He never noticed. "You will call your father on this phone
and tell him that you are fine, but won't be for long if he doesn't
listen very carefully to what I say and follow my directions to the
letter."

I tried to lick my bloody lip, but my mouth was too dry. "Are
you trying to get money from him? Because he'll never pay you a
cent to get me back."

"We don't want his money."

"Then what?"

"You're about to find out." He took my hand and slapped a
cell phone in it. "Call him."

"I don't even know his number."

"I do." Jason punched it in.

The moment he handed me the phone, I threw it in the
shadows.
Clunk.

"That's twice you've done that, bitch." He glanced over his
shoulder. "Get the Panther. Riley, here, needs to be taught a lesson in
obedience."

Panther? As in a fierce feline with ferocious fangs?