Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) (24 page)

Chuckling, he repeated her insult, “Jack-booted Neanderthal. That’s a good one.”

Watching Jarhead approach, Jewels ceased fighting, but her body remained tense. The stress lines on her brow intensified. His stride was confident. Aura reeked of leadership. Speculating he was the one who had laid claim to her, she inquired, “So, are you the Commander?” Her voice edged with impatience as she gasped to catch her breath.

Turning to the guard holding her down, “Ohhh. Sweet Cheeks knows about the Commander?”

The Hercules clone shook his head in disagreement. “Not as much as she
thinks
she does, Sir,” he coolly replied.

Angered by them treating her as if she was not trapped in their presence, Jewels hotly spouted, “Excuse me, but I don’t think you know whom you’re dealing with here. My name is Julia Andrasy and I own the New Greensburgh Press. I have many very powerful friends, including friends in the FBI. So you better tell me who you people are and what you want with me.”

Jarhead hovered at Jewels’ bedside. Eyes narrowing, he scoured her face. “Sit her up, Watters,” he commanded.

Instantly the muscle man latched onto Jewels’ forearms and yanked her into a sitting position.

Grimacing in pain, Jewels’ brow furrowed deeply.
But like every other encounter with the men associated with SPOF, her misery garnered no relief from the ruthless grasp this powerhouse maintained on her forearms.

Jarhead bent at the
w
aist to obtain eye to eye contact with Jewels. Scratching his head and squinting his eyes, he pressed his memory. “Let’s see. Five-foot-seven tall. One-hundred-fifteen pounds. Thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-three measurements. Bleach bottle blonde. Thirty-four years of age. Born in Vandergrift, Pennsylvania. Married Robert Jay Andrasy fourteen years ago....”

Straightening, he paced a three foot area in front of her as he continued, “Now widowed. No children. Despite her husband’s death some eighteen months ago, remains faithful to their marriage. A self-made multimillionaire, net worth estimated to exceed four-hundred-thirty-seven million—”

Perking up, Jewels sat taller. “What? Who the hell are you people?” she brazenly quizzed, glaring monstrously.

Ceasing to pace, he puffed out his chest as if posturing in a bar fight and wagged a reprimanding finger at her. “Now, now, it’s rude to interrupt,” he stated with a scorching look, his southern drawl accentuating his demeaning tone.

Defiantly jutting her chin out at him and constricting her eyes to a frigid stare, she curled her lip in aversion. “Well, now, now,” she mocked, “it’s rude, actually creepy, sick and wrong, to collect this kind of information on—”

“Shut up or I’ll shut you up,” Jarhead yelled ferociously, cocking his hand back as if to strike her.

Turning her head, she pinched her eyes shut and held her breath, bracing for the blow.

“Better put a sock in it,” her captor warned, violently jerking her forearms a few times to further emphasize his advice.

Slightly nodding, Jewels slowly blinked at the guard acknowledging his message was received.

Clearing his throat, Jarhead resumed pacing, yammering off the details he had memorized of Jewels’ life. “An award-winning, highly respected newspaper journalist. Prides herself on reporting both sides of every story. Loves animals, especially her golden retriever named Boo-Boo Bear...,” he paused, smiled admiringly at Jewels as he rattled on. “Possesses near expert knowledge of guns, particularly handguns. Rarely goes anywhere without carrying a concealed Glock 21, .45 ACP loaded with Hydra-Shok hollow point cartridges....”

Jewels gulped air. Jarhead was really creeping her out. And his incessant pacing back and forth within a three foot square was driving her nuts.

“Owns an impressive collection of fully automatic weapons, one of her favorites being the belt-fed MG-42. Favorite vehicle is her custom H1 Humvee Alpha Wagon. Sometimes drives a Ferrari, and has been known to push it in excess of one-hundred-twenty miles per hour....”

Hanging her head, overwhelmed, Jewels felt like an unwilling guest on a hellish version of “This Is Your Life.”

And the rambling continued. As did the pacing.

“Vices include a heavy addiction to Diet Coke, fountain style preferred, and chocolate covered chocolate cake donuts. Doesn’t smoke. Drinks alcoholic beverages sparingly. Is an accomplished horse woman, even considers herself a cowgirl at times. Feels most comfortable wearing Rocky Mountain jeans, a V-neck T-shirt and Skechers athletic shoes.”

Jewels didn’t know how much more of this verbal violation of her intimate life she could endure in addition to the muscle man who was squeezing her arms so tightly she had lost the circulation in her fingers.

“Secretary’s name is Belinda Parker—”

“Please, stop,” Jewels softly begged, choking back the tears, her heart spasming with fright. She felt sick. Weak. Faint. Her body started to collapse back toward the mattress, but the strapping man readjusted his viselike grip on her forearms, forcing her to remain sitting up.

Jarhead ceased pacing. Bending over to face her, he planted his hands on his knees like a coach about to bestow critical advice. “Yes, Julia Andrasy, who only the closest of friends call Jewels, we
do
know who you are and we know all about your FBI friends.”

Jewels remained speechless. Slowly blinked at him. Stunned.
How did they know so much about her? And why?

Straightening, Jarhead thrust his hands on his hips, sucked in a deep breath. “Now just to prove to you we’re not all
jack-booted Neanderthals
, I’m going to take those handcuffs off you.”

The guard shot a confused look at Jarhead, shaking his head in disagreement that she should be released from the cuffs.

Paying no attention to the guard’s input, Jarhead continued addressing Jewels. “But it’s important you understand, Sweet Cheeks, you must act like the perfect, well-mannered lady we
know
you are. That means no hitting. No kicking. No biting. Do you understand?”

Still in shock over the abundance of detailed and personal information Jarhead had committed to memory about her, Jewels slowly nodded, agreeing to his terms.

“Good girl, Sweet Cheeks.” Turning to the man controlling Jewels, “Go ahead, Watters, take off the cuffs.”

A spontaneous flash of annoyance flew from Jewels’ eyes to Jarhead. Maybe if she called him
Honey Buns
, he’d get the message ... then again, he might get the wrong message. Bridling the urge to comment, she forced herself to relax, anxiously awaiting the arrival of freedom, not only from the handcuffs, but from the killer hold of her latest captor.

“General, are you sure?” the man answering to the name of Watters questioned.

“Certainly. I know her word is good,” he replied with confidence.

Watters released his grip on Jewels’ forearms, unlocked and removed the handcuffs, and slid his body off her legs. Slipping the handcuffs and handcuff key into his pants pocket, he sat on the edge of the bed, eyeing her, clearly ready to take control of her again if warranted.

Rubbing her wrists where the metal jaws had bitten deeply, “Thank you,” she said meekly.

Both men watched intently as she scooted herself toward the headboard, distancing herself from Watters at the edge of the bed. Leaning against the headboard, she curled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her shins to hug them, pulling them close to her body in a seated fetal-like position.

After a few silent seconds she addressed Jarhead towering over her, “It’s apparent you’ve done your homework. You know a lot about me. I, however, know very little about you, but I’ll share with you what I do know. I know I’m at the compound of a militia group called the Sovereign Patriots Of Freedom. I know I have been spared severe injury or death because someone, called the Commander, wants it that way. And though you may
not
consider yourselves jack-booted Neanderthals, based on my experiences so far, I must rigorously disagree.”

Simultaneously the men raised their eyebrows as Jewels’ tone escalated into a fiery, forthright sermon.

“I have been kidnapped from my home. Had my car stolen. Been brutally restrained numerous times in a variety of ways. Gagged and drugged. And experienced the horror of watching my dog, the one you know I cherish, viciously killed before my own eyes.” Jewels paused, shaking her head and shrugging before adding, “So, from my point of view, all of that doesn’t seem like anything someone who
wasn’t
a jack-booted Neanderthal would ever do. So, pardon me if I’m not at my social best. This is my first kidnapping and I’m still in the learning mode when it comes to kidnap victim etiquette.”

The men exchanged glances of disbelief at the boldness and candor of Jewels’ remarks, then returned their full attention to her.

With lips pursed, she sat. Eyes staring blankly down at the floor.

“Are you quite through?” Jarhead asked, arms folded tightly across his chest, his tone oozing of sarcasm.

Not raising her gaze from the floor, Jewels nodded a yes.

Jarhead responded to Jewels’ nod by coming to a position of military attention. “Allow me introduce myself.”

The click of his heels and rapid movement drew Jewels’ attention. Arms dropping to her side, she sat taller.

“My name is General Rhett Cooman of the Sovereign Patriots Of Freedom.” Pausing for a moment, he bent down, kneeled on one knee, gathered Jewels’ right hand in his, and kissed it as if she were of royal blood.

Blinking wildly, Jewels’ mouth gaped.

“And I am here at your service,” he added with a wink.

Not prepared for this kind of treatment or the abrupt change in his attitude, she didn’t know what to say or how to react.

Cooman released her hand, rose to his feet and pointed to the man seated on the bed. “And this is Marshall Watters. He’s in charge of compound security, including the security of our
guests
. So you’ll be seeing a lot of him.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss,” Watters said, extending his thick hand.

Jewels surveyed the man who had thwarted her latest escape attempt. Unlike others in the compound, Marshall Watters didn’t wear BDUS. He was dressed in black. Skin tight jeans, a T-shirt that molded to his torso outlining a well-defined six pack, and ... jack boots. Executioner clothes, she concluded.

Marshall Watters’ bulging arms, thick neck and rippling chest told Jewels this guy’s muscles had experienced higher education ... at a federal prison, she surmised. Appearing to be in his mid to late thirties, his face was lean and tan. Gobs of wavy dark brown hair. Miami Vice facial hair. Sparkling obsidian eyes. And he smelled good. A wickedly handsome combination that spelled
lady killer
.

Her eyes were drawn to a mark that looked like a dab of mud under Watters’ right eye. After a few seconds, she realized it was a black and blue mark in the early stages of blossoming. Probably a result of when she lambasted him in the face with her handcuffed fists.

“Julia Andrasy,” she said, placing her hand in his and giving it a shake. “Sorry about the shiner,” she added, motioning with her chin to his face.

“Happy to meet you, Julia, and don’t worry about the bruise. Wasn’t the first. I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

For some reason Jewels felt a special warmth radiating from this devastatingly handsome man’s eyes. Maybe he’d turn out to be someone who could be manipulated to orchestrate an escape. At the very least, he was luscious eye candy.

“One big happy family,” Cooman said, laughing, observing the instant, and obvious, chemistry between Jewels and Marshall Watters.

“Riiight,” she said with a forced laugh. Abruptly Jewels’ demeanor changed. Face drained of color. Semi-relaxed features melted into terror. It was the image she saw out of the corner of her eye: her kidnapper! His shiny bullethead. Piercing black eyes. Perfectly sculpted Fu Manchu moustache hovering over a cruel mouth. The sparkling diamond solitaire in his left ear....

The mere sight of him unleashed panic mode. She gasped for air. Eyes bugged with alarm. Muscles choked in fright.

His hulking chestnut body loitered outside the door.

“Go away,” Jewels screamed, scrambling to latch onto the broad shoulders of Marshall Watters in hopes of protection.

Both Cooman and Watters were startled by Jewels’ outburst until they saw
who
was in the doorway.

“It’s okay. I won’t let him hurt you,” Marshall whispered, patting Jewels reassuringly on the arm.

Cooman motioned with his hand for her kidnapper to enter.

“Tank, I don’t think you’ve been officially introduced to our guest, Julia Andrasy.”

As her kidnapper entered the room, Jewels sought refuge against Marshall’s wide back. Clinging to his black T-shirt, she peeked over his shoulder. The sight of her kidnapper standing mere feet in front of her shot an involuntary tremor through her body.

Watters felt it, gave her another reassuring squeeze on the arm.

At the foot of the bed, Tank towered over Jewels, his colossal hands on his hips. A dozen white bandages littered his body, including a wide one engulfing his entire right biceps muscle. An ugly cut running diagonally across his right cheek was patched together with fifteen stitches, but no bandage. Pointing to that one he snarled, “Thanks to you, every time I look in the mirror, the fuckin’ scar this thing’s gonna leave won’t let me forget what you did to me. Oh, and you see this,” nodding toward his bandaged upper arm, “you sliced my brachial artery. Coulda killed me!”