Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) (27 page)

Immediately surrendering the envelope, she maintained a submissive posture. No eye contact.

Ripping the envelope away from her, he tucked his hands behind is back, assuming an authoritative stance. “Miz Andrasy, you may consider this dinner over.”

Sheepishly she looked up at him just long enough to send him a tiny, but sincere, smile of gratitude for sparing her from a beating.

Pointing to the door with his chin, “Shall we go?”

It wasn’t a question, it was an order. Nodding, she stepped into the dreary hall.

Quickly approaching her side, he locked a vise grip hand around her left upper arm and stormed down the hall, Jewels in tow. He walked so fast she had to jog to keep pace.

The barren hallways echoed Cooman’s angry strides and Jewels’ hurried click-clacks of high heels strumming against the stone floor. Occasionally she wheezed in pain, but otherwise remained silent. After a turbulent jaunt, they arrived at her prison cell.

Flinging open the door, he angrily shoved her inside.

Stumbling a few steps, she wobbled on the high heels, but maintained her balance. Turning back to face Cooman, she glared, resentment and mistrust radiating from her face.

Smirking, he stepped nearer.

Once again she felt his eyes undressing her. Holding her breath, she instinctively crossed her arms over her nearly bare chest while slowly backing away from him.

“I don’t want the men seeing you like that. Change out of those clothes immediately,” he ordered, stepping backward into the hall vigorously pulling the door shut, locking Jewels inside.

FRIDAY, 2330 HOURS.
Sitting behind his desk, “Big Bird, this is Little Bird checking in,” General Cooman called over the shortwave radio in his office.

Seconds later: “How’s Sweet Cheeks, and what the hell happened at her place? Phase One’s a total fuck-up.”

He sighed. “Sweet Cheeks is fine, Sir. A little bruised and shaken up, but just fine. And the fuck-up? Well, that’s my fault, Sir. Sent Tank.”

“Bastard whacked Sweet Cheeks’ dog. A gory slice and dice job,” he said with disapproval.

Snickering, “Well, if it’s any consolation, he got sliced and diced, too.”

“What do you mean?”

Leaning back in his chair, Cooman propped his feet up on his desk. “It’s a long story, but in short, Sweet Cheeks escaped from Doc by throwing out a sweet-talk line and he bit. Then she nabbed a scalpel and some scissors and sneaked her way outside. Of course, Tank was there to stop her, but when he put down the AR she went at him with the knife and scissors in hand. Windmilled him good. He’s all slashed up. Severed his brachial artery and carved one helluva slice across his face. But he’ll be fine.”

“That’s my girl,” he said enthusiastically, but quickly changed his tone to concern. “Better watch Tank. He’s liable to seek revenge.”

“Already on top of it, Sir. Assigned Watters to guard her.”

“Watters? What’s his background? Can he be trusted with her, you know, not to take advantage and all that?”

“Regarding his background, it’s in gun running. And hell yes, he can be trusted with Sweet Cheeks. If I had a daughter I’d trust him with her.”

“Why? Is he gay?”

Cooman burst out laughing. “God, no. Just lives by an impeccable
code of honor
.”

“Hmph. An ex-con with a code of honor. Right. Sounds like a self-righteous nut case. I don’t want another psycho like Tank laying into her.”

“Sir, Watters’ only
potential
problem really isn’t under his control.”

“What are you saying?”

“The fact is, Sir, I think women find Watters irresistible. You know, good looks, muscular, charming, witty, all the shit women go goo-goo over.” Purposely he neglected to mention the instant and obvious chemistry he had witnessed between the two.

“Hmph,” he snorted.

Snickering, Cooman sat up, leaning his elbows on his desk. “Hell, I sense Big Bird’s feathers are a little ruffled ‘cause he’s thinking a
pretty bird
is gonna roost in his nest.”

Annoyed: “All right, all right. Got the message. So, what’s my Sweet Cheeks doing now?”

“Just got done having dinner with me. I let her dress up. We talked.”

Jealous: “How
was
dinner?”

“Damn, Sir! You know how to pick ‘em. Sweet Cheeks is one helluva beautiful woman and a smart one, too.”

“How much does she know?”

“Clueless about you. Has no fuckin’ idea who the Commander is, though at first she thought it was me,” Cooman said, a hint of pride in his voice.

“You set her straight?”

“Of course, Sir,” Cooman quickly replied, his face suddenly serious. “Wouldn’t dream of pretending to be you.”

“Tell me about your dinner conversation.”

“Not much to tell, Sir. I told her we were Jefferson’s Warriors and admired her newspaper articles, but gave up no details on the workings of the group.”

“Hmph. And Jeppson? Did she ask about her?”

Laughing: “Yeah, told her we were just fulfilling the woman’s oath.”

“And what about the envelope? Did you get anything out of her about that?”

“As expected, she lied at first, claimed she didn’t tell anyone. Then I showed her the envelope. My God, you should have seen her face. Priceless.” Cooman beamed a smile replaying the mental picture of the astonished look that had lambasted Jewels’ pretty face. “I must confess, Sir,” he said, lowering his voice, “I ended up being a little rough on her.”

“Rough? You better not have hurt her—”

“Oh, not physically, Sir. Didn’t lay a hand on her. I just scared her a bit with intimidation tactics.”

He sighed with relief. “Did she give up anything else? And for godsakes there aren’t any more envelopes are there?”

Cooman gnawed on the inside of his cheek. Didn’t respond.

“General?”

“Uh, Sir. No. I don’t
think
there are any other envelopes. I had her pretty scared, and our guys really scoured her office, but to be perfectly honest with you, Sir, I didn’t really come out and ask her.”

“Shit! Knowing her, she probably sent at least one more to someone else,” he fumed.

“I’ll follow up, Sir.” Cooman paused for a moment before changing the subject. “So how you holdin’ up?”

“Tension’s high,” he sighed, “But everything’s under control. Just make sure there are no more surprises.”

“Doin’ my best, Sir.”

“Okay then. It’s time to implement Sweet Cheeks Phase Two. I want to take possession of her early evening tomorrow, so work fast and clean.”

“Consider it done.”

“Excellent! Over and out.”

SATURDAY, 0100 HOURS.
TAP-TAP.

Huddled under the scratchy army-green wool blanket, Jewels stirred. She had just gotten to sleep. The hearty meat and potatoes meal consumed just a few hours before had settled in her stomach like a sleeping pill.

The creak of hinges bearing the weight of the heavy metal door as it opened awakened her. Groggy, she sat up.

A head popped around the corner of the door. “Miz

Andrasy? Julia?” It was Marshall Watters.

Rubbing her eyes with her fists, she flashed a pleasant smile at the handsome guard. Eye candy! If she had to be held captive, why not by a good looking hunk of solid meat. “Morning already?”

No response. No smile. Nothing. He lumbered to the foot of the bed.

Jewels glanced at her watch, “One o’clock?” she mumbled. Certainly not one in the afternoon. No, it was early Saturday morning, she was sure of that. And something was wrong. Marshall’s eyes seemed haunted by inner pain.

“Doc wants to see you,” he said, his voice a lifeless monotone, nothing like it was when he escorted her to Cooman’s.

A look of uneasy puzzlement scampered across her face. “May I freshen up first, please?”

“Five minutes,” he said with a frosty bite, turning to exit.

“Wait. Marshall, what’s wrong? Why does Callahan want to see me? It’s one o’clock in the morning. What could possibly be so important the doctor has to see me now?”

“Five minutes,” he repeated, closing and locking the door behind him.

Using the toilet then quickly splashing water on her face, she thought about the ridiculous hour but mostly about Watters’ chilly tone. Was he a psycho? Jewels snickered, “Dumb question, he works with psychos therefore he’s a psycho by association, right?”

She’d known Marshall Watters for less than twenty-four hours and despite the way she had been introduced to him—handcuffed and waging war against his brute strength—she was drawn to him. Those warm eyes. His comforting, almost protective, touch ... she didn’t want to believe he was a Jekyll and Hyde character. No. Couldn’t be. Besides, her vibes offered no indication of such. It had been eighteen months since she had allowed herself to yearn for the touch of man. She wanted to be touched. Needed to be touched. Craved to be touched. And desired Marshall Watters be the one to do the touching. “Jeez, Jewels,” she chastised herself, shaking her head. “You must really feel deprived and desperate to even be thinking about a relationship with your enemy.”

Memories of her beloved Robert flooded her mind. Guilt swamped her heart and soul. Damming the tears with a wad of toilet paper, she dabbed her face dry.

Robert was the past. This cell. Marshall Watters.

Jefferson’s Warriors. The Commander. Those were the elements of the present. And right now she had to focus on the present. On the pressing.

So why
did
Callahan want to see her? To check her aching ribs? The cut above her eye? Even so, it didn’t explain the odd hour, or the blast of frigidness from Marshall Watters. It was obvious he was purposely detaching himself from her. But why?

The fumbling of keys against the metal door broke Jewels’ train of thought.

“Time’s up,” Watters announced, swinging the door open. “Let’s go,” he said, motioning with his head toward the hallway.

Tucking the three-sizes-too-large camo T-shirt into the baggy fitting camo combat-style pants, she glanced down at her feet and was reminded she was only wearing scratchy green wool socks. “Do I need shoes or boots?”

“No.”

“Okay,” she said, raising her eyebrows in bewilderment. Obediently she walked to the door and stepped into the hall. But she was unprepared for the sight: a gurney with open straps. Grabbing her chest, she gasped and recoiled.

Marshall’s powerful hand latched onto her upper left arm from behind. Jerking her backward, he bounced her body against his solid chest. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

Jewels’ eyes widened with alarm. No way was she going to
let
him strap her down. Pushing away from him, she pummeled his chest with her free hand, struggling to break loose of his grasp.

“Dammit, Julia,” he barked, snatching the forearm of her swinging fist. Tightening the grip on her left arm, he forced her spine against his chest.

Wincing in pain, she stopped battling though her body remained tense, primed to engage in combat the moment the opportunity presented itself.

“You’re gonna have to
trust me
,” he whispered.

Looking over her shoulder up at him, her face melted into a you-don’t-really-expect-me-to-believe-that grin as she studied his countenance. Logic told her he was one of them: a kidnapping, murdering terrorist. But her vibes told her to trust him. And so far her vibes had not been wrong. Therefore, reluctantly, she chose to trust him, relaxing under his grip.

Upon feeling her surrender, he sent her a reassuring wink, scooping her body into his arms and laying her on the gurney. Reaching down, he pulled up the leather strap to buckle it across her chest.

Swallowing dryly, her face etched in fear, mind scrambled for a hint of sanity. My gawd, what had she just agreed to allow him to do? Panic eclipsed reason. Swiftly she turned onto her side to roll off.

Catching her shoulder, his powerful hand slammed her back flat onto the gurney and held her down. Moments later:
Click!
The buckle of the strap snapped shut across her chest.

“No! Don’t,” Jewels screamed, her voice high and hysterical. Frantically flailing her arms and legs and thrashing her body about, she continued to shrilly scream, “No! Don’t do this—”

Clamping his hand over her mouth, he mashed the back of her head down hard into the padded gurney. “Shut up and stop fighting me, Julia.” His eyes were narrow and scorching. Jaw set. Lips snarling. “I have to strap you down. Do you want to have to be gagged, too?”

Vigorously, she negatively shook her head, ceasing her berserk behavior.

“Then shut the hell up,” Watters demanded, his hand still firmly sealing her mouth.

Blinking, she nodded affirmatively and surrendered to his hold. What else could she do? Despite his good looks, Marshall Watters
was
a Jekyll and Hyde character after all.

Cautiously, he retracted his hand from her mouth then watched her for a moment, poised to silence her again if necessary.