Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) (47 page)

Scowling, “Some fuckin’ do-gooder by the name of Marshall Watters.” Shaking his head in regret, he reflected upon the conversation he had with Cooman. “When the general told me women went goo-goo for the guy who was charged with watching Sweet Cheeks, my gut ached with a bad feeling. I shook it off as jealously, but now...,” his voice trailed off as he blankly stared at the rock floor.

“He acted like he knew you. Do you two have history?” Wingate quizzed.

Rolling his eyes, “God. Not you, too.”

“What? I heard him, he called you by name and—”

“Stop! I don’t know the fucker,” Hines snorted.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.” Sighing, “So what do you wanna do about this Marshall Watters character who knows you, but you don’t know him?”

Gnawing on the inside of his cheek for a moment, then: “Nothing, for now.” Changing the subject, he tilted his head toward the corpse lined corridor, “Wait till morning, 0700 or so, to call this in. That should give you plenty of time to clean up.” Flashing a devious grin, “And when you start the paperwork, mention Watters. Say he blind-sided me and took me hostage for a while. You rescued me.”

Wingate’s eyebrows raised with delight. “Thanks, Boss.”

Hines nodded a you’re-welcome. “Make sure you write this up so we get a shoot-to-kill-on-sight order issued on this Watters dude.”

“You got it,” Wingate said. Turning on his heel, he marched toward the intersection of hallways.

“Hey, Wingate,” Hines called. “Do a double-check. Make certain everyone’s dead.”

“Already done. By the way, what do I say about you? Where you are, what you’re doing?”

“Tell ‘em I’ve gone after that prick Watters on foot, into the woods.”

A dirty grin sparked under Wingate’s raised eyebrows. “Truth is, you’ll be
cleansing
your bride, right?”

“Damn straight!”

WITH AN ETA TO HINES’ CABIN
of about ten minutes, Watters heard the engine again. The Escalade was speeding back up the road, toward the cabin.

“Shit that was fast,” Marshall muttered thinking how quickly Hines had done whatever he did at the SPOF compound. Once again he took cover at the roadside.

And once again the black Escalade flew by. A trail of dust in its wake.

“Hold on, Jewels,” Marshall whispered, hopping to his feet and resuming his fast-paced jog up the dusty dirt road.

• • •

The sound of the Escalade’s purring engine being snuffed jolted Jewels into an upright sitting position. Hines was back.

Quickly wiping the tears off her face with the back of her hand, she sniffled, pulled herself up onto the bed and sat on the edge. Poofing her hair and straightening the gown, she crossed her legs ladylike, doing her best to cover up the fact she had been hysterically crying for what seemed days.

The door unlocked. Creaked open.

Hines slid in. Closing the door behind him, he locked it. Slipping the bundle of keys in his pants pocket, he casually leaned his back against the cabin door. Scrutinized Jewels.

Nervously she shifted her body.

After a silent moment: “You’ve been crying,” he frankly stated, hanging the shoulder strap of the MP-5 on a hook next to the door while shedding his suit coat.

“Um, I ... you locked me in here and I got scared.” Which was the truth.

Slinging the MP-5 over his shoulder to vacate the garment hook for his suit coat, he carefully and neatly began rolling up the cuffs of his long sleeved white shirt. Narrowing his eyes, “And?” he quizzed, stepping toward her.

“And, uh, I want to go home ... please,” she said, a plastic smile etched across her stressed features.

Continuing to roll up his sleeves, “So how’s the head?”

Shifting nervously on the edge of the bed, she rapidly wrapped the end of the FBI jacket around the pointer finger of right hand. “Fine.”

Smirking, “That means you got your memory back, right?”

Inhaling deeply, Jewels abandoned her nervous twiddling and sat up tall. “Yes, I’ve got my memory back ...
Commander
,” she said coolly.

Finishing rolling up his sleeves, “Very good,” he responded without emotion.

“Now I know why Boo-Boo never liked you and why I was always apprehensive about going on a date with you,” she needled.

Grinning, “You are a smart one, but obviously, not smart enough,” he heckled. “Otherwise, you probably wouldn’t have turned on that Marshall Watters character like you did.”

His words sliced her heart as wickedly and effortlessly as she imagined Tank’s knife could.

Ambling over to the fireplace cabinets, he cranked open the door, eyed her. “You know, I really think that Watters dude was going to set you free, and for that, you got him killed.”

“
You
killed him,” Jewels rebutted, yet in her heart knew damned well Hines spoke the truth. Marshall kept telling her to trust him, but when it came down to it, she turned on him. She
was
the reason he was dead.

Exhaling a deep breath and rapidly massaging his hands together, “Well, since you know who I am and what I want, let’s just get right down to business.”

Her body recoiled in fear when he said
business
. That could only mean one thing: female mutilation.

Burying his head in the cabinet and digging around a moment, he extracted a handful of leather restraining devices. Gathering them together, he held them in one hand, and thrust them straight up from his shoulder, like Attila the Hun displaying the head of his latest enemy conquered. “These mark the beginning of
my
new life,” he declared, as if to an adoring listening world.

Eyes widened and eyebrows raised, she stared at him with fascinated horror. He was insane!

After dangling the pieces of leather in the air for a moment, he pitched them on the bed next to Jewels. “Put on those restraints. Start with your wrists.”

Glancing at the mass of leather, then up at Hines, “Never,” she declared, leaping to her feet and dashing to the opposite side of the bed putting a buffer between them. With fists balled in front of her face, she took on a boxer’s stance, poised to fight.

“Oh-ho! Sweet Cheeks wants to act like a tough girl with me,” he said, his voice breaking into a maniacal cackle. “I’m reeeeeeal scared,” he said, hunching over and waving his hands around his face trembling in a gesture of mock fear.

Waves of terror surged to tsunami proportions in her stomach. Desperation flooded her face. With eyes gaping, she rapidly scanned the sparsely decorated room for something she could use in self-defense ... other than her fists. Mentally kicking herself, she wondered why she hadn’t searched the room for a weapon while Hines was gone. Obviously the accident had jostled her mind. Including her defensive mindset.

CACHINK!

Chambering a round in the MP-5, he waved the muzzle in Jewels’ direction. “I said, put those fuckin’ straps on your wrists ... now!”

Straightening her back and dropping her arms to her side, she held her chin high. “Never,” she snarled defiantly. “You’ll just have to shoot me.”

Raising the MP-5 to eye level, he aimed. Tapped the trigger.

RATA-TAT-TAT!

• • •

The noise was muffled, no louder than the backfire of a car in the distance, but Marshall recognized the sound for what it was: a short burst of automatic gunfire, no doubt coming from the cabin. Was Jewels dead? Had she killed Hines?

Finally, Hines’ cabin was in sight, the black Cadillac Escalade parked under the carport.

Marshall double-timed his jog, threading his way around the tufts of brush and over fallen trees as he stealthily approached the log shanty.

• • •

The rounds from Hines’ MP-5 blistered the log wall behind Jewels, just inches to the left of her hip. Wooden splitters scattered about the room.

Screaming, she dived under the bed for cover.

Angry Florsheims stomped toward her, halting at the edge of the bed less than a foot from her face. “Don’t make me come down there and get you,” he warned.

Like a bankrupt stockbroker, her mind was strangely void of options. She lay breathless. Motionless. Heart trapezing out of control.

The black lace-up wingtips erupted into a flurry of angry kicks at the bed. “Get the fuck out here! Now,” he demanded.

Keeping clear of the raging shoes, Jewels retreated, turning her body around so her feet were closer to Hines than her head.

“Okay, you asked for it,” he yelled, dropping to his knees and lowering his body onto his elbows. Reaching under the bed with his right hand, he grabbed for her ankle.

“No,” she protested as his fingers clamped around the top of her foot.

“I got you now,” he revelled, repositioning his hand to capture her left ankle.

Initiating a vicious kicking attack, her legs churned, flexed feet hammering his wrist and forearm while she latched onto the bed frame. Vigorously she pulled her body toward the other end of the bed, as if performing a horizontal chin-up, worming closer to the opposite side of the bed.

Forced to grasp her ankle with both hands just to maintain control, “Fuck! You’re getting my shirt and pants dirty,” he ranted, anger boosting his adrenaline and strength. Heaving his entire body backward, he jerked her leg toward him.

Jewels bellowed a high pitched squeal as both she and the entire bed lurched about an inch closer to him. Since her fingers were firmly hooked into the metal chain of the bedsprings, when he yanked on her leg, the heavy log bed slid, too.

“Grrrrrr,” he thundered with a guttural roar, slinging his body backward again, hoisting her and the bed another inch closer.

Despite her intense grip on the bed, he was strong. And relentless. And she was losing her grasp.

Grunting, he yanked her leg again.

The bed moved less, her body more. Jewels moaned. Hung onto the metal loops.

Like a sailor vigorously pulling on a cable, he continued to heave-ho her leg. Inch by inch, drawing her nearer. And nearer. Each of his violent tugs yanking her out from under the bed, little by little.

Misery contorted her face. His brutal clutch on her bruised ankle was almost unbearable. The pads of her fingers felt like she was squeezing box cutters. Didn’t know how much longer she could hold on.

Abruptly he stopped pulling on her leg. Maintained a viselike hold. Sucked air hard and deep.

Hearing his labored breathing, she took advantage of the moment to catch her breath and prepare for the next round. Though her knuckles ached like they were slowly being torn out of their sockets, grimacing, Jewels repositioned her fingers deeper into the metal weave of the bedsprings for a stronger hold.

Between gulping breaths, “Have it your way,” he snarled. “We’ll start with ankle straps.”

“No,” Jewels screamed, launching another violent kicking attack. But his strength was mighty and he was skilled in the speedy application of restraints. Only milliseconds passed before she heard the binding crunch of the Velcro strap and felt the bite of the stiff leather belt being brutally fastened on top, painfully engulfing her left ankle in a double restraint cuff.

After clipping a long thin piece of leather onto the D-ring of the restraint like a leash, he rose to his feet. Pulled on it like a towrope. Dragged Jewels farther out from under the queen-sized hideaway.

The leverage he had gained with the leash was close to generating more power than she could resist. Or withstand. With her body stretched painfully long as if on a torture rack, every muscle in her body strained as she hung on to the bedsprings. Her deep groans of torment filled the cabin like a horror sound track playing in a disturbing spook alley.

He persisted. Pulled harder. Used more force. Jewels and the bed shifted six inches closer to him, the big log headboard and footboard grinding heavy into the floor planks, leaving scaring ruts.

Finally, her fingers could endure no more. She lost grip of the coils.

Instantly taking advantage of her weakness, with one mighty jerk he hauled Jewels’ lower legs out from under the bed. The bottom of the gown bunched up near the top of her thighs, exposing her knees.

In a fit of terror she thrashed her body about. Twisting onto her stomach, then back. Rolling to and fro irrationally. Wildly clawing at the underneath of the bed and the uneven floor boards. During the madness the skirt of the gown caught on the edge of a protruding mattress spring, tearing it.

Hearing the material ripping, “You fuckin’ bitch! You’re ruining my mother’s wedding dress,” he angrily shouted. It really wasn’t his mother’s wedding dress, but because he had
imagined
it so, it was. With the added adrenaline from the rage over the torn dress, he harnessed the surge of energy to powerfully tug on the leather leash.

Though Jewels had waged a valiant defensive effort and even connected with several flesh-pounding blows, Theodore Hines reigned superior.

Hastily, he secured a double restraint cuff around her right ankle then snapped on a leash. With a hand firmly wrapped around the leather leash attached to each ankle, he dragged Jewels out from under the bed. Screaming, kicking and clawing at the air, the floor, the bed,
anything
, she madly tried to grab something to save herself from his clutches. But failed miserably.