Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) (13 page)

“Sure. But I can do better than that. First, gotta have this,” Zip said, peeling off the mask and extending it toward Tank. “Don’t want your face to be seen.” Laughing, he added, “Gonna cover up that perfect mug you’re so proud of—”

“Hey,” Tank interrupted, caressing his cheek with the back of his hand, “More than one woman said she’d kill for my complexion.”

Zip’s eyes widened. “I heard you were a narcissistic sonofabitch, especially when it came to your face. Guys say you use skin cream and fuss over your looks like a broad.”

Tank’s eyes narrowed. “You gotta problem with that?”

“No, no. Just sayin’. You got great skin and know how to take care of it ... and I can only think of one other guy in this place who’s better lookin’ than you.”

“What the fuck?”

Swallowing hard, “Man ... I’m ... well, Watters. I think he might be...,” shaking his head, “no, for sure, you have the best face. For sure,” Zip stammered nervously.

“Watters, huh?” Tank gazed blankly at the wall in deep thought.

Clearing his throat, Zip returned the conversation to the issue of the mask. “As I was saying, even though she lives alone, you never know about those pesky security cameras these days. They’re fuckin’ everywhere. Even inside houses.” Pausing, he waved the mask in his hand, adding, “It takes some getting used to at first, but once you do, you’re gonna enjoy it and wonder how you ever managed without it.”

Frowning, Tank reluctantly accepted Zip’s offering, disbelieving he would
enjoy
wearing the kinky head gear, though he agreed hiding his face was necessary. And what the fuck was this about Watters being better looking?

Zip signaled Tank with his finger to wait a moment, “Stand guard for a minute, would ya?”

“Go ahead.”

Handing Tank the AR, Zip jogged down the hall to the
intersection
, turned left, immediately engulfed the crystal knob of a vintage single-panel fir door in his hand, pulling on it. The door opened to a twenty-by-twenty foot room with beat-up rusting lockers lining three of the four stone-stacked walls. With only a skeleton staff of twenty residing full time at SPOF, each man could claim up to three lockers if he wanted. Most only used two.

Zip quickly scanned the area. Dirty pants, shirts, underwear and socks were thrown over a half-dozen secondhand living room chairs that randomly dotted the room. The ragged chairs looked like mice had shredded the cloth upholstery and the space smelled like a fusty bachelor pad inhabited by red neck slobs.

A tall slender man with taxi cab ears and a buzz haircut, who looked more like a skinny high school boy than an Army-trained sniper, poked his head out from behind one of the open lockers, wearing nothing but skivvies.

“Hey, Snipe, can you watch the main entry for me? General’s got Tank on a special mission and I gotta help.”

“No problem,” he said, crawling into a woodland green camo T-shirt. “Be right there.”

TEN MINUTES LATER. Standing in front of his open locker, Zip talked to Tank like a father giving his teenage son advice before embarking on his first date. “Nothing attracts unwanted attention like the sound of a scared shitless woman screaming for help. Can’t let her scream, Tank. Got to shut her up right away.”

“Don’t think screaming will be a problem. Bitch lives in the middle of the woods. No neighbors for miles.”

“Excellent. Still, you’ll need to shut her up for transport to the compound ... unless you’re planning to drug her.”

Tank seesawed his head. “Nope. Can’t wait for Doc. I hear he won’t be back for a couple more hours. So she’ll be fully conscious.”

Zip’s forehead wrinkled. “Plus, you gotta be concerned about the bitch bitin’ ya. And that can get pretty nasty.” A cocky grin parted his pudgy face as he pointed to the scar on his right forearm.

Brows lifting, Tank’s eyes widened. “A bite from a woman?”

“Yup, but that was right before I gagged the bitch with her own panties.” Pridefully he shook his head and puffed out his chest, remembering. “A feisty cunt she was. Gave me a black eye, too. But I showed her. After I raped her, I busted up both her knee caps with a metal pipe.”

“Hmm,” Tank replied without emotion.

Bending over, Zip reached to the back of his locker, pulling out two sets of leather straps: one for legs, the other for arms. With a devilish gleam of excitement in his eyes he dangled the well-used tethers in front of Tank’s face. “We’ll get to the gag in a minute, but first the bitch’ll have to be restrained.”

Tank’s face brightened. “You’re one prepared pervert!”

The perceived compliment encouraged Zip. Continuing to hold the straps in front of Tank’s face, “These are the quick capture kind,” he said, proceeding to explain how they work. “Just slip this noose over her hand, around her wrist, then jerk the strap quick and hard. The cinch will constrict around her wrist, automatically locking the strap in place. No buckles to fumble with. Nothing to tie down. The hold is inescapable. And you also have a little leash to hold onto.”

Tank made a face indicating he was impressed.

“For optimum control,” Zip continued, “bind her hands behind her back. Plus, then the bitch can’t scratch you.” Holding up the ankle restraints, “These leg straps work the same way, except see this extra strap in the middle?”

Tank nodded he understood as Zip continued.

“Once you get her in the car, roll her on her stomach then use this strap to bind her feet up to her hands.” Snickering, “The bitch’ll look kinda funny, like a human hunting bow, but she’ll be totally, fuckin’ immobilized.”

“No shit. That’s just what I need,” Tank replied with pleasure, planting a heavy pat of thanks on Zip’s back.

Zip beamed. “Now let’s get you a gag.” Turning back to the locker, he rooted around and mumbled an endless line of expletives as he tossed out a balled up wad of dirty clothes that landed in a stinky heap on top of Tank’s right foot.

Wrinkling his nose, Tank’s head jerked to the side at the blast of stench assaulting his sense of smell. Reflexively he kicked the stinking laundry off his boot.

Finally, Zip produced an oval red ball with an elastic band threaded through the wide end of the egg-like device. “This is one of my favorites.” Miming the actions, he explained: “Just shove this ditty in her mouth and slip this elastic strip over her head. Use these straps, like a saddle cinch, to make it real tight. Believe me, with this thing in her mouth, she ain’t gonna be sayin’ nothin’ to no one. And like I said, she’s got no way to bite you, either.”

Eyeing the array of paraphernalia filling his arms, “Thanks Zip for the ... uhh ... equipment,” Tank said, rolling up the bondage gear and stuffing them in his jacket pockets.

The men laughed.

Pursing his lips, a hint of concern tainted his perfect complexion as he studied the straps. “Hey, Zip, is this stuff gonna be painful for the bitch?”

A fiendish grin ate Zip’s face. “You can bet your fuckin’ black ass on it!”

Snickering, Tank strolled out of the locker area.

Zip shadowed him, closing the vintage fir door. “Hey, how about when you get back we use this bitch to teach you some of the finer points of bondage fucking?”

“Tempted. But not an option. She’s already reserved at the highest level.”

“Really? Maybe just a little
sample
would be okay,” Zip pressed, with a dirty grin, strolling shoulder to shoulder with Tank down the stone-encased hallway, their casual footsteps amplifying to sound like an army marching in sync.

Vigorously shaking his head in disagreement, Tank replied, “Forget it. Like I said, not an option.”

About to cross the intersection, Tank halted, raised a finger, wagged it as he turned to face Zip. “Hey, one more thing. You got some sort of hood or something I can put over her head? Don’t want the bitch to see where I’m takin’ her and once we get here, I don’t want her to see the inside of the compound.”

Zip’s features compressed. Thought about it for a moment. Motioned for Tank to follow him back to the locker area.

Once inside the room, Zip opened another locker he had claimed for himself, dug round for a few moments then extracted a wrinkled ball of material. “How about a laundry sack?” he asked, shaking it out.

“Good enough,” Tank replied, snatching the cloth bag out of Zip’s hand and proceeding to fold and roll it like a mini sleeping bag before stuffing it another pocket. “See ya in three, four hours,” he said, rapidly striding down the hall toward the intersection, his jacket pockets bulging.

Zip hung back. “Remember, have
fun
,” he called out, envy in his voice, as Tank was about to disappear into an adjoining hall.

Abruptly Tank halted and spun around, jogging back to Zip. “Oh, another thing. I need
someone
to drive my truck back. General says I need to bring back one of her vehicles.”

“Sure. Yeah. Love to.” Zip’s cesspool eyes lit up with excitement. “Hey, I could even help you get—”

“No!”

Zip’s eyes widened, his hands waved a surrender signal. “Calm down, man. It was just a thought.”

The men walked briskly down the hall. Tank stopped, his face drenched with concern. “Seriously, you think Watters is better looking than me?”

Zip burst out laughing, “You got a Cinderella complex? Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?”

“I think you’re mixing up fairy tales....” Tank’s voice trailed off.

“Sorry, didn’t mean—”

“Forget it,” Tank snorted.

Zip grabbed his shoulder. “I was just fucking with ya,” he said, tone serious. “Watters ain’t got nothing on you, except maybe more hair.”

Tank laughed.

Zip slapped him on the back, gestured toward the stairway. “Maybe we could have a lineup. Let the bitch pick the
fairest of them all
.”

“Fine. You’ve had your fun,” Tank snickered, walking briskly down the hall. Turning serious, “Focus. Game face on. Gotta
package
to wrap up and deliver ... and her name is Julia Andrasy.”

10:42 P.M.
Jewels gazed blankly at the TV, her attention still focused on the events of the day. Boo-Boo slept curled up next to her on the hunter green and gold striped sofa in the family room. Letterman’s monologue conjured up a burst of laughter. The momentary rise in television noise caused Jewels’ eyes to flicker, breaking her fixated stare.

It had been an emotionally challenging Thursday. First
Sharon
’s call. Then her murder. Then the mystery of her dying words and the map. Ending in the fiasco with FBI Agents Hines and Folsum. Jewels sighed. “And let’s not forget being tailed by the fancy green Dodge,” she said to Boo-Boo, gently stroking the silky hair on the dog’s back. “Or the attack of the eight-legged terrorist,” she added forcing a little chuckle in an attempt to deflate the swelling of negativity on the verge of exploding her innards.

Mentally and physically drained, she hadn’t even changed into her nightshirt yet. But the thought of sleeping in her T-shirt and familiar blue jeans—“cowgirl jeans” as Robert used to call her preferred Rocky Mountain brand—didn’t particularly bother her, especially since the couch remained a viable alternative to making the trek upstairs to bed.

Boo-Boo’s head abruptly perked up, her ears forward. A slow, deep, throaty growl signaled danger.

Base fear shot up Jewels with a mega dose of adrenaline. Suddenly she was wide awake. On high alert. Would the next few moments unveil the terrible danger her vibes had forewarned? Jewels spent little precious time wondering. If she were to survive whatever this impending danger was, she had to push fear aside, hold panic at bay. Think clearly. Sanely. Defensively.

Thrusting her hand between the sofa arm and cushion, Jewels drew the forty-five she had earlier taken from her office and stuffed down at her side,
just in case
. From practiced habit, she did a quick press check, pushing the front of the slide back one half inch with the tip of her finger to visually inspect the chamber. The sight of the shiny hollow point cartridge reassured her the gun was loaded. Ready to fire.

After confirming her weapon’s readiness, securing a communication line was her next priority. The cell phone in her handbag, which she earlier had dumped on the kitchen island, would fill that requirement, but she had to fetch it first. After that, all she had to do was hustle to her
safe room
, where it was stocked well enough to hold off a small army for hours, maybe even days, if necessary.

The upstairs master bedroom, designed to double as a safe room, was inventoried with items the home security and self-defense experts had recommended. A metal door with security barricade bar. Flashlight. Escape ladder. First aid kit. Metal window shields that, with a push of a button, automatically rolled down over the glass. A gun safe with ample firepower, including a Mossberg 12- gauge shotgun and a Colt AR-15 rifle. And plenty of preloaded magazines along with ammo cans full of loose cartridges. But the one critical element missing in the safe room set up was a permanent cell phone, simply a result of failed followed through. Neither Robert nor Jewels had remembered to buy one.

Letting Letterman blare, Jewels cautiously rose from the sofa. The cell phone was just across the room and through the cafe doors. All she had to do was retrieve it.