Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) (17 page)

Zip rapidly tread over FLOWER POWER, jogging through the open doorway into the adjoining hall. “Doc, Doc. Come quick.”

Surrounded by the standard stone walls of the complex, the wide hallway revealed four doors, three in a row, like those hiding prizes in a TV game show, the fourth at the end of the passage. Behind door number one: Doc’s personal living quarters. Number two: Doc’s office. Three: a multi-station bathroom with shower. Four: the exam room.

The head of a sleepy-eyed black man popped out from his freshly lighted room. “How can I help you boys?” The question blended into a yawn as he curiously looked at the bundle slung over Tank’s shoulder.

“Doc, got a woman for you to look at. I think she’s unconscious or something.”

The doctor wrapped the gray, blue, and black striped terry cloth robe around himself, knotting the matching belt at his waist, shuffling out of his room. “Take her in there,” he instructed, pointing at the fourth door.

Tank hastily beelined it toward the room, pushing Doc aside.

Zip darted in front, opening the door and slapping the light switch.

The examining room appeared under wakening florescent and halogen lights. In the center of the room, a long stainless steel table waited. Wide black nylon straps dangled from the sides like a sinister skirt.

Tank dumped the motionless parcel of flesh onto the table, quickly backing away. Nervously he stammered, “She’s the Commander’s. I was ordered to bring her here ... not hurt her. I thought she was okay but, well, I guess maybe the restraints....”

Warm, molasses brown eyes shielded the contempt Doc Callahan felt for what he saw before him: a woman dumped on her side, torturously bound in leather belts, a cloth bag cinched over her head. Thrusting his hands on his hips, “Take that hood off,” Callahan hotly instructed from the doorway.

Nervously Tank fumbled to loosen the drawstring snugly gathered around her neck. Finally he pulled the bag off her head. Jewels’ long silky blond hair flowed over the edge of the table like a waterfall.

The sight of the egg-like gag in her mouth alarmed Callahan. “What the hell?” Rushing to the table he bent over her, pressed his fingers against the side of her neck, cocked his ear toward her nose, and gazed at her chest; performing the classic
look, listen
and
feel
for signs of life.

Breathing shallow and pulse steady, she was alive, but unconscious. Doc’s face was hard, abhorrence emanating.

Tank felt pressured to explain. “She was screaming. I had to ... I couldn’t let her....”

Glaring, “Get that goddamned thing off,” Doc demanded grinding his teeth.

Unbuckling the strap, Tank removed the gag, tossed it to Zip who caught it midair like a tennis ball. Her saliva had slimed the gag. Zip’s pudgy face brightened. Without drawing attention to himself, he rolled the oval ball gag around in the palm of his hand. Her spit coated his fingers like sexual lubrication. Drool turned him on.

“Don’t stop! Take the rest of that garbage off, too!”

Doc’s commanding voice jolted Zip from his saliva fantasy, motivating him to assist Tank in removing the leather harshly binding her wrists and ankles.

The severe tightness of the straps had turned Jewels’ hands and feet puffy.

Pointing to the dried blood on Jewels’ left hand and arm, “Uh, that’s not hers. She shot me,” Tank said, rubbing his arm, as if seeking sympathy.

Callahan glanced up at Tank. His eyes said it all: He couldn’t give a rat’s ass about Tank’s gunshot wound! Focusing his attention on Jewels, he gently rolled her over on her back examining her limbs for broken bones, soft tissue damage and oozing blood.

Motioning with his chin at her shredded T-shirt, “What happened here?” Doc quizzed with speculation.

Tank twitched his head. “Nothing really.”

Doc snorted at the lame explanation, knowing full well the poor woman had endured savage manhandling at the very least ... and probably much worse. Using a damp cloth, Doc cleaned the blood off her hands and arms. “Ligature marks,” he mumbled, gazing at the red stripes of tormented flesh encircling her wrists; evidence she had been brutally restrained and strenuously resisted.

“She gonna be okay?” Tank inquired, his voice thick with concern.

Eyes seething, Callahan answered coolly, “Only if you haven’t managed to smother her will to live.”

If Jewels’
will
was the determining factor in whether or not she would survive, Tank knew she would pull through. Grinning widely, “Trust me, Doc, this woman will be just fine.” With his confidence back, he bragged, “By the way, make sure you take extra good care of her. That’s Julia Andrasy.”

Callahan shot a wary glance down at the woman, then over to Tank. His eyes grew wide, begging for confirmation of what he just heard.

Tank gave it to him, served with a ghoulish grin. “Yes, Doc.
That
Julia Andrasy ... the Commander’s very own.”

“But I thought Phase One wasn’t going to happen for a couple more weeks?”

“Change of plans,” Tank said without emotion, motioning to Zip they should leave Callahan to his work.

After taking a few steps toward the door, Tank turned back to Callahan, “A word of advice, Doc. This bitch is a real wild one. Better keep her strapped down if you don’t want your eyes raked out or your balls shattered.”

Doc winced at the last remark, instinctively reaching to his crotch.

Tank and Zip laughed as they meandered out the exam room door.

Callahan watched them exit, listening for the closure of the main infirmary door, a sign that they had left.

Alone, just the two of them now, he surveyed Jewels’ body. A real life Sleeping Beauty. Caressing her flawless lightly-tanned cheek with the back of his manicured walnut hand, he admired her outer beauty while imagining her inner strength.

Wagging his head in disapproval, he mulled over the Commander’s plans for Jewels. “Not right. Just not right,” he mumbled.

A vision of his daughter glided into his mind. Pursing his lips, he furrowed his brows. “I’m sorry...,” Callahan whispered to Jewels, tenderly dusting the stray strands of hair from her face, “but better you than my little Lexi.” And with that, he sucked in a deep breath and began engulfing her body in the wide nylon straps.

FRIDAY MORNING.
“Robert?” Jewels stirred on the verge of regaining consciousness.

Except to slip away long enough to change out of his sleepwear, Leo Callahan, M.D., had remained vigilant at Jewels’ side since Tank had dropped her off hours ago. Dozing off in the black vinyl waiting room chair he had dragged from his office and stationed next to the exam table, her moaning perked him up. Rising to his feet, he arched his back and stretched for a moment. Hovering over her, he gently tapped her cheeks with an open hand. “Julia? Miz Andrasy?”

“Robert. I’m home....” A sweet smile glided across her face. Her eyelids fluttered open and closed.

“Miz Andrasy? Julia? Come on. Wake up.”

Jewels’ eyelids rose slowly. The figure before her was backlit in brilliant light, making it impossible to distinguish the face. “Robert,” she muttered wantonly, desiring nothing more than to throw her arms around him, but she couldn’t muster the strength to do it. Her eyelids slid shut.

“Julia? Come on, Julia. Open your eyes.”

Slightly pinching her brows, she stirred. It was that unfamiliar voice again. Drawing her away from Robert.

“Wake up, Julia.”

The insistent voice angered her. Robert was fading. Frustration was mounting. “No, no,” she softly muttered, her head slightly twitching, eyes fluttering. She wanted Robert to stay ... but, no ... now the kitchen. Boo-Boo’s body convulsing. Head about hacked off. Crimson life juices spewing. Giant man. Hideous black mask. Blood-drenched knife. Charging her. The chase. The fight. The capture. Jewels’ eyes saucered open. “No!” she screamed, violently jerking her head forward and wildly contorting her body.

“Julia? Julia, settle down,” he said reassuringly, his hands firmly planted against her shoulders to prevent her from attempting to sit up. “You’re okay. My name is Doctor Leo Callahan. You’re in a medical facility. You’re going to be just fine.”

Jewels’ confused brain was slow to process his words. Gasping for air, her lungs burned. Heart jack-hammered. Wild-eyed she gazed at the man bent over her who reminded her of Morgan Freeman when he was in his late fifties or early sixties. The similarity calmed her. Relaxing her muscles, she swallowed hard. Her throat felt rough, like a cat’s tongue. “Water. Please, water,” she weakly requested.

Moments later the Morgan Freeman look-alike tipped her head forward, pressing a plastic cup to her lips. Eagerly she gulped the cool liquid.

“Take it easy, Honey,” he said with a warm smile, backing off the cup and lowering her head onto the folded white terry cloth towel he had earlier placed there as a makeshift pillow.

Relief radiated from her countenance. “Thank you,” she whispered, gazing up at the man whose face was friendly, eyes kind, and touch gentle.

“More, please.”

Again he flashed that warm smile and obliged, helping her to a few more swallows of water.

“Thank you.” Now fully awake, Jewels scanned her surroundings. Three giant round lights, like those seen in an operating room, hovered above her. Colorful charts of the ear canal, circulatory and nervous systems dotted the walls. A black and white bone chart was taped to the side of the door.

White cabinets lined the walls. Various sizes of glass jars heaped with tongue depressors, cotton balls and gauze pads sat on the counters. And the place reeked of a hospital, that nauseating raw chicken, rubbing alcohol scent. Wrinkling her nose at the smell, she concluded she was, in fact, in some sort of medical facility, just as her caretaker had claimed.

But how did she get here? Sifting through her mind for some recollection ... the last thing she remembered was being tossed in the back of her Humvee with her feet yanked up to her butt and having them tethered to her bound hands. But what about Robert? He was there. Somewhere. Wasn’t he?

The blanks had to be filled in. Attempting to sit up, she realized her body was immobile. Seeking to at least raise her arms, she quickly discovered they wouldn’t budge either, though she was able to rotate her hands and ball her fingers into fists. Likewise, she could wiggle her toes and circle her feet, but her legs wouldn’t move an inch. While testing the ability of her limbs to operate properly, she became aware of the surface. It felt hard and cold against her flat palms. When she bent her fingers, the tips of her sharp acrylic nails raked against the top, sounding like a spatula scraping against a cookie sheet. Was she lying on a metal table?

Jutting her head forward in hopes of catching a glimpse of the problem, she was horrified at the sight: the outline of her body loosely covered from her chin to the tips of her toes in a large white blanket draped over the edge, like a corpse in a morgue.
Without a doubt, something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong. Her thoughts went haywire.
Did being hogtied wreak havoc with her gross motor skills? Could she be paralyzed, either t
emporarily or permanently ... or? Confusion swamped her mind, drowning out her ability to imagine other possibilities.

After regaining control of her wits and accumulating enough courage to handle the potentially devastating answers to the questions that must be asked, Jewels glanced at her caretaker whose back was toward her. He was standing in front of one of the cabinets across the room, fiddling with what sounded like a drawer full of silverware. “Excuse me. Sir?” she called out.

Callahan wheel around, striding to her side. “Yes, Julia?”

Casting her eyes down at her body, then back up at him, she hesitantly asked, “What’s wrong with me? I can’t move anything but my fingers and toes. Am I paralyzed?”

His comforting eyes turned to crescents as he grinned and shook his head. “No, Sweetie. You’re not paralyzed. Just restrained.”

Instantly her body stiffened, alarm smothered her face.

“It’s okay,” he reassured, patting her shoulder in comfort. “They’re just temporary. Didn’t want you hurting yourself.” With a hint of joking he added, “Or me.”

“Why would you think I would hurt myself. Or you?” she asked bewildered.

“You’ve been through a lot, Dear.”

“Where am I and how did I get here? Did you rescue me?”

Callahan shifted his gaze to the other side of the room.

By his reaction, Jewels figured she was not going to be thrilled with the answers. Still, she had to know. “Please. Tell me. Please,” she softly petitioned.

After pondering her request a moment longer, he sucked in a deep breath, exhaling through puffed cheeks. Dragging the waiting room chair next to the bed he lowered himself into the seat and sighed. “All right. I’ll give it to you straight.”

Jewels gulped air in nervous anticipation of what he might say.

“You’ve been kidnapped. Your abductor has brought you here to make sure you survived the ordeal relatively unscathed,” he paused, his eyes shifting to the floor. “And, no, Dear, I’m not your rescuer,” he said, wrenching regret in his voice. “I work for the man who orchestrated your abduction.”