Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) (40 page)

TAP: the palm of her hand hit the bottom of the magazine, making sure it was fully seated in the magazine well.

RACK: her non-firing hand reached over the top of the barrel and pulled the slide back, ejecting the cartridge before letting go of the slide. Another cartridge automatically loaded in the chamber.

FIRE: sight up on target—at her temple again—finger pressed the trigger.
CLICK!

“No, Julia, no!” Marshall hollered, scrambling through the tangled mess of toppled folding chairs.

Now really confused, Jewels started the drill again, TAP. RACK. Looked down the barrel of the gun then, pressed the trigger.
CLICK!
Still no
bang
.

Three times Jewels had pressed the gun to her head, pulled the trigger, and three times the gun failed to
bang
. What had she done wrong?

So caught up in the amazement of why the gun wasn’t firing, she hadn’t paid attention to Marshall moving in for the capture.

Leaping toward her, he swallowed her body in his arms, tumbled to the rough stone floor.

Jewels shrieked. Held onto the gun. Landed on top of Marshall.

“Give me that,” Marshall demanded, ripping the gun from her hand.

Humiliated, she surrendered without physical or verbal argument, resting her head on his chest.

Joining the scene, “Gimme the gun,” Cooman said extending his hand.

Rolling Jewels’ body off his and onto the floor next to him, Marshall sat up. Handed the pistol to the general.

Tucking the Colt back into the slide holster, “Get her up.”

After thrusting himself to his feet and helping Jewels to hers, Marshall immediately shed his gentlemanly behavior in exchange for a controlling prison guard. Grasping her arms above her elbows from behind, he wrenched her body in front of his to face the general.

Jewels glanced back at him, eyes begging for an explanation of his roughness. He responded by powerfully jerking her body rearward, slamming her back against his chest. An obvious preview of his intended domination. Jekyll and Hyde again? What happened to her hero? Choking back tears, she hung her head, feeling sorry for herself.

“One gutsy, bitch,” Cooman said, a tone of admiration in his voice. “Nearly shocked the shit out of me when you pulled the trigger. And not once. Not twice. But three times.”

Not believing it herself, she actually
had
tried to kill herself three times. Sniffling, Jewels attempted to dab the trickle of tears from her face with the bottom of her T-shirt, but Marshall’s fierce hold prevented her hand from reaching her face. Not contesting his grasp, she let her arm drop to her side and shook her head in dismay, “Why didn’t the gun work? Isn’t it real? Are the cartridges dummy rounds?”

Cooman smirked. “Oh, yeah. Everything’s real, for sure.”

Jewels’ eyes probed questioningly for him to continue to explain why the gun didn’t go
bang
.

“Smart gun,” he said.

“Smart gun?” Jewels was puzzled.

“Yeah, latest in high-tech wizardry. This is a one-of-a-kind prototype, compliments of Uncle Sam,” he said, grinning as he patted the grip of the gun with his hand.

Cooman extended his right hand and pointed to the gold band on his middle finger. “There’s a tiny transponder in here. The gun won’t allow the firing pin to drop unless it reads the transponder’s signal. This particular prototype was rejected by the Feds because of the hassle of customizing a ring to fit every agent’s finger. Apparently if the ring doesn’t fit perfectly, the transponder won’t prevent the firing pin from dropping.”

Gazing at the gun and twisting the gold band on his finger, his eyebrows arched. “Huh. Worked well for me.” Gnawing on his cigar for a moment, then, “To tell you the truth, I was a little nervous when you first grabbed it. Since you were within eighteen inches of the transponder the gun
would
have discharged the moment you pulled the trigger. You could have shot me, anyone in the room, or hell, yourself for that fact, because you were within range of the safety remote. But as soon as you started walking away from me, I knew the gun had been tamed to the lethal worthiness of a pancake turner.”

Marshall and the guards shot puzzled glances at Cooman.

Jewels asked the question they were all thinking. “Why did you let me go on? If you knew the gun wouldn’t work, why didn’t you say something?”

Watters and the four guards nodded in unison, their faces painted with a yeah-why-didn’t-you-tell-us look.

Cooman snorted a laugh. “Hell, I was curious. Wanted to see what you’d do. Now I know.”

How could she have known he would have such a device? Jewels felt stupid. Humiliated. “Smart gun,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Your little stunt proved one thing I suspected since the first time I heard about you...,” Cooman’s voice trailed off. Smiling fondly, he reminisced. “I remember hearing Tank was challenged bringing you in. You shot him and tried to rake his eyes out. Didn’t think much of it. Figured most women would balk at being kidnapped. Then I was told you busted Doc’s balls, diced Tank’s face and brachial artery, escaped to your vehicle, nearly got away and sliced up a couple men during the recapture.” Pausing, he smiled. “I must admit,
that
really got my attention. I was curious as hell about you. Couldn’t imagine what kind of woman was capable of such destruction.

“And when I met you, the first thing I saw was you beating the shit out of Watters’ face with your cuffed hands and calling him a jack-booted Neanderthal.” Slapping his leg, he exploded in belly laughter, his shoulders jiggling up and down like they were moved by puppet strings.

Marshall’s face flushed red.

Wagging his finger, “And you even threatened
me
with a red hot poker,” he added with a hint of admiration. “You’re one wild and feisty bitch, and I admit, I appreciate your fight and spunk,” Cooman continued. “Don’t know if you’re real gutsy or just crazy. Do know this though,” his smile disappeared, face turned serious, “from here on out you’re gonna have to be kept under constant restraint.”

Jewels let out a startled gasp.

Cooman to Watters: “Things are getting close, can’t risk unnecessary chances with her anymore. Take her to Doc. Have him give her something to calm her down and tell him to treat her like she’s precious cargo. Precious
insane
cargo.”

Watters responded to Cooman’s order with a tug on Jewels’ arms, a prompt for her to start walking toward the door.

“No!” Jewels shrieked, violently twisted her shoulders to shake his grip.

“Julia, settle down,” Marshall ordered, intensifying his hold. Softening his tone, “Just gonna let Doc take care of you.”

Craning her head back, she glared murderously. “Take care of me! Is that what you call it when someone is drugged up and tied down against her will?”

Shaking his head in disgust, Cooman parked his hands on his hips, barked at Jewels. “For chrissake, woman! Are you gonna try to give us
more
trouble? Why don’t you just accept the fact that we
own
you and there’s nothing you can do about it?”

A what-a-stupid-question look grew on Jewels’ face, her jaw set in determination, eyes blazed with defiance.

“Give Watters a hand,” Cooman instructed two of the guards, who immediately converged on Jewels like hyenas on a carcass.

Jewels fought. Insanely jerked her arms. Madly twisted her body. Wildly kicked.

The big combat boots flew off her feet.

“Aawwwwwh,” one of the guards bellowed as a flying boot hit him in the groin.

Though an intense battle, it was short. Three against one. Marshall readjusted his hold from her upper arms to her wrists and each guard latched onto to a leg.

The skin around her wrists and ankles was already sore and bruised from Tank’s ropes. Now bonds of flesh inflicted more pain. And then there was the shoulder Tank had crushed. More pain.

With the guards holding her legs walking backwards, her three captors toted her out of Cooman’s office like a trophy lion hung by its limbs from a pole. Her head dangled near the floor, long blonde hair dragging between Marshall’s feet behind like a veil. Occasionally her spine skimmed the rock floor.

Misery consumed her face. “Marshall, please stop. You’re hurting me,” she whined, gazing up at him.

As if he didn’t hear her, he simply looked forward. Kept marching. Didn’t even break stride.

Desperately: “Please, Marshall, help me. Don’t let them do this to me,” she implored with a surge of pitiful, and pointless, crazy body contortions.

Marshall continued to focus straight ahead and maintain absolute control as he and the guards proceeded down hallways and around corners into the medical wing.

Leo Callahan was tinkering with the crash cart when the men burst through the door.

“
Now
what’s going on?” Callahan asked, his voice thick with irritation.

“General says you need to sedate her, treat her like she’s precious but crazy,” the guard holding her right ankle explained.

“He wants her in restraints, constantly,” the other guard added.

Callahan sighed. “Take her back to the exam table.”

“No. Please don’t put me in those psycho straps,” Jewels cried, launching another assault, frantically wiggling, twisting and turning her body and limbs.

Undaunted by her physical protests, the brutes hoisted her up onto the cold metal table, slammed her back down hard on it. Still grasping her wrists, Marshall forced her arms across her chest, firmly pressed down, effectively restraining her entire upper body.

Violently thrashing her body about and tossing her head back and forth, “No! Don’t! Please,” she gasped, her voice high pitched.

“Come on, Doc, get her strapped down,” the guard contending with her right leg demanded.

“We’ll sedate her first,” Callahan replied, preparing the injection.

“No. Please, don’t,” she continued to plead, still squirming, yet much less aggressively. Breathing hard, she had nearly worn herself out.

“Straighten her arm and hold it steady,” Doc said.Marshall forced her right arm straight. Pulled it out to the side slightly, closer to Callahan, then rotated it to expose the underside of her elbow.

Making a fist and tensing her arm, she twisted and jerked, but there was no escaping Marshall’s hold.

“Settled down, Julia,” Doc said, rapidly tapping her vein with his finger. “This will hurt much less if you just relax,” Doc advised, his voice calm.

Relax? Was he joking? How the hell was she supposed to
relax
in this dreadful situation? Jewels didn’t even try.

Marshall steadied her rigid arm, nodded for Callahan to insert the needle.

“Awwwh,” she cried, as Doc stabbed the needle in her arm and plunged the contents of the syringe into her vein.

Staring up at Marshall, eyes tear-filled, “How could you help them do this to me...,” her voice trailed off as the drug took effect.

SATURDAY, 1:08 P.M.
“Thank you, ladies,” he said with a wave of his hand as he bailed out of Belinda’s Subaru and slammed the door. The meeting in the parking lot of Kate’s Diner had been brief, but enlightening. Lilly recounted the incredible and detailed information Jewels had sent to Sheriff Jodie Clarkston.

Climbing into his Porsche, he thought about the tape and map. “Jewels why didn’t you talk to
me
about this?” Howard wondered aloud, hurt in his voice. Of course he knew the answer: Jewels had no reason to ask him for help because she didn’t know his background, which he had purposely kept secret. Playing the role of a bored multi-millionaire who just happened to have a passion for journalism, was all he allowed Jewels to know. He had enemies. Well connected, exceedingly wealthy enemies who wanted him dead. The fewer people who knew his history, the better. Still, he should have told Jewels. If he had then....

Dismissing worthless regrets, he focused his attention on Theodore Hines, a high-powered federal agent with scads of clout. Gut instinct told him Hines was as dirty as a baby’s diaper. “And just as full of shit,” he muttered to himself, punching in numbers on his cell phone.

After one ring: “How may I help you today?” the monotone male voice answered.

“This is a nine-one-one for Bradshaw from Dyson.”

“Right away, Sir,” the man replied, instantly forwarding his call.

After two rings: “This is Bradshaw, talk to me.”

“Thanks for taking my call. Does the name Theodore Hines mean anything to you?”

“Dyson, are you still nosing around the Andrasy case?” he asked, purposely wording his response to answer Howard’s question, without actually answering it.

“I want in.”

No response.

“Come on, Bradshaw, I know Julia and she trusts me. Besides, you
know
damned well I can help.”

“And you want to get in her panties, you horny old goat,” he quickly returned with a laugh.

“I won’t deny I have feelings for her ... and I’m not
that
much older than you, so watch those old goat remarks. And as far as horny, may I remind you that
you
hold the record for one-night stands.”