Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) (46 page)

Eyeing her, “Of course they
can
and
will
help,” he said, annoyance in his voice.

Finally Howard’s cell phone buzzed.

Belinda sat up. Alert.

Howard glanced at the number, immediately turned his back to her, jogged into Jewels’ private bath and closed the door before answering. “So, Bradshaw, did you get me in?”

Laughing, “You never did mince words. And, the answer is affirmative.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Rescue’s underway. Where are you now?”

“New Greensburgh Press.”

“Is there ample space to land a helo?”

“Affirmative.”

“Good. We’re on our way. Should be there around twenty-one hundred hours, give or take five.”

“I’ll be ready and assume you’ll brief me in flight.”

“One more thing,” Bradshaw said.

“Yeah?”

“You’re not in charge of this op. Your presence is strictly as an advisor with no authority. Pretty much just a courtesy. Understood?”

Rolling his eyes and sighing, “Yes,
Sir
,” Dyson replied, disconnecting the call then exiting the bathroom.

Belinda jumped to her feet. “So is that info Lilly gave you going to help find Jewels?” she asked, hope in her voice.

Smiling, “Yes. Thank you,” he said, hurriedly marching toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Can you make sure the south parking lot is clear? A helicopter is going to pick me up in about twenty minutes and I need to change my clothes.”

FBI SPECIAL AGENT
In Charge Theodore Hines maneuvered the smashed front-end of the Escalade between the massive log pillars of the lean-to carport. The rasp of gravel crunching beneath the weight of the SUV’s knobby tires drowned out the otherwise never-ending chant of nature’s twilight creatures.

The Escalade’s single working headlight illuminated the front of the tiny cabin. Petrified sap wept permanent tears on the exterior of the log walls. The points of dozens of huge spikes protruded outward from boards nailed across the window and on the door itself.

Hines silenced the engine, leaving the headlight on. His scarlet necktie dangled to and fro around his collar as he swaggered around the front of the Escalade to open the passenger door for Jewels. Offered his hand.

Accepting his grasp with her right hand, she gathered the skirt of the gown in her left as she stepped out. As they approached the cabin she caught his sinewed arm for balance, taking calculated steps to ensure her unprotected feet were not bitten too hard by the gravel.

Eyeing her careful gait, “Wait. Let me carry you.”

Laughing and proceeding with calculated steps, “Oh, goodness no, but thank you.” Rapidly changing the subject and pointing at the spikes on the cabin window, “Interesting.”

“Klondike boards.”

“Isn’t that an ice cream?”

Hines erupted with belly laughter, his spaniel brown eyes crinkling mirthfully. “Those are Klondike
bars
.”

Embarrassment ignited her face; a Barbie doll with fire engine red features.

“Folks in Alaska use Klondike
boards
to keep away hungry polar bears.”

“Now I get it. You put up Klondike boards to keep out that man-eating grizzly, right?”

“Excellent, Sweet Cheeks.”

Sweet Cheeks?
General Cooman had called her that, too. Did men naturally conclude women responded to Sweet Cheeks like stray cats to
kitty, kitty
?

Hines unlocked the door, pushed it open. “Be right back,” he said, disappearing into the dark cabin.

Turning her back to the cabin, she gazed into the murky forest. The evening air caressed her body like the fingers of a frigid old man. Reactively, she rubbed her arms for warmth and bunched her shoeless feet into fists. Closing her eyes, she tuned in to nature’s nocturnal symphony, indulging in the smell of the fermenting aspen leaves and pine needles to rejuvenate her inner soul like a high priced aroma therapy session.

A hand grasped her shoulder from behind.

Gasping, she flinched, reflexively clutching her chest with both hands.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Hines whispered.

His breath was hot on her neck, sending a jolt of uneasiness through her body like a mild shock of electricity.

Bowing, he gestured like a butler. “Please come in.”

Negatively shaking her head, “Thank you, but can’t you please just take me—”

“All in good time,” he interrupted, again gesturing with his hand for her to enter.

Having no other choice, reluctantly, Jewels stepped in, immediately grimacing at the odor: a dusty antique store smell. The floor’s wooden planks felt cold, rough, and gritty through the thin spandex material covering her otherwise bare feet.

A single lantern illuminated the one-room cabin like a one-hundred-fifty watt light bulb in a shadeless lamp.

To Jewels’ left a long wall, twenty feet or more, constructed of exposed logs. To her right, a red sandstone fireplace towered cold in the center of the wall, flanked by a slender pair of unpainted plywood doors. On the same wall as the fireplace but near the rear of the cabin, a queen-sized bed. The headboard and footboard were thick lodge pine poles laced into an abstract pattern. A lovely multicolored patchwork quilt blanketed the mattress. An old, well-used wooden nightstand was nestled between the bed and the back wall which was naked except for a variety of heavy-duty eye hooks randomly anchored about.

Across from the bed, a tiny kitchen nook. Several rows of cheap particle board cabinets, like the kind used in garages, adorned the walls. The counter top was plywood. No sink. No stove. No table. No chairs.

Despite the brilliant interior lighting and the peaceful mountain setting, the cabin reeked of darkness. Shuddering, goosebumps blossomed on her arms. Looking over her shoulder at Hines who stood a foot or so behind her, his arms folded, “How very quaint,” she said, forcing a smile. Of course, that was a lie. Creepy, was her honest opinion.

“Go ahead,” Hines said, pointing at the bed with his chin. “Relax. Make yourself at home.”

Said the spider to the fly
, Jewels thought, unable to shake the feeling she was being held against her will once again. “Uh, okay,” she said, her voice thick with reluctance. Padding over to the bed, she cautiously sat on the very edge near the footboard as if not wanting to wake a sleeping ax murderer, her arms tightly folded over her chest, legs squeezed together.

Laughing, “Come on, Sweet Cheeks. You don’t look very comfortable. Relax,” he said, casually standing in the center of the doorway, arms spanned against the door frame as if holding it up.

Planting her arms at her side and pressing her hands into the mattress, she wagged her head, “I’m trying, I just want to go home.” Her voice cracked.

“I said, relax,” he barked, his face compressed, shooting daggers at her.

Blinking wildly, her face distorted with worry, “You’re scaring me,” Jewels said, squirming to
appear
to be relaxing to appease him.

Grinning, “See you in a bit,” he said, jerking the thick wooden door shut behind him and locking it.

“Wait! Don’t leave me!” Jewels leaped to her feet, gathered the skirt of the gown in her hands and sprinted to the door, like a frantic bride dashing after the fleeing groom leaving her at the alter.

Wrapping both hands inside the six-inch horizontal wooden door handle, she wildly tugged, but the door didn’t budge. Pitching her entire body backward for added leverage, she desperately yanked on the door handle multiple times with all her might. Still, the massive wooden door wouldn’t budge. Pounding on the door with flat palms, she screamed, “Theodore, wait! Please don’t leave me!”

Seconds later the growl of the Escalade’s engine faded to utter stillness.

Alone, Jewels was hurt and angry that the FBI agent had imprisoned her in the eerie cabin. Sighing through puffed cheeks and turning her back to the door, she plastered her shoulders against it in frustration. “From one prison cell into another,” she muttered, lightly tapping the back of her head against the door. Images of the moments before the accident suddenly peppered her mind.
Hines is the Commander!

Gasping like she had just been slapped across the face with a cold wet towel, she relived the sight of the fiendish grin on Hines’ face. Felt the grip of his hand locked on her arm. Heard the sound of her fingers clawing at the Escalade’s door handle....

Her mind searched for a rope ladder, a way to escape the reality of her nightmarish recollection. Marshall Watters materialized.

“How could I have been so stupid,” Jewels cried, pushing her bangs up her forehead in exasperation. “Marshall
knew
Hines was the Commander. He really
was
trying to help me.”

Feeling like a pipe bomb had just exploded in her stomach, shrapnel shredded her heart. Oh, the consequences of mistaken trust. Bursting into tears, “I should have believed Marshall, not Theodore,” she wailed, deflating into a sobbing heap on the dirty cabin floor.

Consumed by self-pity and guilt, she wasn’t thinking clearly. The thought of escaping from the cabin or searching its interior for a defensive weapon had yet to enter her mind.

LIBERATING COOMAN’S
woodland green BDU jacket from behind his chair, Marshall slipped it on gingerly. A snug fit, he couldn’t quite close it. The gap in the jacket left his bruised bare chest partially exposed.

After getting a second wind, Marshall plowed into the hall. Prying an AR out of the hands of a dead man lying just outside of Cooman’s office, he checked the magazine to make sure it was loaded. It was.

Rushing down the corridor, he stopped at each body he passed, searched it for a full magazine of .223 ammo. When he came across one, he stuffed the extra magazine in the pocket of Cooman’s jacket.

With a loaded rifle slung across his back, Cooman’s jacket pockets full of reloads, he jogged down the ha
ll, up the stairs and outside, the jacket flowing behind him like clipped wings.

Should he drive or hoof it? Driving would get him there in minutes, but would warn of his approach miles before he arrived, negating the element of surprise. “Stealth mode wins every time,” he mumbled. Noting the time on his watch, “I’ll be there in less than a half hour, Jewels,” he said, taking off on a fast trot on a path that offered a shortcut to the steep mountain road leading to Hines’ cabin.

Upon reaching the road, he heard the engine roar of an oncoming vehicle. An instant later a single light appeared on the horizon.

Hurrying for concealment, he scrambled off the road into a thicket of brush and lay flat on his stomach, waiting for the vehicle to pass.

Seconds later a black Cadillac Escalade blew by, Hines at the wheel. Like the long train of a wedding dress, dust followed the speeding SUV, preventing Marshall from getting a second look at whether or not Jewels was in the passenger seat.

Analyzing the situation, he shrugged. Even if the front passenger seat was empty, Hines could have her tied up, lying on the back seat. Marshall’s mind ricocheted: should he turn around and follow Hines back to the compound or should he press forward to the cabin?

If Hines did have Jewels and was taking her back to the compound, the rest of his team would be arriving momentarily. Hines would be caught. Jewels rescued. End of story. On the other hand, if he didn’t have Jewels with him, Hines would still be caught, leaving Jewels where? Obviously in need of rescuing from confinement in Hines’ cabin. If that were the case, he shuddered imagining her possible physical and mental condition.

“Go to the cabin,” he said to himself. Pushing to his feet, he brushed off the pine needles, dried leaves, and granules of dirt stuck to his bare chest and clothes, to resume jogging up the steep road, the AR-15 riding on his back.

NEAR THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRS, INSIDE THE DREARY COMPOUND.

“Heroes again,” FBI Agent Markus Wingate hooted, his hand in the high-five position.

Theodore slapped it. “These stooges didn’t see it coming.”

Laughing: “They never do,” Wingate replied. “This is a big bust. I feel another commendation coming, Partner.”

“Me, too,” Hines responded with nonchalance.

Wingate picked up on his partner’s preoccupation. “What’s bothering you?”

Face pinching with concern, “That wild card who had Julia ... the guy dressed in black. Did you find him? Is he dead?” Hines asked, his tone edged with worry.

Negatively shaking his head, beefy jowls jiggling like Jell-O, he replied slowly, thinking as he spoke, “Now that you mention it, no. Don’t remember seeing a body dressed in black. Searched the compound top to bottom, all those damned nooks and hallways. No. Everyone was wearing camos, except for the doc. As for the man in black, got bubkiss...,” nibbling on his lip, “must’ve gotten away,” he confessed.

“Fuck!”

“Who is this guy, anyway?” Wingate asked.