Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) (58 page)

Desperately: “Tank, I won’t be any trouble. I promise. I’ll let you tie me up, or do whatever you want. Please, just take me with you.”

Tuning her out, he returned to the coiled bull rope in the corner, cut off about a three-foot length, stamped back over to Jewels. Stared at her. “
Let
me tie you up?” he scoffed, toying with the length of rope.

Eyes wide with hope, “You’re gonna take me with you, right?” she asked, her voice and face optimistic.

“Hmph!” he snorted. “
If
you get out of this one, I’ll be watching you. And when the time is right I
will
take you, but not now,” he coolly promised. Thrusting the rope between her lips, he forced her jaw open to create a gag.

“No! Please, don’t,” she shrieked.

Rapidly winding it around her head and over her mouth several times, he knotted the rope securely, but not as brutally tight as he would have just twenty-four hours ago. Though he hated to admit it, she had worn a bit of a soft spot into his killer heart. She was one helluva survivor and had the fight and stamina of a warrior. And for that earned a scrap of his respect.

Crazily tossing her head back and forth she madly struggled to dislodge the gag. Hot tears scorched her cheeks like lava. Her face and neck were brilliant red from screaming pleas for Tank not to leave her. Light pink liquid—a mixture of blood and saliva—drooled from her chin.

With determined strides, Tank stamped to the door. Jewels’ heart-tugging solicitations were now unintelligible. Guardedly, he opened the door. Slithered his hulking foil-covered body out. Slammed it shut behind him. Didn’t look back or even think twice about his decision to leave her.

• • •

“We’re getting low on fuel. We’re going to have to turn back,” the MTAF helicopter pilot reported.

“Shit!” Marshall chewed on the edge of his lower lip for a moment, continuing to visually scope the mountainside with field glasses. “Swing by those meadows, over there to the right.”

“It’ll have to be a quick pass, Sir,”

“Just check it out.”

The pilot guided the helicopter toward the meadows.

Scouring the fields with binoculars, an image caught his eye. “Over there. In the middle of the meadow, an FBI jacket. Jewels was wearing one like it,” Marshall said, hope in his voice.

The pilot maneuvered the helicopter toward the jacket.

“What’s FLIR showing,” Marshall quizzed the copilot.

“I’m picking up a human heat signature over there, Sir,” the copilot said, pointing toward a shanty.

A green late model Dodge pickup was parked to the side.

“Isn’t that Tank’s truck?” the pilot asked.

“Sure looks like it to me,” Marshall replied.

“I’m only picking up a signature from one person, in the middle of that shack,” the copilot reported.

“This isn’t what we came for, but we can’t pass up an opportunity to nab a surviving member of SPOF,” Marshall said, slipping into a Kevlar vest.

Marshall addressed the copilot who was trained in dynamic entry tactics. “No doubt he knows we’re coming, so we’ll have to do this quickly.”

The copilot nodded in agreement.

As they approached the building, the FLIR monitor indicated the person wasn’t moving.

“It looks like he’s just standing in the middle of the room,” the copilot said.

“A possible showdown. This could get bloody,” Marshall said, double-checking the MP-5 to make sure the magazine was fully loaded. It was.

The pilot landed the helicopter in the field about one-hundred yards from the targeted shed.

“Radio this in and if Tank comes out without us, light him up,” Marshall ordered the pilot.

“Yes, Sir,” the pilot replied, understanding he had been given the green light to fire the machine guns mounted on the front of the helicopter at the criminal, should he be lucky enough to survive the Commander and his highly trained copilot.

To the copilot: “Let’s rock and roll,” Marshall ordered, jumping out of the helicopter.

• • •

Exhausted and frustrated, Jewels had tugged and pulled on the thick rope for the last time. What was the point of struggling? The rope wasn’t going to break. Wiggling her wrists out of her bonds wasn’t happening. Escape was impossible. Why prolong the inevitable? She was going to die in the middle of nowhere in a decrepit shack. A hundred years from now maybe a hiker would find her skeleton ... if the wild creatures had not torn her corpse from limb to limb as a meal in the meantime.

Defeated and with all sense of hope evaporated, her head drooped like a raggedy doll. Legs went limp. The full weight of her body forced to be supported by her wrists painfully tied above her head. Every inch of her body ached, including her lips which were shriveled and manifesting hard, spiny ridges from lack of hydration. The taste of dirt from the old rope and blood from it gouging her face filled her mouth.

Aside from physical anguish, she tortured herself mentally, rehashing everything she had done wrong. Should have turned on the alarm system at home. Shouldn’t have hesitated shooting Tank in the kitchen. Should have trusted Marshall ... why hadn’t she trusted Marshall? Why didn’t she shoot Hines when she had the chance? Why had she run away from the medic Wilson to end up in this godforsaken hellhole, the victim of Gerald Whitlock again? Why, why, why! “God, just please let me die,” she mumbled.

Dwelling on her forthcoming demise, those who had perished because of Hines’s obsession with her trampled her mind. Robert had been the first casualty. Gone was her sweet Boo-Boo. Sharon, Kirk, and Sheriff Jodie Clarkston had been murdered, too ...
because of her
. Lest she not forget, the four women buried behind Hines’ cabin. Women she didn’t even know, tortured and murdered
because of her
. Plus, she had shot Bondage Master, presumably killing him. And the mighty man-eating bear had taken Hines’ life. So much death ...
all because of her
. Perhaps this was a fitting and deserving end.

Milliseconds later Jewels heard what she thought sounded like the whirl of a helicopter. Was it real, or the audio equivalent of a mirage?

Suddenly the shanty door exploded with a blinding flash of light and an ear-shattering bang, like a bolt of lightning had zapped the floor mere inches in front of her.

Reflexively she let out a shrill yell, her body instantly straightening and tensing.

“Police! Don’t move,” a man bellowed with authority as a rush of hurried footsteps stormed the cabin.

Screaming her head off, she maniacally twisted and turned her dangling body in a futile attempt to retreat from the chaotic invasion. Obviously paying no attention to the
Don’t move
command.

“Jewels,” a masculine voice exclaimed.

Insanely flailing her body about, she continued to crazily shriek.

“Julia! It’s okay,” Marshall assured, engulfing her nearly naked body in his arms to calm her and keep her from further injuring herself.

It took a moment for his words to register. Finally, she stopped screaming and thrashing about. “Marshall,” she whimpered, her tired eyes sparking with joyous surprise.

“Pull off the gag then cut her free,” Marshall instructed the co-pilot.

“Right away, Sir.”

As Marshall cradled her in his arms, the copilot carefully slid the rope out of her mouth, letting it hang like a necklace then cut the rope binding her arms to the rafter.

“Honey, you’re going home. Everything’s okay,” Marshall said adoringly.

Jewels’ body was limp, breathing weak.

“For sure, Jewels, this time you’re going home because I’m personally going to take you there,” Marshall promised.

A faint smile dashed across her exhausted face. She wanted to bathe in the comfort of Marshall’s handsome features, but her eyelids were too heavy. Unable to resist their pull any longer, she slipped into an unconscious state.

ABOUT 5:00 P.M. TWO WEEKS LATER
.
It was a beautiful sunshiny afternoon, not a cloud in the sky. Low humidity. The temperature hovered at a balmy eighty-two degrees. A gentle northern breeze blanketed cool air across the valley. The smell of freshly cut alfalfa seasoned the wind. It was a perfect day. Perfect for a homecoming. Perfect for a welcome home party. Perfect for a heartbreak?

With Belinda behind the wheel of her Subaru Outback, the eight mile ride home from the rehab center seemed more like an eighty mile journey. Jewels had tuned out Belinda’s nonstop jabbering miles back.

The rehab stay was two weeks too long for Jewels’ liking, but admittedly she had enjoyed the pampering and needed the time to recover. And physically, recover she did. Aside from the abundance of wicked-looking little scars scattered across her back from Hines’ flogger, which meant she’d probably never wear a backless dress again, her body had overcome the numerous tortures it had endured, healing nicely. Gone were the black and blue
bracelets
around her wrists and ankles from her resistance to the straps, ropes and handcuffs which had bound her. And the soles of her feet, shredded from her barefoot
adventure
in the forest, no longer ached with every step.

But recovering mentally, she hadn’t fared as well. Despite sessions with a therapist, fears of Tank coming after her still topped the fright element of her stress. But at the forefront of her anxiety was Marshall Watters.

The man was a mystery. There was so much she wanted to know about him. Where he lived, where he grew up. His hobbies. How he became involved with the elite Militia Threat Assessment Force. Back at the SPOF compound, had she really knocked him out with the heel of her shoe? And how in the world had he escaped those handcuffs in Hines’ cabin without a key?

Closer to the heart, she couldn’t deny the intense sparks she felt ignite between them while she was imprisoned at SPOF and during her rescue. There
was
something there. Something much more than mere friendship and appreciation for saving her, at least that’s what she thought at the time. How could she have misread him? How could her own vibes have deceived her so?

But no matter how much she chose to believe—and her vibes hinted—a relationship with Marshall was imminent, reality pointed to another conclusion: Marshall Watters
must
be married or otherwise committed because he hadn’t even so much as telephoned her during the two week stay at the recovery hospital. The last time she saw him was when she collapsed in his arms in the little shanty in the middle of nowhere.

The voice of reason within rationalized she was simply a kidnap victim experiencing the aftermath of some form of Stockholm Syndrome. That was the only logical explanation. If there would have been something more between them, Marshall would have at least telephoned her. Wouldn’t he?

But her heart was quick to pooh-pooh the logical explanation. Maybe the reason he hadn’t called was because he was working undercover again and a phone call would blow his cover. Or maybe he had been sequestered while being debriefed. Or maybe he was ill. Or in a car wreck....

And suddenly there she was again. Back on the Marshall Watters’ wheel of fortune; he loves me, he loves me not. It was near maddening. Marshall Watters was all she could think about. Morning. Noon. And night ... especially at night.

Even as handsome Howard Dyson vigilantly remained at her side, practically day in and out while she was in rehab, providing that reassuring protection she so desperately needed and wanted ... and even as his arms affectionately engulfed her and she cuddled comfortably against his solid body, all she could see and feel was Marshall. At times she even went so far as to imagine Howard
was
Marshall.

About ten days ago when Howard stopped addressing her as “Miz Andrasy” and started calling her “Jewels,” should have been a clue. Howard was reading more into their hugging, touching and squeezing than she had intended. Yet, as unfair as it may be, even though she
knew
she was surely leading Howard to the impression she felt more for him than that of a big brother, she simply couldn’t help herself. Howard had become her substitute Marshall ... at least until the real Marshall appeared. But would he ever materialize?

Jewels decided if she couldn’t resolve this Marshall Watters obsession on her own very soon, she’d have to fess up her obsession to her therapist.

And Howard?

Of course the question really needing answered was: how soon was soon? At this point, Jewels had no idea and stared blankly out the window.

Belinda making the familiar turn into her driveway jerked Jewels out of her mind maze. An iconic yellow ribbon was wrapped around the trunk of each of the dozens of towering trees lining the drive to her home.

Perking up, “Everybody’s missed you so much,” Belinda gushed.

Restlessly Jewels pulled down the vanity mirror, double-checked her makeup. “I’ve missed everyone, too,” she said, a hint of tension in her voice. Dabbing away the slight shine on her forehead and cheeks with translucent finishing powder, she freshened her lipstick, Cover Girl Espresso. Nervously she fluffed the soft curls of her long blonde hair flowing across her shoulders and straightened the black V-neck tee tucked into her dark blue Rocky Mountain jeans. Stuffing the makeup bag back into her black leather shoulder purse, she gave herself a mental pep talk. Convinced herself she was ready to mingle. Though she didn’t want to admit it, she was troubled. Uptight. What if she wasn’t ready to set foot in the house? What if she walked in the door then freaked out in front of all of her friends? By the second her muscles were tightening. Breathing becoming more shallow. Damn. Maybe should have taken her therapist, Doctor Christensen, up on his recommendation for a prescription drug to relax her.