Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) (61 page)

Down the hallway she sprinted to her bedroom.

Luckily the lights were already on.

Entering the bedroom, her eyes fixed on the big rose colored Fort Knox safe standing in the corner. Instantly she was flooded with more terrifying memories. Reactively her shoulders scrunched up to ears and arms crossed over her chest as her body became paralyzed. Her heart thumped erratically. Fingers turned to ice. She sucked short gasping breaths, reliving the kidnapping sequence: the hot breath of the masked monster overcoming her, the agony of her hands and feet being bound, the horror of the rubber ball being stuffed in her mouth....

“Stop it, Jewels,” she blurted out, thrusting her hands down to her sides and standing up tall. “It’s okay. Breathe. Just breathe,” she said, attempting to reassure herself she was just reliving bad memories and there was no danger lurking for her now, just as she had practiced repeatedly with Doctor Christensen.

Gulping a few long breaths, she exhaled through flushed cheeks, now wishing she had taken Belinda up on her offer to stay.

“You can do this, Jewels,” she continued to reassure herself, pasting her back against the bedroom wall and inching her way toward the gun safe. “Once you have a gun, you’ll feel more secure. More in control,” she promised.

Reaching the gun safe, she entered the code on the electronic keypad, opened it, visually perused the shelves. Her eyes stopped at a hard plastic black box, her second favorite handgun: the Heckler and Koch P7M8. It was often referred to as a
squeeze cock
because of a unique safety built into the front of the handle to cock the gun. The gun won’t fire unless there’s a firm firing grip around the handle.

Loading the magazine with 9mm hollow-point cartridges, she fed the magazine into the grip and chambered a round. With the gun in her hand, she instantly felt better. At least a little. The tension in her shoulders faded, as did the tightness on her face. Maybe the slight relaxation she was feeling could be attributed more to the tiny pill she had taken a little while ago than to the gun. Either way, the dissipation of anxiety was welcomed.

Closing the gun safe door, out of the corner of her eye a spray of light shining through the front bedroom window caught her attention. Automatically she did a double take. Poking her head nearer to the window for closer inspection, she inhaled a short startled breath, whispered, “Headlights.”

A vehicle crept down her driveway.

Suddenly its lights went out.

Gasping, her eyes widened. Was this Tank coming to collect the revenge he promised? Thank goodness she had armed the house alarm. Her white-knuckled hands drew the gun close to her chest. If not Tank, could this be Howard returning to talk? Maybe she shouldn’t take any chances and just lock herself in the bedroom, engage the Doorricade, and call nine-one-one ... just to be safe.

Escalating fear took her common sense hostage. Her mind erased to blank unable to make a decision. Staring out the window, she stood wide-eyed. Frozen. Dumbfounded like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming Peterbilt.

DING-DONG!

The sound of the doorbell liberated Jewels’ mind. Glancing at the digital clock glowing on top of the gun safe: 11:48, “Who would be calling at midnight?” she whispered, her gut in a knot.

DING-DONG!

The caller was obviously impatient. Probably Howard, but she wasn’t taking any chances. With the gun firmly grasped in front of her, she cautiously glided through the hall, down the stairs, kicking deflated balloons out of her path. At the bottom of the stairs, she could see the silhouette of a large man through the decorative etched glass in the door. Suddenly that helium gas feeling of her heading floating off hit. Was she going to faint again?

DING-DONG!

If that was Tank and he was coming after her, surely he wouldn’t keep ringing the doorbell, would he? No. This guy
had
to be Howard. Right? Still, she wasn’t going to let down her guard. Inhaling a few deep breaths in hopes of clearing the helium balloon sensation, she pep talked herself. “Come on, Jewels.” Reviewing the mistake she had made with Tank in her kitchen when she hesitated pulling the trigger, consequently only winging him, she continued to coach herself. “Be ready to fire. Front sight. Center of mass. Trigger press.”

Swallowing hard, she mashed her back flat against the entry wall a few feet to the side of the door and compressed the gun close to her chest, aiming it toward the door. “Who is it?” she called through the closed door.

“Jewels, it’s me. Marshall. Marshall Watters.”

Was she dreaming? Her heart thumped double-time. Without regard to the house alarm, she bolted to the door, quickly disengaged the deadlock, and flung it open. Sure enough, Marshall Watters stood before her, but like she had never before seen him. Or imagined.

A black Garth Brooks’ Stetson was perched on his head. A fancy black and white western shirt tailored to fit perfectly across his muscular chest was tucked into a pair of black Wranglers that looked painted on. An oval-shaped plate of a silver belt buckle rested at his small waist. Eel skinned Tony Llamas with three-inch competition heels adorned his feet. A vase of long stemmed roses rested like a baby in the crook of his left arm. He was a cowgirl’s version of the legendary knight in shining armor.

Standing goo-goo eyed, mouth gaping and speechless, Jewels stared starstruck at him, gun aimed at his gut. The helium balloon sensation returning.

AAAAARRRRRHHHHH!
The house alarm went off.

Unthinking, Jewels screamed, whirled around toward the house, accidentally tapped the hair trigger of the squeeze cock, discharging the weapon in Marshall’s direction.

“Jewels! Don’t shoot me,” he shouted, his eyes wide with concern. Automatically his hands rocketed into the air as if under arrest as he rapidly retreated down the porch steps. The vase of two dozen yellow roses crashed to the ground.

AAAAARRRRRHHHHH!
The house alarm continued to wail.

Jewels froze. The bullet from the accidental discharge of her gun had hit the porch floor, not more than a foot to the left of where Marshall had been standing.

Motionlessly, Marshall stood on the sidewalk at the bottom of the porch steps, his hands still in the air. “Put the gun down, Jewels,” he calmly instructed, raising the volume of his voice enough to be heard over the screaming alarm.

Face illuminating a brilliant shade of pink, she instantly threw the gun on the porch as if it had suddenly required a pot holder to handle.

Hands still up and out to his side, Marshall cautiously ascended the steps. “Jewels, go turn off the alarm. Your security company will be calling any second. Just answer the phone and tell them your
safe
phrase.”

Sure enough, just then, the phone rang.

Darting into the house, Jewels turned off the alarm and handled the security call, precisely as Marshall had instructed. Flustered, Jewels returned to the entry, planted her right hand on her hip, pushed her hair up her forehead with her left hand and sighed. “I’m so sorry, Marshall. I’ve never had an A.D. before ... I’m so embarrassed, I could have killed you.” Tapping her temple, “I’m gonna blame this on the drug. My doctor gave me a pill he said would ease my anxiety...,” widening her eyes and shrugging, “but I think it made it worse.”

“An accidental discharge can happen to anyone,” he stated, remaining fixed at the top of the stairs, his arms relaxed at his side.

Wagging her head, “I’m-I’m so sorry, Marshall. Won’t you please come in,” she beckoned, stooping to gather the scatter of roses. “Oh my, they’re beautiful. Thank you,” she gushed.

Smiling, he crossed the porch and helped her pick up the roses. “If you get me a broom, I’ll clean this up,” he offered, referring to the broken vase while carefully collecting the larger pieces of glass in his hand.

“Uh, thanks, but don’t worry about it. I’ll get it tomorrow,” she said, rising to her feet. “Just come in.” Backing through the front door, she made a broad waving motion with her hand as a signal for him to enter the premises.

Marshall neatly piled the glass pieces he had collected against the house at the side of the door. With the toe of his boot he kicked a few more of the larger stray fragments into the heap that was once a Lenox crystal vase. Then he picked up the gun Jewels had abandoned and stepped into her house. “We should probably dig the bullet out of your porch floor.” Waving his brows, “Evidence,” he said in jest.

Peering past Marshall’s broad shoulders, the exterior lights illuminated his vehicle: a shiny Ford F-250 Kingcab. It was decked out with a chrome roll bar, mag wheels and big knobby tires. A truck man, she thought. Hadn’t figured him for that, but then again, she hadn’t figured him for a cowboy, either. To her credit, she did have his vehicle color pegged: black.

Standing in the entry, Marshall checked the gun. It was loaded. “H&K makes a nice weapon. Bet you could drive tacks with this baby,” he said, his eyes searching the room for somewhere to lay it.

The air was thick with anticipation.

“Uh, yeah, the fixed barrel really helps with accuracy,” she said walking over to the elegant entry table that sat below a huge, ornately framed mirror. Taking advantage of the opportunity, she glanced at herself in the mirror. She was a mess! Her face was tear-stained. Hair was sticking up in the front and out to the side, and her T-shirt was twisted around her waist. Of course, Marshall had seen her worse. Much worse. “Uh, I have several H&K’s. That little squeeze-cock is one of my favorites,” she said, nonchalantly patting her hair down and fidgeting with her clothes.

Cramming several of the table’s flower arrangements together to clear a spot for the gun, she motioned for Marshall to set it on the marble tabletop.

“Sorry for the late hour,” he said, strolling over to the table. “Since I didn’t have the chance to even call you over the last two weeks, it was important to me that I showed up for your homecoming,” he paused, laying down the gun. “Had to wrap-up some details at the office today so I could take the next few weeks off,” he said, casually retreating toward the front door still gaping open.

Next few weeks off?
Jewels’ heart raced.

Closing the door, he turned to face Jewels, hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his tight-fitting jeans and shifted his weight to one side. “So I’m here. Better late than never, right?”

Jewels stared.
Oh, good gawd, he was sexy, like the fantasy hunk on the cover of a steamy romance novel.
Eyes wide, nodding her head repeatedly, “Right. Of course. Sure. Better late than never,” she responded awkwardly, doing her best to maintain composure and not let on she was ready to jump his bones ... this very second.

“So how
was
your party? Belinda called yesterday with a reminder...,” laughing, “like she thought I’d forget or something.”

“The party was really nice. It felt good to be home and surrounded by friends.” Jewels’ eyes cut to the bundle of long stemmed roses cradled in her arms. “Uh, I better put these in water. I’ll be right back,” she said, spinning around toward the kitchen. Rapidly she crossed the expansive entry to the cafe doors, disappearing between them.

While Jewels was absent, Marshall surveyed the interior. Having read the reports, he visualized the knife-wielding masked Tank chasing Jewels from the kitchen and up the stairs and could only imagine the terror she must have felt. He couldn’t help but wonder how she was going to live in this house alone. His mind floated. Maybe she wouldn’t have to be alone. Maybe he could make sure she was never alone again. But he was getting ahead of himself....

Bursting through the swinging doors, Jewels beamed. “They smell so good,” she said enthusiastically, taking a deep breath of the fragrant petals as she carried the huge bouquet of yellow roses in front of her like a shield.

“Glad you like them,” he said with a satisfied grin.

Setting the arrangement on the entry table, she slid the crystal vase to the side of the mirror and fussed with the spray to catch the reflection of the bouquet in the edge of the mirror. After a moment she turned to face Marshall.

Gesturing at the flowers and balloons scattered around the entry, “Looks like I missed quite a party,” he said.

“Uh-huh.”

Awkward silence.

“I understand Howard Dyson works for you. He taught me practically every—”

“Not anymore,” Jewels interrupted, tension stealing the joy from her face. “He won’t be working for me anymore.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Marshall said, his tone almost celebratory. “What happened?”

Raking her bottom lip with her teeth, she nervously stared at the ground. Abruptly she stood up tall, eyes glistening with intrigue, devilment on her face. “Did I
really
knock you out when I popped you in the head with my shoe ... or were you faking?” she quizzed playfully, blatantly drawing the conversation away from Howard.

A mischievous grin skipped onto his face. “The fact you’re asking the question tells me you think I faked it.”

Eyes widening, “Well? Did you? I thought I saw your eyes flutter a couple of times.”

Folding his arms over his chest and laughing, “Damn, I guess I’ll have to work on that, won’t I?”

Turning serious, “Marshall, I never thanked you for...,” her voice quivered, gaze dropped to the floor.