Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series)
Page 4
“Well, I never thought—”
“That I was a man?”
Shaking her head, “No, silly. I never considered you to be in danger because I figured you wouldn’t be camping or—”
“Come with me to the Uintas,” he said, his hypnotizing dark eyes locking on hers as he leaned forward in the chair. “You can protect me from the big, bad wolf ... I mean, bear.”
Swinging a reprimanding finger at him, she confessed, “Okay, you had me going for a minute. And speaking of going, skedaddle,” she said, playfully shooing him off with a few quick flicks of her wrist. “And if you want protection, take a gun. Now go track down that bear ... I mean, story.”
Flashing a sexy smile at her, he rose, “Very well,” he said with a sigh of disappointment. After taking a few steps toward the door, he stopped, reached in his pocket, spun around on his left heel. Walking toward her, “Almost forgot. This is my latest,” he said enthusiastically, waving a gold shield.
“You and your badges.”
“No different than you and your shoes.” Marching around to the side of her desk, he glanced down at her feet. “Let me see ‘em.”
Giggling, she stood up, modeled the bright pink stilettos that accented her pastel pink Anne Klein two-piece linen suit. “But, unlike your shields, my shoes aren’t illegal.”
“Maybe they should be,” he said, eyeing her shapely legs and arousing high heels.
A reserved smile played on her lips. Sometimes his tone pushed the limits of her willingness to flirt with an employee, but most of the time she excused it by reasoning he was more like family ... at least in her mind.
Extending his arm toward her face, he held the badge so she could see the inscription. “You gotta read this one aloud.”
“Lead Babe Investigator, United States of America,” she said with a laugh, returning to her desk chair. “How many does this one make in your collection?”
Rolling his eyes toward the top of his skull for a moment thinking, he replied, “Right around an even two hundred, but I believe you have at least double that in shoes.”
“Just don’t get caught flashing that badge around in public at some babe. It’s a Class B misdemeanor and if you get arrested, I’m not going to bail you out of jail,” she said, intentionally brandishing a devilish look.
Dumping the badge in his suit pocket, he straightened his index, middle and ring fingers on his right hand, squeezed them together and waved, “Scouts honor, Miz Andrasy, I’ll save it for behind closed doors.”
“You were never a scout,” she razzed, her eyes dancing with mischief.
With a sly grin, he waved his brows at her then turned on his heel, sashaying out the door.
• • •
EARLIER THAT MORNING IN A REMOTE LOCATION. It was never her intention to spy. She just happened to be passing the partially open door of the general’s office at the exact moment four of the compound’s most high-powered men were standing in a tight circle, talking, their tone hush-hush but somewhat heated.
If it wasn’t the devil that made her do it, then it was innate curiosity. Stopping in her tracks, she glanced up and down the gloomy hallway.
No one in sight.
Backtracking on tiptoe to the partially opened door, she softly leaned against the stone wall of the hallway, inching her body closer toward the door until she could stretch her neck into a position where her ears could hear all and her eyes could capture a peek.
“The Commander wants Phase One implemented within the next ten days to two weeks,” Cooman said.
“This is no good. Now we’re kidnapping women for the Commander’s pleasure,” Doc commented with disdain.
“Not women, just Julia Andrasy,” Cooman corrected.
Disgusted, “Since when did we start fulfilling his personal agenda?” Watters asked.
Tank snickered, slugging Watters on the shoulder. “No need to worry your pretty little head. I’ll take care of nabbing the bitch. All you have to do is keep her locked up.”
“That’s not the point—”
“As long as I’m the C.O. of this compound, whatever the Commander wants, the Commander gets, including Julia Andrasy. And if he wants to dress her up, tie her up, beat her up, or mutilate her, so be it. We owe him that much.”
“With all due respect, Sir, word has gotten out. The men are asking questions,” Watters pressed.
Cooman glared. “The men, or just you?”
Sighing, “I’m just saying, Sir...,” Watters said with a submissive tone, waving open hands in front of his body and lowering his head to look at the floor.
Tank leaned into Watters, “I recall you have a little sister in Denver—”
“Don’t even think about her,” Watters snarled, bolting to attention and clenching his fists, glaring at Tank.
“Simmer down, gentlemen,” Cooman barked.
Tank laughed. “Hey, I’m cool.”
Watters relaxed his fists, but continued to glare.
“Now let’s discuss what needs to happen before she gets here.”
Dread scorched her body like hot tar. This was worse than she had imagined. Before this moment she had only gleaned bits and pieces of information. Now it all made sense ... at least in a sick, gruesome kind of way. Gotta warn her, she thought.
Cautiously, once again on tiptoe, she retreated from the door as the men hammered out the details involved in the kidnapping and imprisoning of Julia Andrasy. But before she reached the crossing in the hallway, the tiniest of sneezes sneaked up on her. Despite her efforts to contain it, the little expulsion of air from her nose might as well have blared like a tripped security alarm.
Abruptly the hubbub of brisk voices went silent.
Shit! Had the wimpy sneeze betrayed her? Not taking any chances her eavesdropping may have been discovered, she hurriedly sneaked to the intersection of hallways, turned the corner, and bolted toward the stairs.
Voices urgently talked over one another. A moment later, “Bring her back,” a male voice hollered. The general’s she presumed.
During the nearly two years she had resided at the compound, it had become apparent death was a common punishment for seemingly minor infractions. The message: do exactly as you’re told, no more, no less, or be killed. No doubt, regardless of the special skill set she brought to the organization, overhearing a privileged conversation would warrant a death sentence if they caught her. Galloping down the familiar dungeon-like hall and around a sharp corner, the exit came into view.
“Where’s the fire, Honey?” called out the guard standing at the top of the staircase, watching with amusement as the only female residing in the compound rushed toward the stairs.
“Tampon run,” she snapped, leaping up the stairs, two at a time.
Recoiling his head, he wrinkled his nose, repulsed. “TMI.”
Too much information. No shit. That was an understatement, considering what she had just overheard. “Make way, I’m PMSing really bad,” she growled at the guard.
Plastering his body against the wall behind the door, he cleared a path for her to easily breeze past him once she reached the top.
“Stop her! Don’t let her out!” a male voice boomed from deep within the dark hallway.
Too late. With a good twenty-foot head start, she was nearly free and planned to stay that way. Not slowing down or giving the guard a chance to stop her, she burst through the entry, practically slamming the big metal door in the guard’s face.
A cool breeze, warm rays of morning sunshine and the smell of pine trees greeted her, but she didn’t take the time to appreciate them. Avoiding capture was paramount if she were to warn her high school friend of their sinister plan.
Gravel crunched beneath the frantic hammering of her army boots as she tore toward her shiny red Jeep Wrangler. Thank God she had left the keys in the ignition. Clearly, immediate escape was a matter of life or death for her ... and for her friend.
Chapter Two
“BY THE WAY....”
Belinda Parker, her busty twenty-seven-year-old secretary—whom she regarded more as a little sister than an employee—was five-foot-five-inches tall, a pleasantly plump one-hundred-forty pounds with chestnut hair cut into a sexy short crop and gelled into trendy spikes.
Rolling her eyes, Jewels sighed. Again was right. For the past three months Theodore Hines, FBI Special Agent In Charge of the Salt Lake office, had been calling once a week, every Thursday, wanting to take her out on a date. “Thanks, but no thank you,” she said, sounding exhausted.
Crimping her brows, Belinda lowered herself into the inviting wingback chair opposite Jewels’ desk. “Can we talk? I mean, as friends, not as you being my boss?”
Concern wiped Jewels’ face. “Certainly. Let me shut the door,” she said, pushing back from her desk, rapidly walking across the room and closing the door. Instead of returning to the seat behind her desk, she sat next to Belinda in the matching chair.
Belinda leaned forward, patted Jewels on the knee. “I think it’s time we had a talk.”
“About what?”
“You and Agent Hines.”
Exhaling forcefully, Jewels collapsed her back into the chair and rubbed her forehead.
“Robert would want you to move on—”
“It’s complicated—”
“Just hear me out. Okay?”
“Fine.”
“Jewels you have everything—”
“Had,” she quickly corrected.
Belinda’s head tilted, eyes pinched in reprimand at Jewels for interrupting her.
“Sorry, go ahead.”
“First of all, look at you. You’re thirty-four years old, have the beauty and poise of a cover model, the warm personality of a southern belle, and the business savvy of a Fortune 500 CEO....”
Jewels’ face reddened.
“And you’re a widow. Jewels, you’re single. Robert’s gone—”
“Don’t you think I know that?” she returned with a huff, bolting to her feet. “Every day, I come into the New Greensburgh Press, the printing and newspaper business Robert and I built from nothing, and take a seat behind this beautifully decorated and furnished office Robert and I used to share. And every day...,” her voice quivered, tears swam over her eyes, as she walked toward the corner window, “I’m reminded that despite these things,” she said, motioning at the expensive furniture and original paintings on the wall, “and even with all my wonderful friends and employees,” she said, warmly smiling at Belinda, “I’m lonely. If it wasn’t for Boo-Boo....” Unable to withhold her emotional pain any longer, she burst into tears, burying her face in her hands.
Belinda rushed to her, engulfing her in loving arms. “Oh, Jewels.” After hugging her long and hard, Belinda stepped back, “Your loneliness is obvious, that’s why I wanted to talk to you. Sure, I get no one could ever replace Robert. Certainly what you two had was special, but that doesn’t mean you can’t allow yourself to enjoy the companionship of another man.”
Jewels sniffed, nodded, strolled to her desk for a Kleenex and dabbed her eyes. “You’re right. I know. It’s just that—”
“You haven’t dated in over fourteen years and you’re scared,” Belinda finished with a laugh.
Jewels chuckled.
“That’s why I think Agent Hines would be a great breakout first date. You’ve known him for nearly two years now, so he’s not a stranger. He’s good looking, dresses like he’s related to some fancy Italian suit maker, is a big cheese with the FBI, and, most importantly, he’s crazy about you!”
“I guess when you put it that way—”
“Then go out with him. What do you have to lose? Who knows, maybe if you go out with him once, he’ll never call you again.”
A spontaneous tee-hee escaped Jewels’ lips. Once again Belinda had gotten her to laugh. “All right, Belinda, you win.”
“I’ll be right back with his number,” she said, darting out of the office.
Jewels hung her head. Robert had been her life since she was only twenty years old. He was the only man she ever had. The only man she ever wanted. The only man she believed she could ever truly love.
Reflecting upon the circumstances that stole Robert’s life still brought her to the brink of tears, even after eighteen months. How in the world could a huge newspaper roll slide off the forklift at the precise moment Robert passed under it, instantly crushing him? The odds of something like that happening were, what? One in ten trillion? A hundred zillion? God was the only one who knew. To police it was an open and shut case: accidental death.
What haunted Jewels the most was the mystery of her husband’s missing wedding band. Robert never removed his wedding ring; however, after the accident the ring could not be found ... anywhere. The authorities surmised the impact of the huge newspaper roll falling on his body probably shot the ring off his finger and it got lost, somewhere. But the mysterious black hole theory didn’t sit well with Jewels.
“Here you go,” Belinda said, handing the pink message pad to Jewels while quickly scanning her BlackBerry calendar. “Tonight you’ve got the Shoot for MD fund-raiser at the Winston Range from five-thirty to eight. After that you’re free. And totally open Friday night.”
“Thank you.”
Belinda winked at Jewels, enthusiastically gesturing a thumbs up sign of support and moral encouragement as she quickly exited, softly closing the office door.
Almost with a sense of dread, Jewels stared at the pink message pad with Hines’ phone number written on it. Her mouth was dry. Armpits sweaty. Chest tight. Becoming aware of the nervous signs, she laughed aloud, “Jeez!”
Rapidly waving around the pink message pad to fan her face, she exhaled through loosely knit lips. “I’ll agree to dinner. That’s all. No movie. No show. No whatever else. Just dinner. And I’ll meet him wherever we decide to go.” Lifting the receiver of her desktop phone, she hesitantly pushed the buttons to dial Agent Hines.
“Jewels!” Belinda burst through the door, panic in her voice and on her face. “For you. An emergency phone call on line six.”
Nodding, Jewels punched the line six button, automatically disconnecting Hines’ number she had only partially dialed. “This is Julia Andrasy. How may—”
“Jewels! I gotta talk to you. Right away. Not on the phone.”
“Okay. Who is—”
“It’s me, Jewels, Sharon Marie. Remember me, Sharon Marie Jeppson from high school ... the drama trauma gang?”
“Of course, drama club. Sharon, what’s going on?”
“I gotta tell you something, but not on the phone. It’s a matter of life and death, Jewels. How long before you can get to our old drama club hangout?”
“Life and death? Shouldn’t you call the police—”
“No cops! It’s too dangerous. Just get here as fast as you can.”
“Uh, okay. Peggy Sue’s?”
“Shhh! Don’t say anymore over the phone. And, yes, that’s the place.”
Jewels glanced outside—a beautiful summer day—then peeked at the gold Rolex on her wrist: 10:38. “You know I’m in New Greensburgh, but I could probably be there in thirty or forty minutes.”
“Hurry, Jewels. Please hurry.”
• • •
So far, so good, she thought, hanging up the pay phone at the convenience store. No way would she use her cell. Didn’t want the bastards to track her by GPS on her phone. Plus, she had left any would-be follower in the dust not only because she had a great head start on her getaway, but because she had a knack for losing pesky tails. Unfortunately, she forgot a condition for acceptance into the compound was her Jeep be fitted with an open sky GPS, rigged on top of her exterior spare tire mou
nt. Perhaps the vehicle tracking device, and not her assumed keen driving skills, was the reason she had seemingly so easily evaded being followed ... but that thought hadn’t crossed her mind.
Feeling smart and righteous, she piled into her Jeep and headed for Peggy Sue’s, a half a block away. Just like the old times, she parked in the rear, entering the restaurant through the back door.
When the door opened a cowbell clanged announcing Sharon’s arrival. About the size of a middle school gymnasium, the retro-fifties sandwich shop hadn’t changed since the last time she was there, over a decade ago. To the left of the back door entry, a reproduction of the classic Wurlitzer bubble jukebox. “Blue Moon” blared from its speakers and flashed a colorful light show in time with the song. Opposite the nickelodeon, their table.
Memories flashed through her mind. A pleasant smile pulled at the corners of her lips. Eight teens, shoulder-to-shoulder, crammed into the horseshoe-shaped booth. Laughing. Sharing milkshakes. Playing drama queens and kings. “Those were the days,” she whispered to herself, remembering the reason they had chosen the booth nestled deep in the alcove was for its private location.
Confident she had outsmarted the compound dragoons, and knowing Jewels wouldn’t arrive for at least another half hour, she decided to order a sandwich. Casually strolling toward the counter, she soaked in the sights as if on a journey back in time.
Shiny rectangular tables surrounded by bright red vinyl upholstered booths were lined up in neat rows on a black and white checkerboard floor. Retro schoolhouse lights hung over the tables.
Near the front door, the famous deli counter where mouthwatering magic was conjured from the rows and rows of lunch meats and cheese blocks neatly lined up in anticipation of becoming part of one of Peggy Sue’s famous custom creations.
A lean short man of Mexican origin, dressed like a butcher in a white apron and wearing a soda jerk hat, paced behind the counter. Bored written all over his face. “Can I help you, Miss?”