Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series)

by Spain, Shirley

  Jewels’ confused brain was slow to process his words. Gasping for air, her lungs burned. Heart jack-hammered. Wild-eyed she gazed at the man bent over her who reminded her of Morgan Freeman when he was in his late fifties or early sixties. The similarity calmed her. Relaxing her muscles, she swallowed hard. Her throat felt rough, like a cat’s tongue. “Water. Please, water,” she weakly requested.

  Moments later the Morgan Freeman look-alike tipped her head forward, pressing a plastic cup to her lips. Eagerly she gulped the cool liquid.

  “Take it easy, Honey,” he said with a warm smile, backing off the cup and lowering her head onto the folded white terry cloth towel he had earlier placed there as a makeshift pillow.

  Relief radiated from her countenance. “Thank you,” she whispered, gazing up at the man whose face was friendly, eyes kind, and touch gentle.

  “More, please.”

  Again he flashed that warm smile and obliged, helping her to a few more swallows of water.

  “Thank you.” Now fully awake, Jewels scanned her surroundings. Three giant round lights, like those seen in an operating room, hovered above her. Colorful charts of the ear canal, circulatory and nervous systems dotted the walls. A black and white bone chart was taped to the side of the door.

  White cabinets lined the walls. Various sizes of glass jars heaped with tongue depressors, cotton balls and gauze pads sat on the counters. And the place reeked of a hospital, that nauseating raw chicken, rubbing alcohol scent. Wrinkling her nose at the smell, she concluded she was, in fact, in some sort of medical facility, just as her caretaker had claimed.

  But how did she get here? Sifting through her mind for some recollection ... the last thing she remembered was being tossed in the back of her Humvee with her feet yanked up to her butt and having them tethered to her bound hands. But what about Robert? He was there. Somewhere. Wasn’t he?

  The blanks had to be filled in. Attempting to sit up, she realized her body was immobile. Seeking to at least raise her arms, she quickly discovered they wouldn’t budge either, though she was able to rotate her hands and ball her fingers into fists. Likewise, she could wiggle her toes and circle her feet, but her legs wouldn’t move an inch. While testing the ability of her limbs to operate properly, she became aware of the surface. It felt hard and cold against her flat palms. When she bent her fingers, the tips of her sharp acrylic nails raked against the top, sounding like a spatula scraping against a cookie sheet. Was she lying on a metal table?

  Jutting her head forward in hopes of catching a glimpse of the problem, she was horrified at the sight: the outline of her body loosely covered from her chin to the tips of her toes in a large white blanket draped over the edge, like a corpse in a morgue. Without a doubt, something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong. Her thoughts went haywire. Did being hogtied wreak havoc with her gross motor skills? Could she be paralyzed, either temporarily or permanently ... or? Confusion swamped her mind, drowning out her ability to imagine other possibilities.

  After regaining control of her wits and accumulating enough courage to handle the potentially devastating answers to the questions that must be asked, Jewels glanced at her caretaker whose back was toward her. He was standing in front of one of the cabinets across the room, fiddling with what sounded like a drawer full of silverware. “Excuse me. Sir?” she called out.

  Callahan wheel around, striding to her side. “Yes, Julia?”

  Casting her eyes down at her body, then back up at him, she hesitantly asked, “What’s wrong with me? I can’t move anything but my fingers and toes. Am I paralyzed?”

  His comforting eyes turned to crescents as he grinned and shook his head. “No, Sweetie. You’re not paralyzed. Just restrained.”

  Instantly her body stiffened, alarm smothered her face.

  “It’s okay,” he reassured, patting her shoulder in comfort. “They’re just temporary. Didn’t want you hurting yourself.” With a hint of joking he added, “Or me.”

  “Why would you think I would hurt myself. Or you?” she asked bewildered.

  “You’ve been through a lot, Dear.”

  “Where am I and how did I get here? Did you rescue me?”

  Callahan shifted his gaze to the other side of the room.

  By his reaction, Jewels figured she was not going to be thrilled with the answers. Still, she had to know. “Please. Tell me. Please,” she softly petitioned.

  After pondering her request a moment longer, he sucked in a deep breath, exhaling through puffed cheeks. Dragging the waiting room chair next to the bed he lowered himself into the seat and sighed. “All right. I’ll give it to you straight.”

  Jewels gulped air in nervous anticipation of what he might say.

  “You’ve been kidnapped. Your abductor has brought you here to make sure you survived the ordeal relatively unscathed,” he paused, his eyes shifting to the floor. “And, no, Dear, I’m not your rescuer,” he said, wrenching regret in his voice. “I work for the man who orchestrated your abduction.”

  Jewels wanted to scream bloody murder. Burst into hysterical tears. Unleash a fit of physical insanity despite the restraints. But bridled the pressing urges. The fact she was still under her kidnapper’s control triggered a swell of nausea deep in her gut, as if she had just swallowed a double dose of ipecac and puking was imminent. Her instant antidote: conjuring up thoughts of escape.

  First things first: get the straps off, which he did say were only temporary. The fact this man seemed to feel a certain amount of sympathy for her might be fashioned to her advantage. Yet Jewels realized no matter how much sympathy he might feel for her, he would never remove the restraints as long as she appeared too emotional. Too irrational. Too scared to think logically. Or too desperate.

  Mustering a voice oozing with charm and rationale, she calmly replied, “Thank you for your honesty. At least I’m glad to hear I’m not paralyzed. And so I’ve been kidnapped. I have to tell you, that didn’t come as a surprise.”

  That comment tugged a faint smile out of him.

  Keep the charm coming, she thought. “So now that I know the scoop, will you please let me up?”

  His conflicted face said he wanted to honor her request, but still he just sat there.

  “So, what do you say, Doctor...,” her somewhat cheery tone was meant to lead him to fill in the blank as part of her ploy to conceal her desperation to be free.

  “Callahan. Leo Callahan,” he replied with a plastic smile.

  “Okay, Doctor Callahan, how about allowing me to use the little girl’s room?” Lifting her head and cocking it toward him she whispered, “I think my bladder’s going to explode.”

  Chuckling, his eyes glimmered. “Well, in that case, since an exploding bladder would make a terrible mess, I suppose I can let you go to the bathroom.”

  Giddiness danced through her body like a Mardi Gras parade. This could be her opportunity to escape!

  “But just to go to the bathroom,” he added, a tone of authority in his voice. “After that, it’s back on the table.”

  Though Doc didn’t say it, Jewels knew by the way he said, back on the table included restraints. And just like that, the carnival within her packed up and left. Still, Jewels figured even a few minutes off the table was better than none at all. Smiling sweetly, she nodded in agreement. “I understand.”

  Callahan drew back the blanket, revealing five eight-inch wide black nylon belts engulfing her body. An audible gasp squeaked out of her at the imposing sight. No wonder she couldn’t move! Did he think she was Arnold Schwarzenegger’s twin sister?

  “Psychiatric body restraints,” he nonchalantly informed her while unbuckling the metal clasp and muscling apart the stiff Velcro binding of the double-locking strap securely tethering her lower legs. The broad fetter had covered her ankles and half way up her shins.

  One down, four to go, she thought in her mental countdown to freedom.

  “They keep the patient strictly subdued with minimal risk of injury no matter how hard he,
or she, fights,” he commented, purposely eyeing Jewels when he emphasized she, as he removed the restraint just above her knees. “And the metal table prevents the patient from bending joints, particularly the elbows, creating a virtually escape-proof total-body confinement system.”

  Two down, three to go. “It feels good to move my legs,” Jewels said with gratitude, slightly bending and straightening her knees to stretch as Doc released the restraint at her waist. Three down, two to go. Freedom was just two straps away!

  “Sometimes two or three strong men are required to hold down a combative patient until the straps are adequately applied.” Callahan chuckled, adding, “And we certainly have an abundance of testosterone around here with men who would be all too eager to assist in such a circumstance.”

  Obviously these tidbits of information Doc was doling out were warnings. Were her thoughts of escape that apparent?

  After disengaging the buckle, hands poised to release the Velcro strap just under her breasts, he stopped. Gazing down at her, his eyes took on a bit of a threatening look. “You better not make me regret this.”

  “No, Sir. I’ll be most grateful,” she promised, purposely batting her big blue eyes.

  Moments later the last cumbersome strap, the one pinning her shoulders to the metal table, was released.

  Jewels sighed with relief, extended her arms above her head, and slightly twisted her body while arching her back to stretch.

  “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll help you up,” Callahan said, closely scrutinizing her moves, clearly prepared to act if she misbehaved.

  “Thank you,” she said, pushing herself up on her elbows into a half seated position.

  Doc Callahan pressed his hand into the middle of her back, assisting her to sit straight up.

  Suddenly Jewels became aware of the gaping hole in her shirt and though in the presence of a physician, was compelled to attempt to cover her bra with the shreds of material remaining from her torn T-shirt.

  “Honey, don’t worry about your shirt. Your bra is covering the important parts and I’m not going to attack you.”

  A guarded smile surfaced on her concerned face, but she clung to the tattered shreds she had pulled tightly across her breasts anyway.

  “Your bladder didn’t explode yet, did it?” he asked, changing the subject to lighten her mood.

  Wagging her head “no,” she released the death grip on her shirt and immediately rubbed her paining wrists.

  “You didn’t get those ligature marks from my restraints,” he said, a tone of superiority in his voice.

  “I know,” she unemotionally replied. After massaging her throbbing wrists, she tucked her knees high to her chest to smooth out the divots gouged in the soft tissue around her ankles by the kidnapper’s merciless bindings.

  “Ready?” he asked, a tinge of impatience in his voice.

  “Okay.” Like a gentleman offering a supportive hand to a lady stepping down from a stagecoach, he helped Jewels slip down from the exam table. Her numbed legs collapsed like boiled noodles when her bare feet collided with the cold stone floor.

  Callahan caught her.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” she said, timidly smiling.

  Placing her arm around his shoulder for added stability, he cradled her small waist in the crook of his elbow. “Bathroom’s outside to the right,” he explained, motioning toward the closed door with his head.

  Each step brought new strength to Jewels’ legs, along with a renewed awareness of her throbbing ankles.

  During the few moments and several dozen steps required to reach their destination—the bathroom—Jewels soaked in as much of the environment as she could, noting the two closed doors along the same wall as the bathroom and the double-wide archway to an adjoining room. Could one of the closed doors or the other room lead to freedom?

  “Here you go,” Callahan said, pushing open the door and motioning with his hand for her to enter.

  The long and narrow bathroom consisted of three toilet stalls, a shower booth, and a counter with a double sink. The stone walls and stark fixtures reminded her of the kind of facility one might encounter at a decrepit rest stop located in the middle of nowhere when traveling across country. On the upside, it was well-lit and clean.

  Callahan directed her to the larger, wheelchair accessible toilet at the far end. “You can take it from here,” he said, turning and closing the stall door behind him. “Ill get you a washcloth and towel. I’m sure you’d like to freshen up.” He paused for a moment before adding, “And I’ll see what I can do about a shirt.”

  Popping her head over the top of the partition, she intended to thank Callahan, but he was already out the door. She listened as the patter of Callahan’s footsteps dissipated. Now might be the perfect time to escape. But to where? She didn’t have a clue ... at least not at the moment.

  Flushing the toilet and exiting the stall, she scanned the room for something, anything, she could use as a weapon. Perhaps harsh cleaning chemicals. A bowl brush. Even a plunger. Saw nothing.

  Seconds later Callahan returned with two white terry cloth bath towels, a wash rag, a bar of Irish Spring soap, a yellow comb, and a woodland green camouflaged T-shirt. He dropped them on the faux marble Formica counter next to the deep stainless sink. “Julia, you should know this compound is home to nearly two-dozen sex-deprived men who haven’t had a woman in a long time. For your own protection, I’m giving you a shirt that is much too big to help conceal your feminine body features, if you know what I mean. I also wrangled up a comb,” he said, quickly adding, “not that that’s a hint or anything.”

  Jewels chuckled. “Thank you.” Given different circumstances, she couldn’t help but wonder if this soft-spoken man and she might be friends.

  Splashing lukewarm water on her cheeks, followed by a delicate massaging with the washcloth, she had wiped away all evidence of the tears of terror spilled just hours ago. After brushing her teeth with her finger, she combed her long hair, untangling the half dozen knots created during the savage kidnapping. Freshening up rejuvenated Jewels’ soul. Her desire to be free. Her hope for help.

  Eyeing her watch: 8:25. Jewels reasoned Belinda had checked e-mail messages, which meant poor Boo-Boo had been discovered, her home crawling with cops. An APB on the missing Humvee fresh on the airwaves.

  And by nine o’clock tomorrow morning, the county sheriff and the feds will have received her overnight express envelope. By noon, authorities combing the area, searching for her.

  Survive. Hold on, until help arrives, Jewels silently vowed.

  Peeking around the corner of the bathroom’s main door, she saw Callahan leaning against the hallway wall, his arms crossed neatly in front of him like a man having no choice but to wait for his date to powder her nose before returning to the opera.

  Bouncing out of the bathroom with a wide smile, she stretched her arms above her head. “I feel so much better, Doctor Callahan,” she said in a voice that could charm a rabid pirate.

  “Ohhh,” he said, gathering himself to stand erect, acting surprised to see her finished already. “You do look much better.”

  And Jewels did look better, despite the sagging man’s extra-extra-large T-shirt that hung like a plus-sized muumuu sufficiently obliterating any sign of feminine curves.

  For an awkward moment Jewels and the doc just stared at each other. Then Callahan took charge, clearing his throat. “Better get you back to the exam room.”

  “Oh,” Jewels said, her voice cracking, knowing full well what going back to the exam room meant: being strapped down with psycho restraints to a cold metal table.His warm hand in the middle of her back prompted her to move toward the exam room.

  Walking slowly, she quizzed, “So, tell me, Doctor, exactly what does S-P-O-F stand for?”

  Callahan, apparently taken off guard that she possessed such knowledge, raised suspicious brows before warily responding, “Sovereign Patriots Of Freedom.”

  Sensing the topic made him nervous, she pres
sed anyway. “So, you’re some kind of militia group operating out of, as you described, a compound?” she asked, halting her gait to look him in the eyes, and to kill more time before climbing back onto the hideous table.

  “Something like that,” he responded cautiously, once more pressing his hand against her back to prod her to resume walking.

  “Hmm. So, Sharon Jeppson was killed because she wanted to, how shall I say, defect?”

  “You know, you’re one real sharp lady. Maybe too smart for your own good.” He didn’t say anything else.

  Neither did Jewels.

  Upon entering the exam room, Jewels flashed a nervous smile.

  “Come on, Julia. Remember our deal. Time for you to get up on that table. I think you’ve milked this twenty-step walk about as far as it’s going to go,” he said, his voice frigid.

  Jewels’ face flushed rosy. The good doctor had picked up on her time wasting strategy. Her mind fluttered. Still, she refused to willingly allow herself to be restrained, no matter what she had promised Callahan. Needed to concoct a plan. Fast.

  “I said get up on the table. Now!”

  “Okay, I’m getting there. Just please don’t yell.” As if performing a triceps dip, reluctantly Jewels placed her arms on the edge of the table to boost herself into a sitting position. Her feet dangled about a foot off the ground.

  “Now lie back.”

  Leaning back, she swung her feet up, but at the last minute, thrust her flexed feet with all of her might at Callahan’s groin.

  Howling in pain, he grabbed his crotch and sank to the floor on his knees.

  Wasting no time, Jewels sprang off the table and dashed to the closest medical cabinet, about ten feet to the rear of the room. Drawers and doors clanked as she radically rifled through them. Haphazardly, she tossed boxes of gauze pads, packages of disposable syringes, and plastic tubes on the stone floor, even lobbed several glass vials of medicine, shattering a few. She was a woman possessed, obsessed with finding medical tools suitable for use as defensive weapons.