“That’s my girl,” he said enthusiastically, but quickly changed his tone to concern. “Better watch Tank. He’s liable to seek revenge.”
“Already on top of it, Sir. Assigned Watters to guard her.”
“Watters? What’s his background? Can he be trusted with her, you know, not to take advantage and all that?”
“Regarding his background, it’s in gun running. And hell yes, he can be trusted with Sweet Cheeks. If I had a daughter I’d trust him with her.”
“Why? Is he gay?”
Cooman burst out laughing. “God, no. Just lives by an impeccable code of honor.”
“Hmph. An ex-con with a code of honor. Right. Sounds like a self-righteous nut case. I don’t want another psycho like Tank laying into her.”
“Sir, Watters’ only potential problem really isn’t under his control.”
“What are you saying?”
“The fact is, Sir, I think women find Watters irresistible. You know, good looks, muscular, charming, witty, all the shit women go goo-goo over.” Purposely he neglected to mention the instant and obvious chemistry he had witnessed between the two.
“Hmph,” he snorted.
Snickering, Cooman sat up, leaning his elbows on his desk. “Hell, I sense Big Bird’s feathers are a little ruffled ‘cause he’s thinking a pretty bird is gonna roost in his nest.”
Annoyed: “All right, all right. Got the message. So, what’s my Sweet Cheeks doing now?”
“Just got done having dinner with me. I let her dress up. We talked.”
Jealous: “How was dinner?”
“Damn, Sir! You know how to pick ‘em. Sweet Cheeks is one helluva beautiful woman and a smart one, too.”
“How much does she know?”
“Clueless about you. Has no fuckin’ idea who the Commander is, though at first she thought it was me,” Cooman said, a hint of pride in his voice.
“You set her straight?”
“Of course, Sir,” Cooman quickly replied, his face suddenly serious. “Wouldn’t dream of pretending to be you.”
“Tell me about your dinner conversation.”
“Not much to tell, Sir. I told her we were Jefferson’s Warriors and admired her newspaper articles, but gave up no details on the workings of the group.”
“Hmph. And Jeppson? Did she ask about her?”
Laughing: “Yeah, told her we were just fulfilling the woman’s oath.”
“And what about the envelope? Did you get anything out of her about that?”
“As expected, she lied at first, claimed she didn’t tell anyone. Then I showed her the envelope. My God, you should have seen her face. Priceless.” Cooman beamed a smile replaying the mental picture of the astonished look that had lambasted Jewels’ pretty face. “I must confess, Sir,” he said, lowering his voice, “I ended up being a little rough on her.”
“Rough? You better not have hurt her—”
“Oh, not physically, Sir. Didn’t lay a hand on her. I just scared her a bit with intimidation tactics.”
He sighed with relief. “Did she give up anything else? And for godsakes there aren’t any more envelopes are there?”
Cooman gnawed on the inside of his cheek. Didn’t respond.
“General?”
“Uh, Sir. No. I don’t think there are any other envelopes. I had her pretty scared, and our guys really scoured her office, but to be perfectly honest with you, Sir, I didn’t really come out and ask her.”
“Shit! Knowing her, she probably sent at least one more to someone else,” he fumed.
“I’ll follow up, Sir.” Cooman paused for a moment before changing the subject. “So how you holdin’ up?”
“Tension’s high,” he sighed, “But everything’s under control. Just make sure there are no more surprises.”
“Doin’ my best, Sir.”
“Okay then. It’s time to implement Sweet Cheeks Phase Two. I want to take possession of her early evening tomorrow, so work fast and clean.”
“Consider it done.”
“Excellent! Over and out.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
SATURDAY, 0100 HOURS. TAP-TAP.
Huddled under the scratchy army-green wool blanket, Jewels stirred. She had just gotten to sleep. The hearty meat and potatoes meal consumed just a few hours before had settled in her stomach like a sleeping pill.
The creak of hinges bearing the weight of the heavy metal door as it opened awakened her. Groggy, she sat up.
A head popped around the corner of the door. “Miz
Andrasy? Julia?” It was Marshall Watters.
Rubbing her eyes with her fists, she flashed a pleasant smile at the handsome guard. Eye candy! If she had to be held captive, why not by a good looking hunk of solid meat. “Morning already?”
No response. No smile. Nothing. He lumbered to the foot of the bed.
Jewels glanced at her watch, “One o’clock?” she mumbled. Certainly not one in the afternoon. No, it was early Saturday morning, she was sure of that. And something was wrong. Marshall’s eyes seemed haunted by inner pain.
“Doc wants to see you,” he said, his voice a lifeless monotone, nothing like it was when he escorted her to Cooman’s.
A look of uneasy puzzlement scampered across her face. “May I freshen up first, please?”
“Five minutes,” he said with a frosty bite, turning to exit.
“Wait. Marshall, what’s wrong? Why does Callahan want to see me? It’s one o’clock in the morning. What could possibly be so important the doctor has to see me now?”
“Five minutes,” he repeated, closing and locking the door behind him.
Using the toilet then quickly splashing water on her face, she thought about the ridiculous hour but mostly about Watters’ chilly tone. Was he a psycho? Jewels snickered, “Dumb question, he works with psychos therefore he’s a psycho by association, right?”
She’d known Marshall Watters for less than twenty-four hours and despite the way she had been introduced to him—handcuffed and waging war against his brute strength—she was drawn to him. Those warm eyes. His comforting, almost protective, touch ... she didn’t want to believe he was a Jekyll and Hyde character. No. Couldn’t be. Besides, her vibes offered no indication of such. It had been eighteen months since she had allowed herself to yearn for the touch of man. She wanted to be touched. Needed to be touched. Craved to be touched. And desired Marshall Watters be the one to do the touching. “Jeez, Jewels,” she chastised herself, shaking her head. “You must really feel deprived and desperate to even be thinking about a relationship with your enemy.”
Memories of her beloved Robert flooded her mind. Guilt swamped her heart and soul. Damming the tears with a wad of toilet paper, she dabbed her face dry.
Robert was the past. This cell. Marshall Watters.
Jefferson’s Warriors. The Commander. Those were the elements of the present. And right now she had to focus on the present. On the pressing.
So why did Callahan want to see her? To check her aching ribs? The cut above her eye? Even so, it didn’t explain the odd hour, or the blast of frigidness from Marshall Watters. It was obvious he was purposely detaching himself from her. But why?
The fumbling of keys against the metal door broke Jewels’ train of thought.
“Time’s up,” Watters announced, swinging the door open. “Let’s go,” he said, motioning with his head toward the hallway.
Tucking the three-sizes-too-large camo T-shirt into the baggy fitting camo combat-style pants, she glanced down at her feet and was reminded she was only wearing scratchy green wool socks. “Do I need shoes or boots?”
“No.”
“Okay,” she said, raising her eyebrows in bewilderment. Obediently she walked to the door and stepped into the hall. But she was unprepared for the sight: a gurney with open straps. Grabbing her chest, she gasped and recoiled.
Marshall’s powerful hand latched onto her upper left arm from behind. Jerking her backward, he bounced her body aga
inst his solid chest. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
Jewels’ eyes widened with alarm. No way was she going to let him strap her down. Pushing away from him, she pummeled his chest with her free hand, struggling to break loose of his grasp.
“Dammit, Julia,” he barked, snatching the forearm of her swinging fist. Tightening the grip on her left arm, he forced her spine against his chest.
Wincing in pain, she stopped battling though her body remained tense, primed to engage in combat the moment the opportunity presented itself.
“You’re gonna have to trust me,” he whispered.
Looking over her shoulder up at him, her face melted into a you-don’t-really-expect-me-to-believe-that grin as she studied his countenance. Logic told her he was one of them: a kidnapping, murdering terrorist. But her vibes told her to trust him. And so far her vibes had not been wrong. Therefore, reluctantly, she chose to trust him, relaxing under his grip.
Upon feeling her surrender, he sent her a reassuring wink, scooping her body into his arms and laying her on the gurney. Reaching down, he pulled up the leather strap to buckle it across her chest.
Swallowing dryly, her face etched in fear, mind scrambled for a hint of sanity. My gawd, what had she just agreed to allow him to do? Panic eclipsed reason. Swiftly she turned onto her side to roll off.
Catching her shoulder, his powerful hand slammed her back flat onto the gurney and held her down. Moments later: Click! The buckle of the strap snapped shut across her chest.
“No! Don’t,” Jewels screamed, her voice high and hysterical. Frantically flailing her arms and legs and thrashing her body about, she continued to shrilly scream, “No! Don’t do this—”
Clamping his hand over her mouth, he mashed the back of her head down hard into the padded gurney. “Shut up and stop fighting me, Julia.” His eyes were narrow and scorching. Jaw set. Lips snarling. “I have to strap you down. Do you want to have to be gagged, too?”
Vigorously, she negatively shook her head, ceasing her berserk behavior.
“Then shut the hell up,” Watters demanded, his hand still firmly sealing her mouth.
Blinking, she nodded affirmatively and surrendered to his hold. What else could she do? Despite his good looks, Marshall Watters was a Jekyll and Hyde character after all.
Cautiously, he retracted his hand from her mouth then watched her for a moment, poised to silence her again if necessary.
Jewels stared at the ceiling. Speechless. Motionless.
Consumed by regret. How in the hell did she allow herself to get suckered into believing she could trust this guy—handsome or not—who was now strapping her down to a gurney like an insane person being prepared for shock treatment? Uh-huh, insane! That was the key word. And that was what she was for trusting Marshall Watters.
After buckling the remaining two straps across Jewels’ arms and waist and over her shins, he gently brushed away the straggling strings of tossed hair that blanketed her face like an old lace doily.
Innocently, she gazed up at Marshall whose features had softened, almost appearing caring. Softly she asked, “What’s happening, Marshall? Where are you taking me? What are you going to do—”
“Shhhh,” he said, pressing a single finger on her lips. Bending over, he kissed her on the forehead.
Jewels blinked wildly. What the hell? Judas kiss, she concluded. This hunk was a psycho, just like everyone else she had encountered so far in the compound ... with the possible exception of Doc Callahan.
As casually as pushing a grocery cart, he wheeled her down the murky hall.
Gazing at the ceiling, her senses were acutely tuned to pick up details. The sight of flickering, half-dead florescent lights sporadically coming and going among the non-pattern of grey and brown stones. The sound of gurney wheels popping and skidding across the uneven floor. The touch of frigid fingers from the draft, molesting every inch of her body. And the smell of stale, damp air highly seasoned with fear—her fear—expanding to fill the hollowness between the corridor walls like a helium balloon on the verge of bursting.
A maze, Jewels thought regarding the odd layout of the compound as Watters drove the gurney down hallways and around corners. Finally, he stopped at a door, swung it open, wheeled her inside.
“Hello, Marshall,” greeted Doctor Callahan, as Watters pushed the gurney into the expansive receiving room of the medical wing. Sliding his hands into the pockets of the white doctor’s coat, he gazed down at Jewels, who was securely fastened to the gurney by three wide straps. “And how’s our clever little ball-buster today?”
Jewels didn’t respond, just stared at the ceiling.
“Take her into the exam room,” Callahan said, gesturing with his hand toward the entry.
The gurney wheels roughly rolled over the FLOWER POWER etching on the floor, pulsating Jewels’ body like an old coin-operated vibrating bed in a cheap motel. “General said I’m to stay while you do this,” Watters said, arriving at the exam room.
Callahan shook his head in agreement and nodded toward Jewels, “Probably a wise decision, since experience—painful experience—has taught me not to tinker with this little keg of dynamite.”
Watters laughed. “Yeah, Doc. Guess she really let you have it,” he said, grabbing his crotch and painting a face of pain to mock Jewel’s brutal strike at Callahan.
Jewels piped up, “Why am I here? What are you going to do to me?”
Callahan smiled, patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Just need a little blood, Honey.”
Jewels’ eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Blood? Why do you need my blood?”
“Because you gotta be made dead,” a caustic voice boomed from the exam room entry.
Her muscles tensed. She held her breath. That voice. It was her kidnapper’s. Poking her neck forward, her eyes confirmed her audio conclusion.
Watters whirled around, faced Tank. “What the hell?”
Tank spawned a halfhearted smile, waving his hands in front of him as to call off an impending fight. “Whoa, Buddy. Cooman sent me to collect the blood so I can do my job.”
Nervously Jewels squirmed under the restraints. “Job? What job needs my blood?” she quizzed, her voice degenerating into a childlike whimper.
Eager to enlighten her, Tank’s eyes brimmed with devilish excitement. “The Commander wants to take possession of you tonight.”
“Possession? Tonight?” Jewels’ shrieked, her eyes darting to Marshall Watters for an explanation, but Tank started up again.
“Before the Commander can take you, we have to implement Phase Two. That’s the part where folks think you’re dead.”
“Dead?” she echoed, her voice strained.
Tank exhaled, rapidly rubbing his hands together in eager anticipation. “Yep. And to make you dead, I need blood. Your blood. I’ll smear it all over the inside of your Humvee,” he said, gesturing a smearing motion in mid air. “Leave pieces of your torn T-shirt here and there.” He inhaled deep, puffed out his chest in pride. “By the time I’m through, it’ll be such a fuckin’ mess, authorities will conclude you’ve been murdered. And once you’ve been assumed dead, law enforcement will automatically back off efforts to find you.”
Gulping dryly, Jewels knew Tank was right.
“You see, as long as the cops think you’re alive, there’s a sense of urgency about the case. But as soon as they figure you’ve been killed....” Tank let raised eyebrows, an evil sneer, and shrugged shoulders finish his sentence.
Closing her eyes, she shuddered. It was true. Once the cops assumed she was dead, the harried rescue campaign would be relegated to a greatly scaled-back effort to recover a corpse. Worse yet, whoever the Commander was would be taking possession of her, as if she were chattel. Couldn’t allow that to happen. The best way to stop, or at least slow down, the Commander taking possession of her was to throw a monkey wrench in his Phase Two operation.
Had to do something. Soon. But being securely strapped to a gurney greatly limited her options. The
only alternative was to launch a verbal plea. An attempt to appeal to whatever goodness or sense of justice these men may have in them. Certainly Tank didn’t have a decent bone in his body. No need to waste efforts with him.
Eyes darting back and forth between Doc Callahan and Marshall Watters, she pleaded her case. “Come on, you guys know this is a crazy scheme. Surely in your heart you know this is wrong.” Pointing with her head in Tank’s direction, “You two are nothing like that psycho maniac.”
A demonic grin grew on Tank’s face. He folded his arms over his chest, clearly enjoying the scene.
Continuing to address Callahan and Watters: “I sense you are good men, with good hearts and you know the difference between right and wrong. So why not do the right thing? Return me unharmed to my home, my life. Your morals will thank you. You’ll sleep well at night. And as a token of appreciation for you doing the right thing, I’ll announce you two were my heroes. I’ll further express my gratitude in the form of a five million dollar reward to each of you.”
Watters and Callahan exchanged glances at the part about five million bucks a piece, knowing full well she had the means to dish out that kind of money.
Callahan hung his head. “Miz Andrasy, I don’t deserve the praise you’ve given me, but it means a lot to me that you think I have that kind of goodness inside.”
Behind Watters’ back Tank played an imaginary violin and made sappy faces. Occasionally he dabbed invisible tears from his eyes, mocking the syrupy scene.
Callahan glared at Tank, who looked like he was ready to erupt into wild laughter any minute.
Turning to Jewels, Callahan shook his head no. “I’m sorry, Dear.” Biting his lip, he reached for the needle.
Jewels focused her attention on Watters, who was standing at her side. “Marshall, please. I know you, especially you, really don’t belong with this group of radical wackos. Help me. Don’t let them do this to me.”
Watters’ face pinched with tension.
Hoping her words were getting to him, she continued, her voice full of urgency and raising an octave, “Remember, Marshall Watters, you said I should trust you...,” she paused nodding at restraints, “and obviously, I did. I trusted you, Marshall, simply because you said I should. Please don’t make me regret believing in you. Don’t let them do this to me. Please, help me, don’t let—”
Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) Page 20
