Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series)

by Spain, Shirley

  Suddenly she heard deep grunting. Certainly not human. Her eyes flew open. She stopped breathing. Straining to see through the tangle of brush encapsulating her, she gazed into the blackness, picking up flashes of a dark mass on the move.

  Moments later, a huge animal materialized. It was a massive brown bear with the distinctive huge hump above its shoulders. Clearly, this was no cinnamon-colored black bear. This was the infamous grizzly, the one experts had estimated weighed upwards of eight-hundred pounds, stood over four-feet tall at the shoulder when on all fours and more than seven-feet tall reared up ... and he was lumbering straight toward her.

  Closing her eyes, Jewels played dead as best she could with her heart beating so hard it sounded like exploding grenades. Would her theory about the man-eating bear hold up ... that he only had a vendetta against men? This was the acid test.

  The creature trudged closer. Once upon her, he burrowed his colossal head under the pile of branches covering her. Drawn to her femininity, his powerful snout rooted between her legs, spreading them wide enough for his big nose to blast a shot of hot air inside her like an air-driven douche. The leg iron chains clanked as he explored.

  The animal’s hair was coarse. Nose hot and moist. Involuntarily, Jewels shook in terror.

  The grizzly suddenly retracted its head from beneath the heap of branches and forcefully expelled air through it nose, as if startled by an intruder.

  Curiosity overriding fear, Jewels dared open her eyes to slits. The bear’s attention was clearly drawn into the darkness. After a brief clacking of its teeth, the bear bolted silently ... in the same direction Hines had disappeared. Was the mighty creature off to defend his territory from a perceived threat? Or claim his next meal? Regardless, Jewels was relieved it left.

  Seconds later nature’s nocturnal harmony was shattered by the hideous shrill of a human screaming. Then deathly silence.

  Had the killer grizzly chased down Theodore Hines? Envisioning the bear’s attack, she saw the animal’s huge paws savagely batting Hines’ body to and fro with the power of King Kong. Its razor teeth shredding Hines’ flesh from his arms and legs like a meat grinder gone berserk. Its knife-edged five-inch claws ripping out his guts like a bloodthirsty backhoe....

  Jewels wondered if the grizzly succeeded where she had failed in carrying out Hines’ death sentence. Hoped so. A faint smile of justice satisfied blossomed on her agonized face. But it didn’t last long upon realizing Hines was the only person who knew where she was; gagged, handcuffed to a tree, and buried in the middle of nowhere. What if she was never found? She’d read starving to death was one of the most tormenting ways to die.

  Sudden gusts of wind, common to the mountains, dropped the temperature, along with her hope for rescue. Now she shivered not only from fear, but from the cold as blasts of chilly air pierced the crevices of her pine box.

  Was being virtually buried alive God’s punishment for her three suicide attempts at the compound or her desire and willingness to kill Theodore Hines at the cabin? Dread consumed her soul. Her mind ran rampant. No, if God was God, He understood her motives. Though He surely would not agree with them, He would not punish her in this way. Besides, in all honesty, God wasn’t to blame for her woeful situation. Theodore Hines was ... and perhaps she held some responsibility as well.

  After praying to God for forgiveness, she asked Him to enable Marshall Watters to, somehow, find her before it was too late.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  SATURDAY, BEFORE MIDNIGHT. The compound of the Sovereign Patriots Of Freedom was swarming with Militia Threat Assessment Force agents dressed in black SWAT garb. Generator-run portable searchlights illuminated both the interior and exterior with the brilliance of high noon sunlight. More than thirty government-tagged black SUVs, trucks and vans littered the fields surrounding the compound. Dozens of forensics specialists and detectives worked the premises. Taking photos. Gathering evidence. Covering bodies. Wingate was under arrest and being questioned by two of MTAF’s interrogation specialists in SPOF’s disciplinary room turned MTAF inquiry chamber.

  Marshall was overseeing the operation and had been barking out orders as needed for the last thirty minutes, but his mind was preoccupied with Jewels. He couldn’t clear the images of the erotic display of poses she had struck at the cabin with the sexual prowess that packed the potency of a Tomahawk missile. Could he be in love with her? Or just lust? Regardless, he intended to pursue her to the nth degree ... as soon as he returned to Hines’ cabin and wrapped up her rescue.

  A man dressed in black, lugging a red medical trauma bag approached Marshall. “Commander, I understand you’ve been shot. Why don’t you let me have a look?” he said, placing the heavy bag on the ground.

  “Wilson, how the hell are you?” Marshall asked, extending his hand for a shake.

  “Apparently better than you.”

  Chuckling, “Nah, just a flesh wound to my arm and Kevlar saved my chest. Don’t worry about me, but I’ll need you to tag along for our rescue mission.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Have you seen Bradshaw around?”

  “Uh, I think someone said he was en route,” glancing down at his watch, “ETA probably less than five minutes.”

  “Thanks,” Marshall said, slapping Wilson on the shoulder before jogging up the stairs.

  A big black SUV, not unlike any of the dozens already parked around the field, was wheeling onto the rugged gravel, approaching the compound. Marshall jogged out to meet it.

  “Bradshaw,” Marshall hollered, waving his hand, waiting as the SUV parked. Driver and front passenger doors opened simultaneously.

  “Commander,” the man stepping from behind the wheel said, extending his hand.

  “Good to see you, Lieutenant,” Marshall said, returning a hearty handshake.

  “I knew I trained you well,” the man who exited the passenger side hollered over the hood of the vehicle.

  Marshall did a double take. “Dyson ... Sir?”

  Howard Dyson grinned, confidently strolling around the front of the vehicle to shake Marshall’s hand. “You’ve done well, elevating yourself to command one of the most elite law enforcement agencies in the world, and I wouldn’t have expected anything less from my star pupil.”

  “Sir, you taught me everything I know,” Marshall said respectfully. Eyeing his black tactical clothing and sidearm, he furrowed his brows. “Have you been called back to active duty?”

  “Nah. Just have a special interest in this case.”

  “Oh?”

  Smiling, “Julia Andrasy,” he replied, fondness in his voice. “I think you held her for Hines, didn’t you?”

  Marshall felt the blood drain from his face. “Yeah. What’s your interest?”

  “He wants to get in her panties,” Bradshaw answered for Dyson with a laugh.

  Marshall shot a sideways glance at Dyson. “She’s your girlfriend?”

  “I’d like her to be.”

  TEN MINUTES LATER, STILL STANDING AT THE SUV IN THE MEADOW. A frigid gust of air surged through the field, rustled the surrounding pines. The weather could change in the High Uintas with little warning. The wind could be a prelude to a storm, or not.

  “I need a TAC team to assist me at Hines’ cabin,” Marshall said to his second in command, Warren Bradshaw.

  “Count me and Dyson in,” Bradshaw replied. “And I’ll round up a couple of other guys,” he said, jogging toward the compound entry.

  “As requested, I’m here to handle medical,” Wilson said, dumping the heavy red medical bag on the weeds by his feet.

  Moments later, Bradshaw returned with two other MTAF agents.

  The five men gathered together, forming a loose semicircle around Marshall. “The suspect, Theodore Hines, is contained. He’s handcuffed at his cabin.” Marshall paused, before adding, “And Julia Andrasy is guarding him.”

  Disapproving eyes widened simultaneously among the men.

  “Are you shittin’ me? I know godda
mned well, I taught you better than that,” Dyson angrily spouted.

  Marshall smiled. “I know, I know. Typically not a good idea. Well, these circumstances are not typical in any textbook. Anyway, Miz Andrasy’s holding a loaded AR-15 on him and she knows how to use it. Just remember she’s the victim and one of the good guys. You needn’t worry about a threat of life or limb from her. Any questions?” he concluded, scanning the group for hands.

  There were none.

  “Then grab your gear and follow me, gentlemen.”

  Marshall and the five men piled into a black Chevy

  Suburban for the short ride to the cabin. The SUV was fully equipped with the latest high-tech wizardry in communications and surveillance equipment along with an arsenal of extra firearms and plenty of ammunition.

  Once at Hines’ cabin, the men spilled out of the

  Suburban, MP-5s hanging on their shoulders, stealthily dashing to the side of the door. Waiting.

  “Julia,” Marshall called, cautiously pushing against the cabin door handle with his left hand, maintaining a firing grip on the full auto weapon slung across his right shoulder as he peered into the room.

  The old wooden door creaked as it slowly swung open, revealing a room void of life. There was a pool of blood on the bed; blood that wasn’t there when Marshall left.

  The nightstand cabinet looked like it had survived the wrath of a burglar gone mad. An AR-15, the one he supposedly left with Jewels, was propped against the foot of the bed. Something had gone terribly wrong.

  Marshall, grim-faced, tipped his head to the men, a silent gesture that told the team to clear the room.

  With MP-5s in the tactical ready position and staggered shoulder to shoulder in a basic echelon formation, the five men systematically vanished into the tiny cabin. Moments later: “Clear,” Bradshaw hollered out to Marshall.

  “Hmm.” Marshall’s brows knitted as he shook his head and scratched the back of his neck, contemplating the situation. Suddenly his eyes widened. The secret room! He motioned for the team to exit the cabin and gather around him.

  “What’s up?” one of the men asked.

  “There’s a secret room in the cabin,” Marshall quietly replied, folding his arms over his chest. “There’s a possibility Hines has taken the hostage and retreated into that room.”

  The men stood in a half circle around Marshall as he explained what he knew of the cabin’s secret room, noting he had never seen inside. Had no idea about its size. Whether or not it went underground. If it had a hidden escape exit. Or if it was stocked with weapons.

  The team discussed how they would proceed then reentered the cabin. Moments later the door to the secret room was open.

  The team’s flashlights illuminated the pantry-sized room. They checked the walls, ceiling and floor for additional hidden doors.

  “Nothing here,” one of the men yelled to Marshall.

  “Never should have left Jewels with that monster,” he muttered to himself, regretfully shaking his head. Marshall blew it, that was painfully obvious to everyone.

  Scowling, “When you fuck up, you fuck up big time don’t you?” Dyson whispered to Marshall. Glaring, “So help me, God, Watters, if I find out you classified Julia as acceptable collateral damage for this op’s end result, you will be my acceptable collateral damage,” Dyson quietly warned, stabbing a stiff finger in Marshall’s chest.

  Ignoring Dyson’s threat, “They must have escaped on foot. Quick, scan the mountainside,” Marshall instructed the rest of the team.

  Bradshaw jogged back to the Suburban, grabbed night vision goggles, surveyed the mountain.

  “Nothing, Boss.”

  “Get the chopper up here,” Marshall ordered, staring blankly into the darkness, his hands planted on his hips. FLIR would find her.

  The MTAF helicopter was equipped with Honeywell’s latest forward-looking infrared receiver system. FLIR was used in both day and night for navigation, reconnaissance, and search and rescue. Tonight it would perform the latter.

  A few minutes later, “Sir, no-go on the chopper.

  Turbulence rating is severe.”

  “Shit! Spread out, we’ll comb this mountainside on foot. Be sure to use radios,” Marshall said. Trotting to the Chevy for access to equipment, he rigged himself with a remote headset. Communication with the team was paramount. Snatching a pair of night vision goggles, he strapped them to his head like a helmet.

  Marshall stood at the side of the truck, slowly scanning the woods, quietly pleading for Jewels’ help. “Come on, Jewels, I’m right here. I’ll come get you. I just need to know which way to go. Gimme a sign, Baby. Gimme a sign,” he whispered to himself.

  A momentary twinkle of something shiny reflecting a small spray of light in the distance caught his eye. Nothing in nature would shimmer like that. “Julia! Julia Andrasy,” he hollered, charging in the direction of where he saw the sparkle. He knew NVGs distorted distance, sometimes causing things to look closer than they really were. They also had a limiting view of one-hundred to four-hundred feet maximum, depending on ambient light. Jewels—or at least the shiny thing—was within the limited range of the night vision.

  Like a pack of hunting hounds, the team followed.

  “Spread out,” Marshall said over the radio headset as he continued running in the direction he saw the sparkle and calling her name. “Julia! Julia Andrasy!”

  Though she had no idea of exactly how much time had passed, Jewels figured by now Marshall had returned to the vacated cabin and assumed Hines absconded with her into the woods on foot. Kicking bare feet at the limbs concealing her, she attempted to make herself more visible in hopes of speeding up the rescue effort she assumed Marshall had surely mounted. Besides, the vigorous movement helped generate much needed body warmth. Despite the gag stifling her breathing, causing her to gasp for air, and progress slow, she was making progress. She had cleared several of the large branches from around her feet, creating a hole wide enough to uncover her legs half way up her shins.

  Abruptly she ceased kicking. Held her breath. Listened. Was the wind playing tricks on her or did someone just call her name? Other than shivering from the cold, she lie motionlessly, straining to hear something more than wind stirring through the trees. That’s when she heard it: “Julia. Julia Andrasy.”

  Perking up, “I’m here! Right here,” she yelled in desperation, but the necktie was bound so brutally tight around her mouth, it suppressed the majority of volume she could muster. If she was to be rescued, had to respond. Had to be heard. Otherwise, the search might be moved to a different location. Farther away from her.

  Had to get the gag off. But how? The idea to use the branches surrounding her face to peel the gag from around her mouth popped into her head. Nudging her face against the prickly branch, she hoped a rough edge would catch itself between her cheek and the tie like a finger and hold steady so she could jerk her head enough to cause the tie to slide off her mouth and down to her chin. After a few tries, incredibly, it worked! The tie caught on the branch, enabling her to violently shake her head enough to jerk the tie off her mouth, one layer at time.

  “Help! I’m here! I’m over here,” Jewels shrieked, the ear-piercing sound of her own voice raining tears down her face like a cloud burst.

  “Julia? Julia Andrasy,” someone in the distance called from a distance.

  “Yes! Yes! Please help me!”

  “We’re coming, Julia. Keep talking so we can follow your voice.”

  Stretching her neck toward the sound of the voices and straining to see through the heap of branches covering her, she saw the twinkling and bobbing of flashlights. This nightmare was about to end. Soon she’d be home. Home!

  “I can’t move. I’m lying on the ground, handcuffed to a tree, and covered with branches.”

  “Hang on. We’re coming, Julia. We’ll get you out.”

  A broad smile of hope and relief germinated on Jewels’ otherwise haggard face. She yelled back: “Thank you. Thank
you so much. Please hur—”

  A bloody hand plowed through the branches, sealing her mouth.

  “Julia! Julia, talk to me.” Marshall called frantically in reaction to the sound of her voice being suppressed mid sentence.

  Silence.

  “Julia, say something so I know you’re all right.”

  Still no response.

  Marshall pushed the mic of the headset to his mouth. “Shit! Double-time it guys. Hines must have slipped past us,” he relayed to the team, rapidly scanning the forest floor for any sign he was on the right track to Jewels.

  A thick puddle of liquid in the path caught his eye. Halting, he bent over, dabbed it with the tip of his finger as if testing for wet paint. The substance was sticky, slightly warm, and bright red. Blood. Fresh. Raising his eyes toward the heavens, “Please, God, don’t let this be Julia’s,” Marshall mumbled.

  Wiping the blood from his fingertips onto his pants, he invested a moment to gather his composure, banishing the hint of tears ready to overrun his eyes. If Jewels was dead, he would never forgive himself ... surely not that his one-time mentor, Howard Dyson, would ever let him.

  Clearing his throat, he pressed the mic again. “This is Watters. I’ve got fresh blood.” Taking off on a moderate jog deeper into the woods, he headed in the direction he last saw the glimmer, which happened to be the same direction the blood trailed.

  “Julia? Julia, talk to me! Julia, say something so we know you’re all right!” the masculine voice in the distance yelled.

  Screaming, help over and over in response to the man’s call, Hines’ thick hand firmly pasted over her mouth thwarted her efforts. Apparently the bear, too, had failed to neutralize this guy.

  “Unfaithful cunt. You bitches are all the same,” Hines growled, flashing resentful eyes at her as he wiggled around the entanglement of prickly branches to better position himself next to her.

  Though twisting her body and thrashing her legs, she could not liberate her mouth of his bloody grip. What a spectacle. There Jewels was, lying on the ground, under a pine tree with a web of branches engulfing her, wearing nothing but an FBI windbreaker over white lace panties and a matching strapless bra. Her hands were cuffed above her head around the sap-oozing trunk of a pine. Metal leg irons bound her ankles. And rogue FBI Agent Theodore Hines dressed in a tarnished white long-sleeved dress shirt and suit pants, knelt at her side, his bloody hand locking her mouth silent.