Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series)

by Spain, Shirley

  Biting his lip at the sight of Jewels interacting with an imaginary dog, he stood, brows arching suspiciously as he gazed at her. Clearly, Hines’ plan had gone awry, otherwise she would not be sitting in his hideout half naked and stoned out of her mind. Had to find out what happened. To do so he would resort to his standard and proven results-oriented mode of operating: merciless brutality. His tactics would dispense the antidote to whatever drug had seized her mind.

  Surveying the shack for something he could use to tie her up, a coiled piece of bull rope lying on the floor in the corner behind the cold potbelly stove caught his attention.

  Scooping up the dusty rope, he marched over to her. “Time to play truth or consequences,” he said, straightening the rope.

  Wide-eyed, “Truth or consequences,” she naively parroted.

  The clueless act, Tank thought. “Yeah. You’re gonna tell me the truth and I will give you the consequences,” he answered bluntly, eyes smoldering.

  “Huh?”

  “Give me your hands.”

  Readily complying, she stretched her arms toward him, offering her hands palms face up.

  Winding the thick rope around her wrists multiple times, he bound them together. Knotted the rope.

  The super painkiller not only suppressed physical pain, but mental anguish as well, blocking all recollection of the horror she had endured over the past several days. However, the harsh binding of her wrists acted like an instant antidote. Bits and pieces of terrifying memories of the past days randomly rushed her mind, ousting the drug-induced euphoric state. “No,” Jewels shrieked, recoiling.

  Holding on, he easily maintained control. Smirking, “So you were faking la-la land.”

  Confusion swept her haggard face. “Faking?”

  “Yeah. Like you were stoned. Like you didn’t know who I was.”

  Jewels just sat, forehead wrinkled, eyes fixed at the floor.

  “Who sent you?” he huffed, giving the rope a tug, jolting her entire body.

  Jewels grimaced.

  “No comment? Fine.” Lobbing the free end of the thick rope up over the four-by-four beam near the ceiling, he pulled on it. Hoisted Jewels off the bed and onto her feet. Continued to crank the rope until he had reeled her into an upright position under the beam.

  Groaning in agony, Jewels stood on tiptoes. Hands stretched high above her head.

  After tossing the end of the rope over the rafter a second time as an extra measure to hold her in place, he anchored the loose end around the heavy base of the bulbous-bodied stove, then stepped back over to Jewels.

  Her head was hanging, breathing labored.

  Latching his hand onto her chin, he severely jerked it upward so she was looking him in the eyes. “Now, I’m gonna ask you again. Who sent you?”

  “Nobody. Nobody sent me,” she pitifully whimpered.

  “Always the fuckin’ hard way with you,” Tank barked, drawing the multipurpose tool hanging from his belt and configuring it into scissors.

  Watching him, her mind blurred. Shaky images, like an old Super 8 home movie. Film spliced together in no particular order. Wrists bound to the bed. Black mask. Hanky shoved in mouth. Frantic running. Hood slammed over head. Leather restraints. Boo-Boo bleeding. Ball gag strapped in mouth. Face slaps over and over....

  She dissolved into tears. Couldn’t help it. Whatever bravery she may have once had was all used up. If Tank was thinking he could torture an answer out of her, they were in for a long morning because she didn’t know anything. She wasn’t trying to protect anyone. No one sent her. By simple mistake, she just stumbled onto the shack.

  SNIP! Tank clipped the knot of the blanket around her neck, releasing it to the floor.

  Forced to stand on tiptoe, her entire body quivered erratically. A charley horse manifested in her right calf. Awkwardly balancing on the toes of her left foot, she wildly shook out her right leg.

  “Muscles cramping already?” Tank asked rhetorically, his tone demeaning. Before bending down to rub her cramped leg, he watched her suffer for a moment.

  Jewels flinched at the touch of his calloused hands.

  Vigorously, he massaged her calf between his flat palms for a few moments. “Is that better?”

  Softly, “Yes, thank you.”

  Pushing to his feet, he walked behind her. Gasped. “What the fuck?”

  Dozens of long red welts peppered Jewels’ back interspersed with little bumps, some of them covered in dried blood.

  “What the hell happened to your back?”

  “Theodore ... whipped me,” she weakly replied.

  Brows crimped, “What happened with you and Hines anyway?” he quizzed, completing the circle around Jewels until he was facing her again.

  “He’s dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “Yeah, the grizzly got him,” she said, followed by a fit of giggles; a side effect of the painkiller wearing off.

  “Hmm. So that’s how you got out here,” Tank muttered, not the least bit disturbed by her inappropriate and poorly timed tee-hee. “You ran away when that bear attacked him,” Tank concluded, relief in his voice, as he was well aware of the man-eating bear who had been terrorizing hikers and campers in the area for the last several months.

  “Not exactly,” Jewels said, shaking her head in regret. “Noooo. That’s not right. Not exactly. That’s not exactly right. Really, not exactly,” she rambled, continuing to shake her head; the powerful drug was relenting but in the process making her goofier.

  Leaning in toward her, “Not exactly?” Tank echoed with concern, his eyes narrowing. Furrows on his forehead deepening.

  Looking around the room, as if ready to spill a secret and not wanting anyone to overhear, she leaned into Tank, whispered, “I ran away from the MTAF.”

  “Holy shit!” Tank shrieked with alarm, grabbing his bald head with both hand. Bolting to the door, he cautiously opened it. Popped his head out. Seeking signs of the elite law enforcement group, he visually scanned the horizon for movement. Seeing nothing, he cocked his ear toward the sky and held his breath, listening for the sound of a helicopter. Only the morning chatter of song birds broke the wilderness silence.

  Closing the door, Tank dashed about the cabin, stuffing his scattered belongings into a giant green duffle bag with the urgency of one scooping up precious belongings about to be consumed by a house fire.

  “What’s going on?” Jewels’ voice was oddly perky, but tone confused. Further proof the effects of the shot were nearly depleted.

  After a quick visual double-check of the room, he zipped the duffle, then unfolded what looked like a camo-colored foil jump suit and quickly climbed into it.

  “What are you doing?” Jewels asked, perkiness suddenly replaced by panic.

  “Making sure those MTAF bastards can’t track me with their infrared scanners when I get the fuck out of Dodge the mountain man way,” he said, darting toward the door, duffle bag in hand, foil suit crinkling with each hurried step.

  Looking up at the thick rope binding her hands, she frantically tugged on it. “Wait! Untie me. Please don’t leave me like this.”

  Halting at the door, he watched her pointlessly toil for a moment.

  “Take me with you,” she pleaded.

  Like the surprise of an unexpected backhand across the face, shock flooded his features. In a mocking tone, “Take you with me?” Growling, “You’ve gotta be joking! For all the grief you’re causing me right now, letting you live is the extent of my generosity.”

  “Please, Tank, please take me with you,” she pressed in desperation. “I’ll behave. I can be a mountain man, uh, woman. And I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t leave me tied up like this to die. Pleeeeease.”

  “Hmph!” Tank shook his head in disbelief. “You really want to go with me?”

  “I really don’t want to be left here to die. Please, don’t leave me. I have financial means and could help you get out of the country or whatever. I won’t be any trouble. I promise.
I’ll do whatever you want. Please....”

  The money part certainly intrigued him and her pleas to untie her and not leave her for dead tugged at his heart, arousing feelings of compassion he hadn’t felt in years; feelings he didn’t want.

  Desperately: “Tank, I won’t be any trouble. I promise. I’ll let you tie me up, or do whatever you want. Please, just take me with you.”

  Tuning her out, he returned to the coiled bull rope in the corner, cut off about a three-foot length, stamped back over to Jewels. Stared at her. “Let me tie you up?” he scoffed, toying with the length of rope.

  Eyes wide with hope, “You’re gonna take me with you, right?” she asked, her voice and face optimistic.

  “Hmph!” he snorted. “If you get out of this one, I’ll be watching you. And when the time is right I will take you, but not now,” he coolly promised. Thrusting the rope between her lips, he forced her jaw open to create a gag.

  “No! Please, don’t,” she shrieked.

  Rapidly winding it around her head and over her mouth several times, he knotted the rope securely, but not as brutally tight as he would have just twenty-four hours ago. Though he hated to admit it, she had worn a bit of a soft spot into his killer heart. She was one helluva survivor and had the fight and stamina of a warrior. And for that earned a scrap of his respect.

  Crazily tossing her head back and forth she madly struggled to dislodge the gag. Hot tears scorched her cheeks like lava. Her face and neck were brilliant red from screaming pleas for Tank not to leave her. Light pink liquid—a mixture of blood and saliva—drooled from her chin.

  With determined strides, Tank stamped to the door. Jewels’ heart-tugging solicitations were now unintelligible. Guardedly, he opened the door. Slithered his hulking foil-covered body out. Slammed it shut behind him. Didn’t look back or even think twice about his decision to leave her.

  • • •

  “We’re getting low on fuel. We’re going to have to turn back,” the MTAF helicopter pilot reported.

  “Shit!” Marshall chewed on the edge of his lower lip for a moment, continuing to visually scope the mountainside with field glasses. “Swing by those meadows, over there to the right.”

  “It’ll have to be a quick pass, Sir,”

  “Just check it out.”

  The pilot guided the helicopter toward the meadows.

  Scouring the fields with binoculars, an image caught his eye. “Over there. In the middle of the meadow, an FBI jacket. Jewels was wearing one like it,” Marshall said, hope in his voice.

  The pilot maneuvered the helicopter toward the jacket.

  “What’s FLIR showing,” Marshall quizzed the copilot.

  “I’m picking up a human heat signature over there, Sir,” the copilot said, pointing toward a shanty.

  A green late model Dodge pickup was parked to the side.

  “Isn’t that Tank’s truck?” the pilot asked.

  “Sure looks like it to me,” Marshall replied.

  “I’m only picking up a signature from one person, in the middle of that shack,” the copilot reported.

  “This isn’t what we came for, but we can’t pass up an opportunity to nab a surviving member of SPOF,” Marshall said, slipping into a Kevlar vest.

  Marshall addressed the copilot who was trained in dynamic entry tactics. “No doubt he knows we’re coming, so we’ll have to do this quickly.”

  The copilot nodded in agreement.

  As they approached the building, the FLIR monitor indicated the person wasn’t moving.

  “It looks like he’s just standing in the middle of the room,” the copilot said.

  “A possible showdown. This could get bloody,” Marshall said, double-checking the MP-5 to make sure the magazine was fully loaded. It was.

  The pilot landed the helicopter in the field about one-hundred yards from the targeted shed.

  “Radio this in and if Tank comes out without us, light him up,” Marshall ordered the pilot.

  “Yes, Sir,” the pilot replied, understanding he had been given the green light to fire the machine guns mounted on the front of the helicopter at the criminal, should he be lucky enough to survive the Commander and his highly trained copilot.

  To the copilot: “Let’s rock and roll,” Marshall ordered, jumping out of the helicopter.

  • • •

  Exhausted and frustrated, Jewels had tugged and pulled on the thick rope for the last time. What was the point of struggling? The rope wasn’t going to break. Wiggling her wrists out of her bonds wasn’t happening. Escape was impossible. Why prolong the inevitable? She was going to die in the middle of nowhere in a decrepit shack. A hundred years from now maybe a hiker would find her skeleton ... if the wild creatures had not torn her corpse from limb to limb as a meal in the meantime.

  Defeated and with all sense of hope evaporated, her head drooped like a raggedy doll. Legs went limp. The full weight of her body forced to be supported by her wrists painfully tied above her head. Every inch of her body ached, including her lips which were shriveled and manifesting hard, spiny ridges from lack of hydration. The taste of dirt from the old rope and blood from it gouging her face filled her mouth.

  Aside from physical anguish, she tortured herself mentally, rehashing everything she had done wrong. Should have turned on the alarm system at home. Shouldn’t have hesitated shooting Tank in the kitchen. Should have trusted Marshall ... why hadn’t she trusted Marshall? Why didn’t she shoot Hines when she had the chance? Why had she run away from the medic Wilson to end up in this godforsaken hellhole, the victim of Gerald Whitlock again? Why, why, why! “God, just please let me die,” she mumbled.

  Dwelling on her forthcoming demise, those who had perished because of Hines’s obsession with her trampled her mind. Robert had been the first casualty. Gone was her sweet Boo-Boo. Sharon, Kirk, and Sheriff Jodie Clarkston had been murdered, too ... because of her. Lest she not forget, the four women buried behind Hines’ cabin. Women she didn’t even know, tortured and murdered because of her. Plus, she had shot Bondage Master, presumably killing him. And the mighty man-eating bear had taken Hines’ life. So much death ... all because of her. Perhaps this was a fitting and deserving end.

  Milliseconds later Jewels heard what she thought sounded like the whirl of a helicopter. Was it real, or the audio equivalent of a mirage?

  Suddenly the shanty door exploded with a blinding flash of light and an ear-shattering bang, like a bolt of lightning had zapped the floor mere inches in front of her.

  Reflexively she let out a shrill yell, her body instantly straightening and tensing.

  “Police! Don’t move,” a man bellowed with authority as a rush of hurried footsteps stormed the cabin.

  Screaming her head off, she maniacally twisted and turned her dangling body in a futile attempt to retreat from the chaotic invasion. Obviously paying no attention to the Don’t move command.

  “Jewels,” a masculine voice exclaimed.

  Insanely flailing her body about, she continued to crazily shriek.

  “Julia! It’s okay,” Marshall assured, engulfing her nearly naked body in his arms to calm her and keep her from further injuring herself.

  It took a moment for his words to register. Finally, she stopped screaming and thrashing about. “Marshall,” she whimpered, her tired eyes sparking with joyous surprise.

  “Pull off the gag then cut her free,” Marshall instructed the co-pilot.

  “Right away, Sir.”

  As Marshall cradled her in his arms, the copilot carefully slid the rope out of her mouth, letting it hang like a necklace then cut the rope binding her arms to the rafter.

  “Honey, you’re going home. Everything’s okay,” Marshall said adoringly.

  Jewels’ body was limp, breathing weak.

  “For sure, Jewels, this time you’re going home because I’m personally going to take you there,” Marshall promised.

  A faint smile dashed across her exhausted face. She wanted to bathe in the comfor
t of Marshall’s handsome features, but her eyelids were too heavy. Unable to resist their pull any longer, she slipped into an unconscious state.

  Chapter Fifty

  ABOUT 5:00 P.M. TWO WEEKS LATER. It was a beautiful sunshiny afternoon, not a cloud in the sky. Low humidity. The temperature hovered at a balmy eighty-two degrees. A gentle northern breeze blanketed cool air across the valley. The smell of freshly cut alfalfa seasoned the wind. It was a perfect day. Perfect for a homecoming. Perfect for a welcome home party. Perfect for a heartbreak?

  With Belinda behind the wheel of her Subaru Outback, the eight mile ride home from the rehab center seemed more like an eighty mile journey. Jewels had tuned out Belinda’s nonstop jabbering miles back.

  The rehab stay was two weeks too long for Jewels’ liking, but admittedly she had enjoyed the pampering and needed the time to recover. And physically, recover she did. Aside from the abundance of wicked-looking little scars scattered across her back from Hines’ flogger, which meant she’d probably never wear a backless dress again, her body had overcome the numerous tortures it had endured, healing nicely. Gone were the black and blue bracelets around her wrists and ankles from her resistance to the straps, ropes and handcuffs which had bound her. And the soles of her feet, shredded from her barefoot adventure in the forest, no longer ached with every step.

  But recovering mentally, she hadn’t fared as well. Despite sessions with a therapist, fears of Tank coming after her still topped the fright element of her stress. But at the forefront of her anxiety was Marshall Watters.

  The man was a mystery. There was so much she wanted to know about him. Where he lived, where he grew up. His hobbies. How he became involved with the elite Militia Threat Assessment Force. Back at the SPOF compound, had she really knocked him out with the heel of her shoe? And how in the world had he escaped those handcuffs in Hines’ cabin without a key?

  Closer to the heart, she couldn’t deny the intense sparks she felt ignite between them while she was imprisoned at SPOF and during her rescue. There was something there. Something much more than mere friendship and appreciation for saving her, at least that’s what she thought at the time. How could she have misread him? How could her own vibes have deceived her so?