Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series)

by Spain, Shirley

  Still in shock over the abundance of detailed and personal information Jarhead had committed to memory about her, Jewels slowly nodded, agreeing to his terms.

  “Good girl, Sweet Cheeks.” Turning to the man controlling Jewels, “Go ahead, Watters, take off the cuffs.”

  A spontaneous flash of annoyance flew from Jewels’ eyes to Jarhead. Maybe if she called him Honey Buns, he’d get the message ... then again, he might get the wrong message. Bridling the urge to comment, she forced herself to relax, anxiously awaiting the arrival of freedom, not only from the handcuffs, but from the killer hold of her latest captor.

  “General, are you sure?” the man answering to the name of Watters questioned.

  “Certainly. I know her word is good,” he replied with confidence.

  Watters released his grip on Jewels’ forearms, unlocked and removed the handcuffs, and slid his body off her legs. Slipping the handcuffs and handcuff key into his pants pocket, he sat on the edge of the bed, eyeing her, clearly ready to take control of her again if warranted.

  Rubbing her wrists where the metal jaws had bitten deeply, “Thank you,” she said meekly.

  Both men watched intently as she scooted herself toward the headboard, distancing herself from Watters at the edge of the bed. Leaning against the headboard, she curled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her shins to hug them, pulling them close to her body in a seated fetal-like position.

  After a few silent seconds she addressed Jarhead towering over her, “It’s apparent you’ve done your homework. You know a lot about me. I, however, know very little about you, but I’ll share with you what I do know. I know I’m at the compound of a militia group called the Sovereign Patriots Of Freedom. I know I have been spared severe injury or death because someone, called the Commander, wants it that way. And though you may not consider yourselves jack-booted Neanderthals, based on my experiences so far, I must rigorously disagree.”

  Simultaneously the men raised their eyebrows as Jewels’ tone escalated into a fiery, forthright sermon.

  “I have been kidnapped from my home. Had my car stolen. Been brutally restrained numerous times in a variety of ways. Gagged and drugged. And experienced the horror of watching my dog, the one you know I cherish, viciously killed before my own eyes.” Jewels paused, shaking her head and shrugging before adding, “So, from my point of view, all of that doesn’t seem like anything someone who wasn’t a jack-booted Neanderthal would ever do. So, pardon me if I’m not at my social best. This is my first kidnapping and I’m still in the learning mode when it comes to kidnap victim etiquette.”

  The men exchanged glances of disbelief at the boldness and candor of Jewels’ remarks, then returned their full attention to her.

  With lips pursed, she sat. Eyes staring blankly down at the floor.

  “Are you quite through?” Jarhead asked, arms folded tightly across his chest, his tone oozing of sarcasm.

  Not raising her gaze from the floor, Jewels nodded a yes.

  Jarhead responded to Jewels’ nod by coming to a position of military attention. “Allow me introduce myself.”

  The click of his heels and rapid movement drew Jewels’ attention. Arms dropping to her side, she sat taller.

  “My name is General Rhett Cooman of the Sovereign Patriots Of Freedom.” Pausing for a moment, he bent down, kneeled on one knee, gathered Jewels’ right hand in his, and kissed it as if she were of royal blood.

  Blinking wildly, Jewels’ mouth gaped.

  “And I am here at your service,” he added with a wink.

  Not prepared for this kind of treatment or the abrupt change in his attitude, she didn’t know what to say or how to react.

  Cooman released her hand, rose to his feet and pointed to the man seated on the bed. “And this is Marshall Watters. He’s in charge of compound security, including the security of our guests. So you’ll be seeing a lot of him.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss,” Watters said, extending his thick hand.

  Jewels surveyed the man who had thwarted her latest escape attempt. Unlike others in the compound, Marshall Watters didn’t wear BDUS. He was dressed in black. Skin tight jeans, a T-shirt that molded to his torso outlining a well-defined six pack, and ... jack boots. Executioner clothes, she concluded.

  Marshall Watters’ bulging arms, thick neck and rippling chest told Jewels this guy’s muscles had experienced higher education ... at a federal prison, she surmised. Appearing to be in his mid to late thirties, his face was lean and tan. Gobs of wavy dark brown hair. Miami Vice facial hair. Sparkling obsidian eyes. And he smelled good. A wickedly handsome combination that spelled lady killer.

  Her eyes were drawn to a mark that looked like a dab of mud under Watters’ right eye. After a few seconds, she realized it was a black and blue mark in the early stages of blossoming. Probably a result of when she lambasted him in the face with her handcuffed fists.

  “Julia Andrasy,” she said, placing her hand in his and giving it a shake. “Sorry about the shiner,” she added, motioning with her chin to his face.

  “Happy to meet you, Julia, and don’t worry about the bruise. Wasn’t the first. I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

  For some reason Jewels felt a special warmth radiating from this devastatingly handsome man’s eyes. Maybe he’d turn out to be someone who could be manipulated to orchestrate an escape. At the very least, he was luscious eye candy.

  “One big happy family,” Cooman said, laughing, observing the instant, and obvious, chemistry between Jewels and Marshall Watters.

  “Riiight,” she said with a forced laugh. Abruptly Jewels’ demeanor changed. Face drained of color. Semi-relaxed features melted into terror. It was the image she saw out of the corner of her eye: her kidnapper! His shiny bullethead. Piercing black eyes. Perfectly sculpted Fu Manchu moustache hovering over a cruel mouth. The sparkling diamond solitaire in his left ear....

  The mere sight of him unleashed panic mode. She gasped for air. Eyes bugged with alarm. Muscles choked in fright.

  His hulking chestnut body loitered outside the door.

  “Go away,” Jewels screamed, scrambling to latch onto the broad shoulders of Marshall Watters in hopes of protection.

  Both Cooman and Watters were startled by Jewels’ outburst until they saw who was in the doorway.

  “It’s okay. I won’t let him hurt you,” Marshall whispered, patting Jewels reassuringly on the arm.

  Cooman motioned with his hand for her kidnapper to enter.

  “Tank, I don’t think you’ve been officially introduced to our guest, Julia Andrasy.”

  As her kidnapper entered the room, Jewels sought refuge against Marshall’s wide back. Clinging to his black T-shirt, she peeked over his shoulder. The sight of her kidnapper standing mere feet in front of her shot an involuntary tremor through her body.

  Watters felt it, gave her another reassuring squeeze on the arm.

  At the foot of the bed, Tank towered over Jewels, his colossal hands on his hips. A dozen white bandages littered his body, including a wide one engulfing his entire right biceps muscle. An ugly cut running diagonally across his right cheek was patched together with fifteen stitches, but no bandage. Pointing to that one he snarled, “Thanks to you, every time I look in the mirror, the fuckin’ scar this thing’s gonna leave won’t let me forget what you did to me. Oh, and you see this,” nodding toward his bandaged upper arm, “you sliced my brachial artery. Coulda killed me!”

  If I had been only so lucky. Jewels thought.

  “Lighten up, Tank,” Cooman barked.

  “With all due respect, Sir, it ain’t your face or arm she did this to,” he snapped, throwing a salute at Cooman and daggers at Jewels before turning on his heel and stomping out.

  “Tank’s our strong arm,” Cooman explained to Jewels, who remained huddled behind Watters’ back. “I’m afraid the death of your pet is my fault, Miz Andrasy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Cooman hung his head. “I sent
an assassin to do a kidnapper’s job.”

  “Oh,” she replied, the reality of just how close she might have come to death during her kidnapping crashing in her gut.

  Clapping his hands together, “But, you’re here now and that’s what counts,” Cooman said with a thin smile.

  With her kidnapper gone and feeling less threatened by Cooman and Watters, Jewels’ reporter curiosity surged. Crawling out from behind Marshall Watters on her hands and knees, “You sent Tank to kill Sharon, didn’t you?” she confidently asked, folding her legs underneath her butt and resting her hands on her thighs.

  The general’s seaweed eyes locked onto hers as he stepped closer toward her, leaned over, extended his hand toward her face.

  Instinctively she reared back, not knowing the intentions of his incoming hand.

  Continuing to advance, he stepped closer.

  Back peddling, she stiffened her body and plastered her back and butt against the cold rock wall.

  “Whoa, Sweet Cheeks,” Cooman said, lightly caressing the side of her face with the back of his hand.

  Jerking her face from his touch, Jewels’ eyes widened.

  Rhett Cooman turned an analyzing eye on her. “Skittish, like a fine Arabian mare,” he said, evidently verbalizing his mental conclusion.

  Pleating her lips, she knitted her brows. Was this guy for real? First Sweet Cheeks, now he compared her to a horse?

  Cooman studied her for another moment, then blurted out a laugh. “Agree to have dinner with me Julia Andrasy and I’ll answer whatever questions your curious journalistic mind may have.”

  Perking up, her eyes dancing with intrigue.

  “Dinner?”

  “That’s the offer.”

  Jewels mulled it over. Why not make the most of an outrageously dismal situation? Dinner with the general would provide information-gathering opportunities, as well as a break from the hellhole of a cell for a while, and ultimately, maybe even lead to escape. Unable to beat her captors with physical force, maybe charm would prove more fruitful. The fact was, it was charm, not combat, that convinced Callahan to take off the straps. And that almost led to freedom. Almost.

  Agreeing to General Rhett Cooman’s requirement to be on her best behavior bought her freedom from the handcuffs. Therefore, if it suited her motives, she could really pour on the charm and he would be none the wiser.

  Still, the idea of having dinner with the general fostered an uneasy feeling in her gut. What if he required a little action after dinner? Investing a moment longer to quell her fears of the possibility of him wanting to have sex with her, and to further convince herself breaking bread with the enemy was the right thing to do, she recounted that old saying: More flies can be caught with honey than vinegar.

  Moreover, she reminded herself this kind of a one-on-one meeting was a reporter’s dream. And she was a reporter ... a darn fine one at that. Finally, until Cooman had mentioned dinner, she hadn’t realized how hungry she had become. Down right famished.

  “General Cooman, you have a deal,” she responded with professional certainty, extending her hand.

  “A handshake deal. I like that,” Cooman said with an honest smile as he took up her hand. To Watters: “Bring her to my quarters at...,” he glanced down at his watch, “eighteen-hundred hours.”

  Turning to Jewels: “That’ll give you more than an hour. I’ll send over appropriate dinner attire and have Watters escort you to a shower.”

  Forcing her sweetest fake smile, “Thank you,” she replied.

  Chapter Twenty

  FRIDAY, 1755 HOURS, IN HER CELL. It was apparent Cooman had hosted dinner engagements for women under his control before. He had thought of everything: makeup, hair dryer, curling iron, undergarments, perfect size dress, shoes, even jewelry.

  A fashion maven, Jewels skillfully put it all together to create a smashing presentation. Makeup, expertly applied, covered the minor blemishes on her face and body from the bouts with Tank and his crew. Shimmering mauve lipstick added the finishing touches to enhance her natural attributes, creating an angelic Cover Girl look.

  Jewels’ voluminous breasts nearly spilled over the plunging V-neckline of the sexy sleeveless black cocktail dress only covering as far down as the middle of her thigh. Black satin four-inch spike heels made her long legs look even longer. Thin corkscrew curls dangled elegantly down the sides of her lightly bronzed face, adding a touch of rich softness to her long blond hair tastefully twisted into a French roll.

  “This could go either way, you know,” she nervously sighed, referring to her plan to bedazzle and charm the hell out of the general.

  TAP-TAP. “Miz Andrasy, are you ready?”

  Jewels recognized the voice. It was Marshall Watters. He had come to escort her to General Cooman’s quarters for dinner.

  One last time she looked in the reflective metal square, double-checking her teeth to make sure lipstick hadn’t stuck to them. Relax. Jewels inhaled deeply, exhaled. “Yes. I’m ready,” she said, feigning the perkiest tone possible.

  The door swung open. Watters’ broad shoulders filled the frame.

  Purposely posing against the wall opposite the door, it was the perfect spot for her to catch a shot of his reaction. If she could impress Watters, perhaps the general would be equally impressed. And if that happened, she could pour on the charm. Maybe he’d relax. Let down his guard. Share more information than he had planned. Maybe even information that could lead to escape. Better yet, maybe he would turn a blind eye to her just long enough to let her escape ... then again, that was probably just pie-in-the-sky dreaming.

  “Holy Mary, Mother of God, have mercy on me,” he exclaimed, grabbing his chest like he was having a heart attack. As if his jaw had become unhinged, his mouth dropped open wider and wider as his eyes freely roamed her body.

  Jewels smiled, twirled around, modeled the dress.

  “Jeez, woman. You look fantastic.”

  “Thank you,” she responded, a slight blush temporarily reddening her face. “Take-me-to-your-leader,” she said in the best monotone alien impression she could muster, elegantly gliding toward him.

  Such silliness got them both laughing.

  Taking up his arm like the perfect lady, she confessed, “Mister Watters, I feel absolutely ridiculous.”

  His dark eyes locked onto hers. “Marshall. Call me Marshall. And no matter how you may feel, you look drop dead gorgeous.”

  Watters escorted Jewels out of the cell into the gloomy corridor that spanned a good seventy feet ahead. She noticed her cell was the last in a bank of five cell doors that randomly dotted both sides of the hall. Except for the click-clack of her heels and the slap of Marshall’s boots against the stone floor, the hall was quiet. Made her think someone should yell, Dead man ... woman ... walking. A shiver zipped her spine causing her entire body to quiver.

  Marshall felt it, just glanced down at her as they continued the walk.

  “Uh, so how many other guests do you have staying here?” she said, eyeing the cell doors as they strolled by.

  Smirking at her sarcastic guest comment, “One.”

  “Another woman?” Jewels’ voice raised an octave.

  “No. Just a member waiting sentencing.”

  “Sentencing?”

  “The rules are black and white around here. Obey and you’re fine. Disobey and punishment is swift.”

  They turned a corner. Another gloomy hallway. The otherwise dark and lifeless corridor was brightened by soft classical music and a flicker of candlelight escaping from an open door about fifty feet ahead.

  Jewels probed, “What did he do?”

  “That’s information dispensed on a need-to-know basis and you don’t need-to-know,” he swiftly responded.

  Ouch. Nervously clearing her throat, she changed the subject. “That must be where you’re taking me,” she said, pointing to the open door.

  Marshall nodded. Moments later. TAP-TAP. “General?” he called, popping his head around the doorway.


  “Come in, come in,” Cooman shouted.

  Stepping aside Marshall waved his hand, gesturing for her to proceed.

  Cautiously entering, Jewels’ eyes were immediately drawn to the bright light streaming from a half open door at the far side of the room.

  The general stood in front of a mirror, his back to her.

  After watching him climb into his jacket and fuss with his hair for a moment, she concluded he was primping just for her. Inhaling a long but silent breath, she slowly exhaled and surveyed the rest of the area.

  With a full size bed pushed against the far wall, Cooman’s private sleeping quarters had been converted to a mini dining area. Dozens of ivory candles, strategically placed on top of the narrow walnut dresser and four-drawer chest crammed against the wall opposite the bed, produced an inviting ambience. And the only light.

  In the center of the room, a card table in disguise. A fresh white tablecloth was the background for plain white Corelle dinner plates and gold-tone flatware. A combination of pine cones and white and gold ribbons twisted into a pleasing configuration formed elegant napkin rings. A pine and ribbon centerpiece, to match the napkin rings, added color and charm.

  The chairs, covered in white material matching the tablecloth, were adorned with white and gold ribbons. This guy had to be spending some serious television viewing time with Martha Stewart, Jewels thought.

  “Oh, General, this is lovely,” she gushed, while thinking it would be lovely under different circumstances.

  The bathroom door fully opened. Cooman emerged. The crisp full-dress military-style suit, similar to something a U.S. Army general might wear, made Cooman look like he was a real general in a real army.

  Jewels adored men in uniform. They look so hero-like. So honorable. But, lest she forget, this man was no hero and certainly not honorable.

  Cooman approached her.

  Relax. Be charming. You can do this. Jewels pep-talked herself.