Much to her chagrin, after only a few strides, the creepy hall looked familiar. Too familiar. It was the dead-end prison wing. And Tank was closing the gap. Shit! Even knowing she was speeding toward an eventual impasse and was nowhere near the only exit she knew out of the compound, she kept running. Closer to her cell. Closer to the stone wall with nowhere to turn. What would she do when she reached the end? At this point, she had no idea, but wasn’t slowing down.
A few more strides.
His fingertips skimmed the length of her spine.
Desperately, she pushed herself to increase speed, but there was nothing more to give. Her legs were operating at full bore. Lungs felt as if they were about to explode.
Like heat from a flame thrower, his hot breath swept across her back. WHAM! Hitting from behind, he threw her down.
Dispatching a croaky scream, she tumbled to the ground. Her right shoulder absorbed the brunt of the tackle, acting like padding for Tank’s heavy body as they skidded across the gritty rock floor to a sliding stop. The pain in Jewels’ shoulder was excruciating.
They both lay for a moment, neither moving except for flaring nostrils and rapidly rising and falling chests as they sucked in much-needed oxygen.
Tank was first to move. “Gotchya,” he whispered in her ear, peeling himself off her crushed body. Springing to his feet, he stretched, aging bones crackling.
Groaning in misery and still breathing hard, Jewels’ body was a crumpled heap of pain.
“Get up,” he said, bending down and grabbing her by the wrist.
Slow to obey his command, she struggled to her feet. “Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with it?”
Disappointment rolled over Tank’s mean face. “I’m sorry to hear you’ve given up.”
Shrugging, “What the hell. We all have to die sometime,” she said lethargically, grimacing in pain. Feeling Tank’s eyes studying her, she figured he was probably wondering if this new attitude was real or just a ploy.
“Come on,” Tank said, latching onto the her right arm, marching her deeper into the corridor of prison cells.
“Why does it have to be that arm,” Jewels mumbled in frustration, looking up at the ceiling. A comment meant for God’s ears. Good thing her words weren’t intended for Tank because he ignored them.
Dragging her back to her prison cell, he roughly pushed her inside.
Stumbling from his forceful shove, she nearly careened into the footboard of the cot, but at the last minute regained her footing, saving herself from wrapping her body around the metal piping. Gingerly, she rubbed her throbbing right arm and shoulder and stood tall at the side of the bed, turning to face him.
“Get on the bed,” he said, his tone quiet. Calm.
Sucking in a deep breath, Jewels rolled her eyes, widened her leg stance and folded her arms in defiance. It seemed the nightmare was about to begin. Again.
“Sit the fuck down,” Tank ordered, this time exercising his brute strength to push her down onto the cot with one powerful thrust of his palms into her shoulders.The mattress springs creaked as her body hit them hard with a violent bounce.
Carefully sitting on the edge of the bed, she wanted to cry, but couldn’t. Wanted to conjure up a plan for escape, but couldn’t do that, either. Maybe she was too scared. Or too tired. Or just too emotionally and physically drained. Whatever the reason, Jewels was placid in the presence of her latest captor: her kidnapper and the murderer of Boo-Boo, Sharon and Kirk. And she supposed her name would soon be added to his list of murder victims.
Leaning over for eye-to-eye contact with Jewels, he reached for her cheek.
Automatically recoiling, she squinted and gritted her teeth in anticipation of the penetrating slap that was, no doubt, forthcoming.
“Hmph,” Tank snorted, gently caressing her cheek with the back of his hand.
Warily, she opened her eyes one at a time, confusion drenching her face.
“Let’s call a truce,” Tank said with a genuine smile.
Radically, Jewels blinked. His words didn’t compute.
Standing up straight, he wiped his palms on the thighs of his pants. Surveyed her. “What you did back there in the disciplinary room with that poker and getting Cooman to release your boyfriend...,” his voice trailed off as if in deep thought. After a moment, “You’ve got a fearless lion heart.”
Jewels raised her brows, looked at him. It almost sounded as if it were painful for him to say that, or maybe he just wasn’t accustomed to seeing the positive in others or doling out compliments. “Thank you,” she softly replied.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he smirked. “I have to know, would you really have stuck that hot poker in my eyes?”
Gazing wide-eyed up at him, she felt compelled to give him an honest answer. “No, not with you helplessly chained down,” she said shaking her head, quickly adding, “But I would have, if I could have, in self-defense when I thought you were going to kill me.”
Parking his hands on his hips, “Fair enough. I figure if I just leave now, lock you in this cell...,” he lifted his shoulders, “well, we’d be even.”
“So this means you’re not going to torture, rape and kill me?” she blurted out, instantly cringing at the sound of her own words.
“You are direct,” he returned with a chuckle.
Jewels gnawed on her lip. Verbalizing those thoughts was ridiculous. Even worse was posing them as a question to a bona fide assassin.
Tank’s shiny bullethead nodded in agreement. “That’s right,” he replied, his attention suddenly drawn to the door, as if sensing the need to get out while he still could.
“Well ... thank you,” Jewels said with a cautious smile, thinking this was a side of him she had never seen: compassionate.
Quickly turning his head back to her, he glared, “Don’t be thanking me ... Bitch.”
Instantly Jewels’ face painted sullen; that was the side of Tank she knew.
Walking to the door, he looked back at her. Rubbing the ugly stitches marring his once perfect-complexioned cheek, “You still owe me and I will collect, maybe even some of that five million you offered Watters and Callahan ... and for sure, I want that sweet ride of yours, so get it restored for me.”
Automatically, Jewels folded her arms across her chest, scrunched up her shoulders. Tank’s revenge wasn’t over.
Walking into the hall, he dug keys out of his pocket, turned back to face her. “Assuming you survive the Commander, someday, Julia Andrasy, somewhere, somehow, I will return. You will pay. Revenge will be mine,” he promised, again rubbing the mangled flesh on the side of his face before closing and locking the cell door.
Jewels sighed with relief. Dropping her head on the pillow and curling her body into the fetal position, she wrapped herself in the scratchy wool blanket spread on the bed. Closed her eyes. Didn’t think of escaping. Or screaming for help. Physical and mental exhaustion had tamed her fight. All she wanted to do was sleep and hopefully awaken from this nightmare to find herself in her own bed, pain-free with Boo-Boo curled up at her feet.
Chapter Thirty-Three
1022 HOURS. When janitor Briggs finally opened the door, Watters was poised to be the first man out. An AR-15 he had commandeered from one of the men was slung across his back and his face was painted in random black stripes and olive green shapes for camouflage. One of the men happened to have a couple sticks of NATO jungle paint on him and passed them around for those who wanted it, figuring Tank and his defectors had probably absconded with Jewels into the surrounding woods where they’d have to track them.
As the head of SPOF security, Marshall was ordered by the general to lead the search for Jewels. “Remember everyone,” Marshall said, “if Tank’s still in the building, a stealthy approach could mean the difference between life and death for Miz Andrasy. I’ll take the interior. The rest of you head outside, stealth mode. I’ll join you should I come up empty-handed. Unless you’ve got a strong lead, I want you back here at,” pau
sing to glance at his watch, “thirteen-hundred hours. We’ll meet in the cafeteria. Good luck, gentlemen,” he said, slipping through the door, the men following close behind.
As usual the hallway was dark, damp and smelled like an old cellar. Gut instinct told him Jewels was still in the compound. Stopping, he waved the rest of the militia past him.
When the corridor was silent, Marshall jogged toward the intersection. After traveling only a few feet, he realized his boots made too much noise. Quickly stripping them off, he pushed them up against the wall, resuming his jog in stocking feet.
At the corner of the first branch in the hallway he hastily glimpsed around it. Noticed about halfway down the corridor, something on the floor. Was it Jewels? A sudden stab of anxiety pained his gut.
Sliding the AR off his back, he held it in the low-ready position, aiming the muzzle about two-feet in front of his toes, and indexing his finger outside the trigger guard.
Inhaling a deep breath, he snaked around the corner. Inching down the corridor, he watched for any sign of life from the little heap on the floor. Or of Tank from the shadows.
The closer he got to the mass, the more it became apparent it wasn’t Jewels. It was a pair of boots. Every few seconds he glanced down both ends of the corridor watching for Tank as he examined the boots.
Too small to be Tank’s. Must be Jewels. The icy coolness of the rock floor penetrating his socks reminded him of his own lack of footwear. Wiggling his toes, he grinned, realizing she had the same idea. Smart girl! A feeling of hope warmed his innards. Maybe she was still alive.
Abandoning the boots in the middle of the hall just as he had found them, he proceeded down the passage. Before crossing each doorway, he checked if the door was locked. If it was, he moved on, figuring Tank probably wouldn’t have taken the time to shuffle through the keys. If the door was not locked, he cleared the room before moving on.
Another hall. The prison cell area.
After an instantaneous look-see around the corner and finding it empty, he gazed down the length of the corridor. The cell door where Jewels had been kept was closed.
Shutting his eyes to think, clearly, he remembered leaving the door unlocked and wide open when he escorted Jewels to the trial. Now it was closed. Bastard’s taken her back to finish what he started!
The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stirred as he imagined the worst: Jewels’ limbs ruthlessly bound to the corners of the bed. Naked body beaten and bruised. Brutally tortured. Raped. Butchered. Dead.
Tightening his grip on the AR, he sucked in a deep breath, scooting around the corner and slinking his way toward Jewels’ cell door.
Closer inspection of the cell door indicated it was definitely locked. Parking at the side of the door, he plastered his back against the stone wall. Thinking. Tank wouldn’t—couldn’t—lock himself inside. Must have left Jewels in there.
Swinging the AR on his back, he dug the cell key out of his pocket, shoved it in the lock and readied to unlock the door. Suddenly he stopped. What if, maybe, just maybe, Jewels somehow locked Tank inside?
Sliding the AR forward and jamming the stock into his shoulder, entry would be hot ... he’d be ready to shoot. Slowly and quietly, he unlocked the door. Eased it open. Peered inside.
His eyes were drawn to the bed. What he didn’t see showered him in relief. Jewels wasn’t tied down! Instead, she appeared to be sleeping on her side, curled in a ball, with a blanket covering her entire body up to her chin.
Slipping the AR back around his shoulder, he crept into the cell. Lying so still and quiet, he momentarily feared she might be dead, but the sight of the blanket pumping rhythmically up and down assured him she was at least breathing.
As happy as he was to find her alive, he was curious as to how it happened. Last he knew, Tank was going to rip her head off. What could have happened in the space of fifteen minutes? Kneeling next to the bed, he touched her right shoulder, shook her gently. “Jewels?”
Groaning, her face distorted, revealing she was experiencing pain.
“Jewels,” his voice raised an octave, shaking her a little harder.
Fluttering open, her big blue eyes focused on his face. Instantly she screamed. Terror consumed her features. Back peddling as fast as she could, she plastered her body against the stone walls. Holding her breath, eyes wide with alarm, she clenched her fists against her chest, just under her chin.
Latching onto her upper arms, he pressed her shoulders against the wall. “Julia, relax,” he said, calmly.
Her bunched fists flew at his face, legs pumping fiercely under the blanket. “Go away! Leave me alone!”
Snaring her wrists, “Jewels, it’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you. It’s me. Marshall. Marshall Watters.”
Ceasing to battle, she blinked rapidly. Confusion smeared her face.
“It’s okay, Jewels. It’s me, Marshall Watters.”
Narrowing her eyes with suspicion, her body remained tense, ready to explode into fight mode at any moment.
Marshall wondered what Tank had done to her to make her so afraid of him. “Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t you recognize me?” Having heard his own words, he immediately realized the problem: his face. The paint on his face!
Releasing her wrists, he hastily wiped his face with his shirt. “It’s paint, Jewels. Camo paint.”
Her eyes widened. Sparkled. “Marshall,” she shrieked, throwing her arms around his neck.
Returning her hug, “Sorry I scared you. I forgot about the paint.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m okay now that you’re here,” she said, nuzzling her cheek in his shoulder as they embraced.
“I’m really sorry about Kirk,” he said with regret, soothingly rubbing her back.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Blankly staring at the wall in front of him, “I think he was actually a pretty good guy and don’t know what attracted him to joining SPOF.”
Tightening her grip around his neck as if for added comfort, “He was a good guy,” she confirmed, her voice cracking.
The sound of running footsteps rapidly approaching echoed in the hall.
Marshall hungered for her. Wanted to kiss her. Caress her. Make love to her. And he was certain she felt the same about him, but it was neither the time nor the place for the expression of rapture. Acting upon such desires could get them both killed. His soul ached like a phantom limb as he pushed her away and stood up.
Raising her brows, Jewels widened her eyes and gaped her mouth, clearly confused by his abruptness. Sniffling, she settled back on the bed to lean against the wall, crossing her legs and draping the blanket around her shoulders.
The approaching footsteps stopped. The sound of a half dozen men breathing hard from running flooded the room.
“She’s okay,” Marshall called out. “What are you doing back here?”
“We came back for the GPS to track Tank’s truck and heard her scream,” one of the men replied.
“Not a bad idea, but I’ll bet he’s disabled it. Regardless, go for it, ” Marshall said with authority.
“Yes, Sir,” the men replied in unison.
The pounding footsteps resumed, quickly distancing themselves from Jewels’ cell.
Once the men were gone, Marshall turned back to Jewels, planting his hands on his hips. “So, where’s Tank?” he asked, his tone detached. Businesslike.
“I guess he left,” she said with a flick of her shoulder then letting out a little gasp from pain.
Marshall picked up on it, knelt next to the bed. “Are you hurt?” he quizzed, his face overcome with worry.
“Not too bad,” she replied, glancing over at her shoulder, gently rubbing it.
Arching a brow, he slanted his head in disbelief. “Jewels, tell me what happened to your shoulder.” His tone empathetic but demanding. “Tell me what happened after Tank dragged you into the hall and shut the door,” he said, sliding his hand onto her knee, lightly patting it to comfort and reassure
her.
Sucking a long breath through flared nostrils and exhaling through puffed cheeks, she expanded her eyes. “Not much really happened. When the door shut, Tank threw me down. I got up and started running. A couple minutes later he caught up with me, tackled me...,” nodding at her right shoulder, “that’s how I got this.”
“Go on,” Watters prodded, tapping her knee.
“Uh, then he brought me back here, told me he was impressed with how I stood up to Cooman using the hot poker and asked if I would have really gouged out his eyes.”
“And you said...?”
A slight laugh crept out of her. “I told him the truth. When I thought he was going to kill me I wanted to rip out his eyes, but I wouldn’t have been able to do it with him chained down.” Picking up the corner of the blanket, she nervously twisted it around her finger.
“What else did he say, Julia?”
“Um, he said my answer was fair enough and he would call us even right now, but...,” Jewels’ voice trailed off. Biting her lip to keep the tears at bay, she intensified the twisting of the corner of the blanket around her finger.
Marshall’s face pinched with concern. “But what, Jewels?”
Voice quivering, “Uh, he said he would come back sometime in the future to get me for cutting his face.” Bursting into tears, she buried her head in her hands.
Marshall scrutinized her. She looked so alone. So lonely. So afraid and uncertain. So much in need of strong, loving arms to reassure her. Protect her. Appreciate her. Take care of her. So much in need of someone. Someone like him.
Unable to resist his heart’s desires any longer, he tenderly wrapped his arms around her body. Cuddled her. Stroked her long hair. “I’ll never let him hurt you, Jewels. Trust me. Never,” he promised with a whisper, kissing the top of her forehead.
Chapter Thirty-Four
10:40 AM SATURDAY - WESTMORELAND COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE. The white Ford Expedition left a thick trail of dust as the big rubber tread chewed through the gravel parking lot of the Westmoreland County Sheriff’s Office. The SUV came to a sliding stop at the front door of the building that looked like a giant tit made of steel. It was one of those portable circular metal buildings often used as overflow classrooms in school districts.
Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) Page 26