Free Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) by Shirley Spain Page A

they owned was a habit Robert had instilled in her. Never know when a spare key will come in handy , he used to tell her.
    After completing the hidden key ritual, she walked confidently out of the garage to meet the cops.

Chapter Seven

    THE GREEN RAM RUMBLED slowly passed Jewels’ driveway. The driver visually tracked the white sedan until it disappeared from sight, swallowed up by the dense trees.
    This was bad; an unexpected turn of events that could have far-reaching, devastating effects. The general had to be informed right away. But the order was clear: don’t break radio silence unless it’s an emergency. A dire emergency.
    “If this ain’t fuckin’ close to a dire emergency I don’t know what is,” he thundered, reaching for the CB mic, stopping short of picking it up. “Nah. Forget it,” he told himself. “What’s the point? Nothing can be done right now anyway.”
    Cloaked in a heavy army boot, his size 15 foot mashed the gas pedal. The Cummins diesel responded, roaring like an agitated lion. Seconds later the metallic howl of the green Dodge faded as it sped away, leaving only remnants of the summer’s quick-moving rain shower in its wake.

Chapter Eight

    ONCE THE COPS WERE IN VIEW, Jewels instantly recognized the caramel-colored, feathered, full head of hair adorning the passenger. “Agent Hines,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes in uneasy anticipation of the possibility his visit could involve a face-to-face high pressure solicitation for a date, even though just hours earlier she had almost called him back to accept his dinner invitation.
    But the fact Theodore wasn’t alone was a clue the visit must be official FBI business, Jewels reasoned feeling somewhat relieved. At least he wasn’t going to hound her for a date. She wasn’t in a socializing mood and especially not with the sometimes overbearing Agent Hines.
    All of a sudden, an icy fist wrenched Jewels’ innards. Her face drained of color. “What official business would the FBI have with me?” she whispered to herself. Sharon’s murder was the first, the only, answer she could fathom. Was Sharon involved in something the FBI was investigating?
    Another question leaped into her mind. If the FBI did, in fact, have Sharon under investigation, which would be serious, what becomes of her promise not to turn the SPOF map over to the cops? After all, Hines and his partner weren’t just local law enforcement boys. They were feds. The F-B-I.
    What should she do about her promise? Allowing her eyes to slide shut for a brief moment, she combed her soul for the answer, the right answer. Her heart was telling her to trust her friend. To keep the faith of a dying woman. To be true to herself by honoring her word.
    But the voice of reason was quick to remind her of the reality of the situation, warning if the FBI was investigating Sharon or SPOF—whatever or whoever that was—and Jewels kept her promise, she risked facing federal charges for withholding evidence in a current investigation ... federal charges that could land her hard time in prison.
    The sound of a car engine being put to rest prompted Jewels to open her eyes. The passenger door swung open first. Instantly, as usual, the aroma of Hines’ Ralph Lauren Polo cologne preceded his physical presence, which was not exceptional, but by no means repulsive.
    He was about six-foot-two with a solid, athletic build. A cleft chin, chiseled jaw line and a straight, thin nose. Biscuit brown, spaniel eyes were set against mildly pocked, sun-browned skin. And Hines was a sharp dresser. Always wore expensive tailored suits, looking more like a highly-paid corporate executive than a law man.
    Granted, Theodore Hines presented an acceptable physical package. But how could she ever take any man seriously who felt the need to wear so much cologne? What was he trying to cover up? She was sure she couldn’t imagine and certain she didn’t want to find out.
    “Jewels,” an exuberant Agent Hines