VALOR: LaTRESOR
UNDER ATTACK

"What good say yea 'valor'
if honor be it's price?"
~Charles Serat
WINDOWS & THRESHOLDS
by Rouchelle Rouselle

One glance. Jody knew Ryan was nearing the end of her minuscule limit of patience. Now, it was time to act . . . or she would. He knew well what might happen if Ryan were to vent her stoking anger. They could all end up floaters.

Just at that moment, she turned and looked at him. At that moment, he wished the terrorist . . . kidnappers . . . or whatever the men were who had the two of them hostage, had bound her instead of him.

From where they had installed her, across a small beach fire from where Jody sat bound, hand and foot, and gagged, he saw the look in her green eyes that made them appear more black than green. The look that he dreaded. It always meant trouble! He sighed under his breath, and began to think furiously. He had to do something, and NOW!

Stephanie turned away from the double-paned, though exquisitely blown and beveled, windows in the bay seat. "I hope the kids are sheltered from this storm. The wind's picked up at least a knot or two from when all this started," she stated, as if the storm were their major concern right now.

No one in the room responded. They all knew Steph. Her way of making understated comments during a crises situation was her method of maintaining calm . . . as long as no one challenged or derided her.

Besides, everyone had their own tasks to concern them. Steph was monitoring the estates' security cameras and equipment. Paulie was alternating between the citizen band and the phone, though neither had made any human connection as of yet. David had found all firearms belonging to both estates, along with available munitions supplies. Now, he sat in the east corner of the adjoining room, keeping a visual look-out while prepping and loading all arms.

Only Steve appeared absent from the group. However, he too performed his assigned task within feet of his wife and friends. Frequently, Stephanie's gaze wandered toward the reinforced steel door of the vaultroom, then seek out Paulette's. She marveled at the confidence Paulette constantly showed in Steve's abilities. If David were locked in a vacuum-sealed room with unknown amounts of explosives, she'd--Stephanie--be chewing her nails to the quick.

In that room, as Steve checked over his handiwork, he ran all possible candidates for the trespass on their property through his photostatic memory. Of all the possibilities, only three fit. The others were either put away for life or not alive at all.

"Connors, Huntensing, or Donelly," he listed, mentally framing their faces as he recalled their names. Huntensing had vowed to repay him in kind.

That was so long ago--eighteen, nineteen years. Steve and David had been called in on a nation-wide manhunt for the Huntensings. During the chase through Colorado, Huntensing lost control of his vehicle, crashing on the narrow mountainous road and killing his brother and critically injuring his new wife.

She died a few weeks later, while her husband stood trial for the murder of six people in four armed robberies. In two of the incidents, the little group of criminals got away because they took a hostage, both of whom they later killed. The bodies were only recovered when the defense attorney attempted to cut a deal with the prosecution--location of the bodies for lighter prision sentences for his client.

Unless he somehow escaped, he should be serving six consecutive life sentences, without parole. If the state had the death penalty, he'd be facing a higher judge right now. Both hostages had been female, one a twenty-nine-year-old wife and mother of a three-year-old son. The second one, just seventeen, would have been in her first year at State University that fall. Instead, while making a deposit to her savings account, fate dealt her a hand that held the Huntensing Gang.

Although both hostages had been abused, mutilated, and murdered, Huntensing took the death of his young bride quite hard. He accused Steve of running them off the road, thus, of murdering her. The only way he'd be satisfied, he had assured the special agent in a threatening letter that somehow found it's way out of the prision and into Steve Trawberg's Alfa months later, would be a wife for a wife.

Anything is possible, but if that were the case--if Huntensing had somehow gotten out of prision and intended to make good on his threat-- the kids would be in no danger. He wanted Paulie, after all. Not Ryan.

The other two, well . . . they were a little harder to pinpoint. They each had drawn suspension from the Company, one for investigation of kickbacks, one for suspicion of smuggling contraband goods he was assigned to seize and confiscate. Steve was assigned their cases. They each served time in federal prisions for their crimes. Each also promised Steve would 'live to regret it.'

Well, he'd have to find out 'the who' before he would know . . . The slowly opening steel door put a halt to his mental planning session. Paulette stepped inside, "Honey, there's someone at the door. I spoke with him over the intercom. He's asking . . . no, he's demanding to see you. Or--"

Steve stood, walked to his wife, held her and kissed her temple. "I get the picture, babe. Well, let's get this show on the road." Holding hands, the Trawbergs left the vault and started what they hoped would be the ending to this nightmare.

"Jody. Don't look directly at me! I don't want them to know we're talking."

Except for the gravity of the situation, Jody would have found her Nancy Drew-like behavior amusing. All-in-all that was a good sign, however. He could still find humor in something, although things had gone through the looking-glass crazy. Kewel! he thought. At least he still had some measure of control over fear of the unknown.

The gag had been removed, finally. The shackles and cuffs remained. Obviously, their uninvited 'guests' no longer felt it necessary to keep him quiet. But, Ryan's reasoning was making sense. They must have an advantage of surprise, if they were to have a chance of getting away from these people.

"Their leader is this guy named J.B. something or other. He's weird, man. Like he's got this . . . this . . . vendetta against our dads--mine, specifically. He just mentioned yours like a . . . a bonus. 'Icing on the cake,' is how he put it--"

"What in the world for?" Jody cut in, unable to wait for Ryan to 'get around to' her point. "Why hold us here . . . and trespass on private property . . . and who are they, anyway?"

Ryan waited a pause, just testing him, Jody believed. Then, "If you would just be quiet, I was getting to that!" she stage-whispered, narrowing her eyes and exaggerating her lip and eye movement for effect. Again, Jody almost smiled. She knew enough to keep down the volume. For Ryan, that was definitely something.

"They're here," she said, slightly moving her eyes toward the group of about ten men at a fire a few feet away from them, "because this J.B. is their boss and commanded them to be here. J.B. is really here because of this other guy who's off somewhere out there" she inclined her head, vaguely, toward the northeast end of the landing.

Jody again wished she'd get to the point, but he knew better than break in on her again. It would only make her slower in reaching the point. She was really enjoying this!

His pained expression was not lost on Ryan. "Okay, okay. I'm getting there. Anyway, this J.B. character got busted some years ago by my dad. Yours traced the 'good's from purchase to the street'--that's what he said, okay. So, Mr. Monfert testified in court after Dad 'took him down'--his words again."

A strange look over-shadowed her animated features, causing her to pause for a moment. She said, almost in awe, "The sad part of this is that guy--J.B. whoever--was a decorated Navy Seal. He got a citation for valor for saving a whole platoon is some war or the other. Then, back here, he made a lot of busts in the War on Drugs. The mayor gave him a citation for 'behavior beyond the call of duty,' . . . then he turned bad."

Jody was amazed. Not by what Ryan was telling him, but by what she was doing! He could not ever remember seeing tears in her eyes. Ryan made you cry. Ryan did not cry!

The next moment he heard something familar. The old Ryan was back, albeit a bit tearful, still. "Jody, he blames Dad--and yours, too a little--for catching him. Not himself for doing it in the first place! And, now he wants revenge for going to prision . . . "

"Wait a minute, Ryan. I thought you said this other guy out there somewhere was the reason this J.B. was here?"

"That guy out there got them--himself and J.B.--a contract to 'take care of Trawberg' from some other guy who's no where around here. I don't understand all of it. Some of what they said I didn't hear."

From underneath her, she drew a ring with several keys. She removed two keys from the ring. In a Ryan-like motion, she swiftly and smoothly tossed one key, paused then tossed the other. Soundlessly, they landed beside Jody on the sand.

"Hurry. We've got things to do, Jody, my pal," she breathed, a wicked green gleam in her eyes. "Surprising people at home with a gang of thugs isn't very valiant, is it?"

US POTPOURRI Latresor Invaded Return To Top
For Copyright © Acknowledgements For Trademark (tm) Acknowledgements

These pages sponsored by GET YOURS FREE, TODAY!

VALOR: LaTRESOR UNDER ATTACK "What good say yea 'valor' if honor be it's price?" ~Charles Serat WINDOWS & THRESHOLDSby Rouchelle Rouselle

VALOR: LaTRESOR
UNDER ATTACK

"What good say yea 'valor'
if honor be it's price?"
~Charles Serat
WINDOWS & THRESHOLDS
by Rouchelle Rouselle