Acres, Natalie - Sex Club [Cowboy Sex 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (17 page)

“Sometime after they became acquainted, he drugged her. Then, he took her to a local motel where he planned to kill her. I really don’t remember all the particulars, but the long and short of it is this—Mitch Colony killed him.”

“Was Mitch involved with Trixie at the time?” Tristan asked.

“There were rumors and such, but no one ever knew for sure.” Graham raised his glass and paused. “The Cartwells are a tight bunch. I mentioned the story to Ansley once and she flogged me. I never brought it up again.”

Bailey propped his elbows on the bar and studied Graham. “Do you have any idea why Colony’s wife would want to harm Trixie’s sister?”

“None a’tall,” Graham replied.

Tristan massaged his nape. “Graham, let me ask you something. Do you think Ansley resembles Trixie?”

“Why sure. Everybody in town thinks Ansley, Kimberly, and Trixie are triplets. Everybody used to get ’em mixed up until Kimberly started coloring her hair and Trixie stopped dressing like a teenager.”

“Really?” Tristan scratched his head. “I’ve only seen Trixie once. I didn’t get close enough to compare, but would Ansley pass as Trixie if someone didn’t know either of them well?”

“She would in a minute. From Ansley’s mom, Peyton, on down, all the Cartwell women look alike. Nature is the only thing separating those gals, a couple of wrinkles here and there, and several years.”

“What are you thinking, Tristan?” Bailey asked.

“I think what started out as a mistake in identity may eventually place Ansley, Kimberly, Trixie, and maybe even Peyton, in a great deal of danger.”

Chapter Seven

Jordie Anne was slumming. She pulled in front of an old, rundown motel and winced when a rat darted out in front of her car, heading to a nearby Dumpster where there were numerous rodents.

She stared at the numbers painted on the door of Room 10, the suite she’d rented hours earlier. It was the last unit on the end, and the only upgraded accommodations the property offered, the owner had told her. He’d failed to mention the place was infested with cockroaches and only a paper-thin coverlet served as a bed blanket.

Soon, her days of living like a pauper would be over. Once Mitch was free, she’d enjoy the finer things once more.

Then again, she didn’t know how long she’d have to cherish the life she’d once lived. The madness continued to creep closer. By some accounts, her sanity was already in question. The state of Virginia had wanted her to remain institutionalized after she threatened the judge and jury responsible for sending Mitch to prison.

Thanks to Mae and the strings she’d pulled, Jordie Anne was free and still quite crazy. By now her poor friend was probably lying on the floor of her simple cottage, her eyes frozen and still.

Jordie Anne considered what Mae’s last thought might have been, what she might have wondered right after she tasted the bitter aftertaste of the green tea she’d left by her bedside. She took a deeply troubled breath and slid away from the car, grabbing her purse before exiting the vehicle.

At the very least, she should’ve been ashamed of herself. Not only had she killed the woman who’d been good to her, she’d also driven away in her car after the deed was done.

Mitch would’ve been very disappointed, but Mitch wasn’t there. And what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Besides, everything happening to them now was, in many ways, his fault. He was a perfect husband, outside of the fact that they’d been unable to live together as man and wife since they’d married, but at one time he was greatly flawed.

The error of his ways was why she was in North Carolina now, ready to redeem his past and put to rest the woman responsible for changing him.

When Jordie Anne was at her worst, practically near death, Mitch moved on and found someone else. Some might argue he didn’t owe her anything. They weren’t really a couple. Still, he should’ve known from the moment they spent their first night together—they were destined to spend the rest of their lives as one.

As soon as Jordie Anne entered her empty room, the loneliness slapped her in the face. She longed for Mitch, ached for him. He was never where she needed him to be. That was his greatest shortcoming, and his lone vice greatly disturbed her at times like these. He’d had a choice. The DA offered him a plea bargain. He could’ve rolled over on the men responsible for supplying him and many of his counselors with Ketamine, but he refused.

Jordie Anne knew why. He must’ve been protecting Trixie Cartwell. Why sure! That had to be the reason he didn’t negotiate his sentence. He was trying to save that whore!

Apparently, when Trixie Cartwell required his assistance, he came through. In fact, thanks to her, he was spending his time behind bars while she traipsed across the countryside as free as a bird.

Ms. Cartwell’s days were numbered. After watching the way she’d flitted around Clink, Jordie Anne had reached a decision.

The sooner Trixie Cartwell left this world, the better.

* * * *

“Rory, Brock.” Trixie shook them from their sleep. Crawling over Brock’s body, she reached for the lamp on the bedside table.

“What is it?” Brock asked, tenting his hand over his brow.

“Trixie? What’s wrong?” Rory rose from the bed. “I just left Winter’s room. Is she awake again?”

“No.” Trixie waved the phone in front of them. “Tristan Voorhees wants to speak to you.”

Brock reached for the handset, but Trixie yanked her arm away quickly. “Hang on a minute.”

“Who the hell is Tristan Voorhees?” Rory asked, squinting.

“He works at the club,” Brock replied, holding his hand out. “Does he want to talk to me or not?”

“Listen to me a second,” Trixie said, her gaze shifting between the men. “He says Jordie Anne was at the club tonight.”

Brock went pale.

Fucking fantastic.
“That wasn’t exactly the reaction I wanted to see.”

Did they know she’d been released from the institute? If so, how and why? And what the hell was she doing there in North Carolina?

Brock sat on the side of the bed while Rory paced. He probably didn’t want Trixie studying his face next.

Smart man.

“Give me the phone, baby,” Brock said.

“Since you asked so nicely,” she bit out, backing away and gnawing on her thumbnail.

Clicking the speaker option, Brock answered with an irritated, “What the hell is this about?”

“Do you know a Jordie Anne Colony?”

“Yeah.”

“I think she was in the club tonight.”

“Last time I visited there I noticed the establishment was open to the public. If the customer is over twenty-one, they’re permitted entry.”

“I’m pretty sure she threatened Ansley.”

“Ansley?” Rory mouthed.

“Why would you think something like that?” Brock asked, dragging his hand down the length of his face.

“Long story,” Tristan replied. “I’ll explain later.”

“You wake us up in the middle of the night to tell me one of my ex-girlfriends was at your club tonight, and now you don’t have time to elaborate?”

Tristan grunted. “Yeah, I know. It sucks. Just answer this one question—why would she want to kill Ansley?”

“What?” Trixie screeched. At the same time she saw the horrifying look of pure fear wash across Rory’s face.

Brock sat in complete silence. Finally, he said, “I can only think of one reason.”

“She thinks Ansley is Trixie, doesn’t she?”

“It’s possible. We used to frequent the club.”

“If that’s the case, why would she want to kill Trixie?”

“I can think of several reasons there.”

“Me, too,” Trixie muttered, allowing Rory to pull her into his arms. When his fingers caught in her mess of curls, she shivered against him. “This can’t be happening.”

“Tristan, are you with Ansley right now?”

“Yes.”

“If you leave her tonight, I’ll personally hold you accountable if anything happens to her. Are we clear?”

“I’ll take her home with me.”

“And where is home?”

“The Grove Park Inn for right now. She’ll be safe there.”

“With the cameras and security, you’re probably right. Don’t let her out of your sight. Tell her to leave her cell on, and if I need you, I’ll be in touch. Text me any important details you may have forgotten or call if you need me. Here’s my cell number, 828-555-5555. Got it?”

“Yeah, man. Thanks.” A second later, he said, “This Jordie Anne. She looks like a lunatic.”

“That’s because she is certifiable. She wouldn’t be wandering around in North Carolina if she didn’t have some sort of maddening mission. She’s supposed to be locked up, and last we heard, she was.”

“Super.”

“We’ll talk later.” After Brock disconnected the call, he left the bed. “I’m driving to Red Onion State Prison in the morning.”

“Why?” Trixie asked, dumb questions being her strong suit when she was awoken in the middle of the night.

“Mitch hasn’t been taking my calls. Last time I talked to the warden, he told me Mitch is due for an early release. His family finally pulled strings with the parole board. If anyone knows where Jordie is, Mitch does.”

“Do you really think Jordie Anne would do something to Ansley?” Trixie asked.

“Trixie, honey, she’s crazy,” Rory gently reminded her. “The drugs she used for recreational sport ruined her life, destroyed her mind. If she believes Ansley is you, and she’s made a threat to Ansley, then you, Ansley, Kimberly, and the kids could be in danger.”

“Your mother, too,” Brock pointed out. “Depending on what triggered her, she could blame your mom for what happened to Mitch. Stephen Pratchert was part of your mother’s past, remember.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I think we need to take Trixie and the kids someplace safe,” Rory said.

“Absolutely,” Brock agreed, grabbing his cell when a new text message arrived.

“I can’t leave Ansley,” Trixie informed them. “I won’t.”

“Then talk to her. See if you can convince her to go with you, because you’re going.”

“She’ll refuse,” Trixie said. “You know how she is. If she really believes someone is out to kill her, she won’t run. She’ll fight. She’ll stay right where she is until Jordie shows her face.” A beat later, she added, “Brock, maybe Jordie is harmless. Maybe she’s in a state of confusion. What if she’s reaching out for help and just doesn’t know how to find you or Rory?”

“I wish that were the case, baby. Thing is, the last time I talked to Mitch at length, he mentioned her hatred for you. She blames you because he’s in prison.” He hesitated before he added, “And she asked him about the details of his relationship with you.”

“The dumb motherfucker told Jordie he was in love with you,” Rory further explained.

Trixie gasped. “Why would he do that?”

Brock took a breath and said, “Because it was the truth.”

Chapter Eight