Acres, Natalie - Sex Club [Cowboy Sex 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (16 page)

“There must be some misunderstanding,” Elliott said, forever practical.

“Ansley messed around with the wrong man,” Tristan remarked. “Apparently he was married, and now his wife wants to kill Ansley.”

“Yep, well, uh, that will sure enrage a woman. Definitely,” Graham said, appearing agonized.

Slapping her palms against Tristan’s broad chest, she said, “You were eavesdropping earlier. When that woman called this afternoon, you were on the phone.”

Oh, she was furious. The anger was overwhelming. They’d spent less than an hour in refrigerated confinement, and suddenly this man was overwhelmingly possessive. What the hell was that? Where the heck did he get off thinking she was his woman, somehow under his supervision? And there was no mistaking how he felt. She’d watched Brock in action. She’d seen how her fathers protected their mother. And by damn she’d watched Joshua nearly smother Patience’s mother with his love.

She recognized the type and wanted no part of it, especially now! “Were you or were you not listening in earlier today?”

“Yes I was,” he readily admitted without offering an apology. Turning to Bailey, he said, “Now bring up those lights. Lock this place down and let’s get to the bottom of this now.”

“I’m on it.”

“The hell you are,” Ansley said, grabbing him by the arm. “If you listen to him, you’re fired. You’re both fired!”

Tristan pointed at Elliott. “You. Take her in the back and keep her there until we’re done here.”

“I can do that,” Elliott assured him.

“And Graham, please come with us.”

“Stop,” Ansley said, twisting around like mad as soon as Elliott secured her wrist. “Why are you siding with him? Don’t you see what this is?”

Elliott nodded. “Yes I do. Apparently, you don’t. Ansley, I have to agree with him. If someone called in a threat tonight and they’re here with the intention of hurting you, we have to do everything we can to put a stop to this before she has a chance to harm you.”

“Why are you doing this, though?” she asked as he dragged her into the kitchen.

“Because damn it, I happen to care about you,” he replied. Determination was etched in his firmly set jaw, which only widened his cleft chin. “I’d move heaven and earth to keep you safe. Evidently, your two bartenders would do the same.”

Chapter Six

Jordie Anne was no man’s fool. As soon as the club lit up with the track lighting beaming down on the dance floor and the rest of the expansive space, Jordie realized the Cartwell woman’s men were conducting a search. She’d tossed her disposable cell in the garbage and lined up behind everyone else.

As she stood there waiting to exit, she became overly satisfied. It was early, only half past twelve, and there they were, closing up for the night, all because little Ms. Cartwell couldn’t handle the pressure. She was probably somewhere in the shadows sobbing her eyes out, her head resting against one of her boyfriends’ shoulders.

God, she wondered how Brock Sheldon had ever put up with her. Rory, well, Rory she could understand. He was a softy on the inside and the kind of guy who wanted a woman to lean on him. Brock, on the other hand, was a hardcore Dom. He didn’t put up with whiny women.

Apparently this one was a weeping willow.

Jordie Anne had been under the misguided impression that Trixie Cartwell hooked up with Rory and Brock. Apparently Mitch had lied to her about that. She couldn’t picture Brock sharing his woman with four other men. And there wasn’t a doubt in her mind.

The four men who took control after the lights came up were fucking her. Their faces were etched with true horror. They were definitely concerned about their woman.

Good, she thought. Let them worry. They deserved to fret.

They needed to be as upset as she’d once been. She’d spent months under lock and key, crying as she’d watched Mitch’s trial unfold on television.

The DA labeled him a womanizer, a man who’d used drugs to play sex games. A despicable human who’d killed in a jealous rage.

That wasn’t the Mitch she’d known. Jordie Anne averted her eyes, immediately focusing on the bar where the Cartwell woman had been minutes earlier. That was the Mitch that Trixie Cartwell wanted, the Mitch she tried to make her husband become.

“Miss?” A gruff voice made her jerk.

“Yes?” she asked, taking a step forward.

“What business do you have here tonight?”

She recognized the voice. This was the prick who’d tried to encourage her to give a name. She had to give Cartwell credit, though. The woman could pluck a rose from a thicket full of thorns.

This guy was something special. He was a cowboy type, but his accent made Jordie Anne wonder if he’d spent some time in New Jersey. He had a fit body, shapely legs stretching that denim he wore for all it was worth, and a beautiful face. His royal-blue eyes were prisms of fury housing more pent-up angst than he knew how to manage. Oh, and that was just part of his overwhelming sex appeal.

He was a young thing, but in time, he’d learn to handle his rage. She was able to do it, but anger management took work, dedication, and, well, it still drove a person to kill in the end, so what was the point?

“Why are you here tonight, ma’am?”

What if he recognized her tone or pitch? What if she said something in casual conversation that gave him a clue? Would he know right off the bat that she was their mysterious caller?

Suddenly aware of how the bouncers behind him took a step forward, she realized she was under scrutiny. She was female. She had entered the club alone.

She was the potential threat.

“Miss?” His harrowing blue eyes skimmed over her body. “I asked you a question.”

Batting her eyelashes, she tried to act embarrassed and changed her voice to a squeaky pitch. “Please don’t tell my husband. He’s very jealous. If he discovers I was here tonight, he’s liable to go off the deep end.”

The man arched a brow. “Didn’t you tell him where you were going this evening?”

She shook her head rapidly.

“They say honesty is the best policy in a relationship.”

She smiled as sweetly as she could manage.

“Haven’t you heard that adage?”

Jordie Anne shook her head again. She wasn’t a blasted idiot, and she detested men who took her for one! He was trying to engage her in conversation.

The bouncers looked at her like she was guilty of bringing the plague into their establishment. A hefty fellow crossed his fat arms over his breasts. He should’ve been ashamed to have so much weight in the middle. Didn’t he realize he was a danger to himself? Didn’t he understand that he could drop dead of a heart attack?

Did she care? Not really. No. She cared about two people and only two. Mitch and herself.

“Are you here alone?” the brute asked.

“No,” she replied.

The Cartwell pawn made another inquiry. “Who accompanied you tonight?”

In the highest pitch she could muster, she replied, “My friend. She had to leave early. She came down with a deadly cold.” She thought of Mae then. Her dear old pal was in fact deathly ill, if not deceased by now. She’d drunk a poisonous concoction, and if she still had another breath to spare, she was probably throwing up, rolling around on the floor moaning in tremendous agony. Poor thing.

Thank goodness Jordie Anne remembered to cut the phone lines.

“So you’re here by yourself?” the husky fellow inquired further.

“Yes.”

“Do you have a ride tonight?”

“Yes I do. My friend drove her car. I drove mine.”

“Let her through,” the Cartwell lover said.

She released a heavy breath and made her way to the main exit. Right as her hands fell to the long lever running straight down the middle of the door, he called out, “Miss?”

She rubbed her brow nervously and faced him. “Yes?”

“What is your husband’s name?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You look familiar. That’s all.”

“And what is your name?” Jordie Anne asked.

“Tristan Voorhees,” he replied.

“I’m sure he doesn’t know you.”

The man strolled toward her. “Will you open your purse please?”

“Certainly,” she replied smoothly, holding out her handbag and releasing the top brass button on the clutch-style evening accessory.

He glanced over the top and said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Immediately he frowned, and she knew she’d let her guard down. She was certain he recognized her voice, but it was too late. There was nothing she could do or say to take back the words that had given her away.

“You never told me your husband’s name.”

“Mitch Colony,” she stated proudly. Taking another gulp of air, she pressed her weight against the door and left the building.

* * * *

“That was her,” Tristan said out of the corner of his mouth. “Get her license plate number.”

“Are you sure that’s her?” Bailey asked.

“Positive,” Tristan assured him. Directing his conversation to the other employees, he said, “We can’t detain her. Don’t let her know you’re watching her. Jot down the make and model of the car along with the license plate. That’s all.”

“Mitch Colony sounds familiar,” Bailey said.

“The name should ring a bell. He killed the guy who abducted Trixie Cartwell several years ago,” Graham informed them.

Tristan scratched his jaw. “I’ve only lived here for a short time. What happened?”

Graham pointed toward the bar. “Can I grab a beer and tell you the story?”

“Sure,” Bailey replied, leading the way.

Tristan followed behind them. He didn’t like the sound of this. If Colony had something to do with saving Trixie Cartwell from abduction and his wife was behind current threats on Ansley’s life, something was terribly wrong here. Was his wife unstable? Did Colony go to jail for protecting Trixie? If so, did his wife blame Trixie or her sisters for what had happened?

There was only one way to find out. He pulled up a seat while Bailey retrieved three frosty mugs. After he tapped a new keg and filled the glasses with dark beer, he served Graham and Tristan their alcoholic beverages.

“Start talking,” Tristan said, taking a sip.

“I don’t know the whole story. You could read most of the old newspaper articles on the Internet, I suppose, or ask Trixie. She’d tell you. However, if you want the
whole
truth? Talk to Brock, Trixie’s husband. He’s crazy about Ansley and Kimberly. If he thought either one of them were in danger, he’d move mountains to protect them. He’ll tell ya what he knows.”

Tristan nodded thoughtfully. “What do you recall?”

Graham chugged the draft beer. After a hearty “Ahh,” he said, “Best I remember, someone from their mother’s past was released from prison. He spent several years in a state facility. When he walked, he gained employment at Cow Camp, a summer camp the Colony family owned. Trixie was working there, and this criminal somehow secured employment as a stable hand after he discovered Peyton’s daughter was on Colony’s payroll. Anyway, Trixie befriended him, or that’s the way the story went.