Acres, Natalie - Sex Club [Cowboy Sex 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (33 page)

The officer walked closer, viewing her with pure suspicion pouring from his gaze. “Who wants to know?”

“I’m a friend of the family.”

“I know all the Cartwell family friends. Who are you?”

She stuck out her hand. “I’m Mae Leonard. I’m in town for a convention, and I stopped by to say hello to Trixie. We were friends back in college.”

The man’s brow immediately furrowed. “You don’t say. You went to UNC with Trixie?”

“Why yes. I sure did,” Jordie Anne replied. “And who are you?”

The man ignored her hand. “You can call me Pete.”

“Pete,” she said, thinking the locals around there were strange individuals. She’d met a few people at the club the night she’d gone to Clink. Those she’d talked to didn’t supply a last name either. Perhaps they were either too ashamed of themselves for frequenting a lifestyle club or just plain rude.

Apparently the folks around there didn’t have her polished upbringing.

Uncomfortable under “Pete’s” unexplainable scrutiny, she asked, “Is Trixie in town?”

“No,” he replied. “You just missed her.”

“She still lives here. Right?”

He narrowed his gaze. “Who’d you say you are?”

“Mae Leonard,” she stated proudly, holding her head high.

The cop removed his hat, dusted off the brim, and said, “You ain’t from around Marion, Virginia, are you?”

Clutching her purse, Jordie Anne began fiddling with the latch as she smoothly took a step backward. “As a matter of fact, I am.” She swallowed hard, coming to terms with what was staring her in the face.

This cop recognized Mae’s name, which could only mean one thing. Brock Sheldon apparently betrayed her. He’d alerted the locals to her arrival in Asheville. Incredulous, she shook her head. No, Brock would never betray her. The blame should probably be placed on the damn brute working at Trixie’s club. The young fellow was so pussy-whipped, he’d evidently called the proper authorities and described how she’d threatened their beloved little Cartwell woman.

Well, he would pay. She’d make sure of it. Just as soon as she shook off the heat from this pathetic excuse for a police officer.

“Are you from Marion or not?”

Her mouth dried. Her vision blurred. She opened her purse and clutched the butt of her small handgun, careful to keep the weapon hidden inside her bag. “I already said I am.”

At that moment, Pete made a bold and sudden move, yanking his pistol from a sloppily hung holster. Jordie Anne withdrew her gun at the same time.

“Put it down, Jordie Anne.”

“Well damn. I was hoping we could be friends.”

“I don’t think so. See, Trixie is my best buddy’s daughter. She and her sisters are like family to me.”

Sisters? Trixie Cartwell had sisters?

Jordie Anne gulped. Why hadn’t Mitch mentioned Trixie’s siblings? If he had, perhaps she could’ve gone after the other Cartwells first, made the bitch suffer by watching her kin pay for her sins. Jordie Anne would’ve enjoyed watching Trixie grieve their deaths.

Perhaps there was still time to make that happen. She needed to find out more about these Cartwell siblings.

“Trixie didn’t go to UNC. And she doesn’t live here,” Pete said, nodding his head toward the breezeway. “This is her parents’ place.”

“You’ve supplied plenty of information I didn’t have. Thank you,” she said, batting her eyelashes. “You’ve given me new food for thought.”

“Put the gun down,” Pete said, his brows coming together.

Apparently this cop was looking to prove himself worthy to the righteous Cartwell clan.

“I can’t do that. You know this already. Apparently, Brock or one of his woman’s other fellas has already told you why I’m in town.”

“They have. And you won’t be able to get your hands on Trixie. Brock sent her out of town this morning.”

The bastard was plumb smug delivering the news. Jordie Anne almost pulled the trigger right then. This small-town cop deserved to die. He was taking pleasure in her pain.

“You’re lying,” she said, pulling the trigger as she spat the accusation. She dove left as Pete shot off three rounds.

From the ground, Pete doubled over. He clutched the gun in his hand as his arm fell to the ground. Against her better judgment, Jordie Anne fled, realizing she should’ve finished off the bleeding cop. Instead, she nervously tucked the small weapon in her purse. Then, she ran like hell, turning over a grain barrel as she darted outside and hurried to her car.

Jordie Anne had to get out of there. Someone could’ve heard the shots fired. If so, it would only be a matter of time before someone came to the heroic, and hopefully dying, cop’s aid.

Chapter Seventeen

“The gates shouldn’t be open,” Ansley announced, alarmed. “We keep them locked.”

“Who has a key?” Tristan said, leaning forward from the backseat.

“Just the family and Pete.”

“He works for the Asheville PD,” Elliott explained to Bailey and Tristan. Sitting in the middle back, Elliott stuck his head between Graham and Ansley. “Maybe we should take Ansley and Tristan to our place. If someone is here, I don’t want them to have a clear shot at Ansley.”

“She’ll wait in the Jeep,” Tristan bit out.

Bailey rolled down his window. “I don’t see anything suspicious. Where’s the house?”

“Behind the barn,” Ansley replied, worried. If Pete had been there, he would’ve locked the gates when he left. She couldn’t see him wandering around their place this late in the afternoon. If anything, he’d drive through the property late at night while her parents were out of town, and he’d certainly secure the place when he left.

Before angst set in, she spotted the police cruiser. Releasing a sigh, she said, “Thank God. It’s just Pete.” Relaxing against her seat, she glanced over her shoulder. “Bailey, I thought you’d been out here before.”

“I’ve been over at the McKays’ but never driven beyond the main gates here.”

“You’ve been missing out,” she told him, her gaze darting between the barn and surrounding fields. “This is my slice of heaven. It’s so relaxing here and…oh my God! Stop!” Her heart slammed against her chest cavity as her brain processed.

Pete was in the breezeway. He was lying on the ground and he was bleeding!

Graham stepped on the brake. Ansley leapt from the vehicle. Behind her she heard Tristan scream, “Ansley! Damn it, wait!”

She couldn’t. There wasn’t enough time. The man she’d known since childhood was sprawled across a heap of shavings clearly tainted with splotches of blood.

“Pete!” Ansley sprinted toward him.

“Ansley, wait!” Graham yelled.

“Damn it, Ansley! We don’t know who’s here!” Elliott screamed, trailing her.

Falling to her knees, she cradled Pete’s head. “Pete! Can you hear me?”

Pete’s head wobbled around on Ansley’s lap. He cleared his throat. “It was…”

“Who, Pete? Give us a name,” Graham demanded impatiently.

“Give him a minute,” Ansley snapped, caressing Pete’s forehead while Bailey lifted his shirt and tried to see where the bleeding originated.

Tristan rushed them. “I checked out back. Nothing.”

Bailey stripped the sleeve off of his shirt and wadded up the material. Glancing at his brother, he said, “I noticed the tire tracks out front. Someone was in a big hurry to leave here. Whoever did this is already long gone.”

Tristan knelt beside Pete. “Do you know who shot you, buddy?” he asked, acting as if they’d known one another for years.

Pete took several breaths before he managed to say, “Jordie Anne. That gal Brock is worried about. She was here.”

“What? Are you sure?” Graham asked, squatting beside him as Ansley gently raised Pete’s clasped hands. His palms were flat against his belly, so she held his arms away from his body while Bailey took a closer look at his wound.

In the background, Elliott was shouting into the phone, “We need an ambulance out at Kane Cartwell’s place. Do you know it? Hurry. You’ve got a cop down. He’s been shot! Send someone now!”

“You’re sure Jordie Anne was here?” Tristan asked.

Ansley glared at him. “Not now! He’s dying!”

“Calm down, Ansley. I’m fine. The wound isn’t deep. I don’t think the bullet hit any major organs.”

“How the hell would you know?” she asked. She stripped off her sweater, folded the material in half, and nudged Bailey out of the way. Applying pressure to Pete’s abdomen, she added, “You’re not a doctor, Pete. You’re barely a cop. Look at you. You’re probably lying here now because you didn’t have the stomach for shooting a woman.”

“Ansley!” Tristan snapped.

Pete groaned. “She’s tellin’ the straight of it. The Cartwells all think the same way. Turns out, the lot of ’em are right. I could’ve shot first. I didn’t, and look where hesitation got me.”

“Pete, I didn’t mean—”

“Honey, let me talk to these fellows. You can help by applying pressure. Keep that rag stuffed in my gut.”

Rag? Was he serious? She’d been wearing a Carlisle summer sweater. The expensive garment, made by a high-end brand, was designed to absorb moisture and positively perfect for the task at hand. In fact, her new fashion selection might save his life!

“Pete, ignore them. You can answer their questions later. Right now, you should save your strength,” she said, blotting the wound area.

As if Pete just remembered the dangers Jordie Anne represented, he said, “Graham, get Ansley out of here. I’m not a hundred percent sure which way she went when she left. She could be up at the house for all I know.”

“Call Brock,” she ordered, glancing at Tristan. “He’ll know what to do.”

“So do I,” Tristan assured her, taking the blood-soaked sweater from her hands before hoisting her into his arms.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she yelled, kicking her feet and waving her arms as soon as he tossed her over his shoulder. “Put me down. Now!”

“Hush, sub,” Tristan said quietly. A firm smack landed on her rear. Ansley froze. “Tell me you didn’t just call me your sub in front of Pete!”

“You’re damn straight I did. That’s what you are,” Tristan said, taking a few strides toward the front of the barn. She continued to twist and turn as he marched toward their vehicle.

“I’m pissed, Tristan! I want to help Pete.”

“Pete is in good hands.” A beat later, he added, “And so are you.”

“That’s debatable,” she grumbled, wiggling around in an effort to find freedom.

“If you don’t chill out, I’ll rip those hide-tight jeans from your hips and spank your ass raw,” Tristan grated out. Averting his attention away from Ansley, he called out behind him, “Pete, tell them what you know.”

“I’ll do it. Take care of Ansley.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ansley screeched as they left the barn.

“What I promised your brother-in-law I’d do.”

“I don’t care about your stupid promises! Pete is a family friend. Cartwells don’t abandon their friends, Tristan.”

“He won’t be alone, Ansley. They won’t leave him, but Pete is right. You shouldn’t be here. We have no idea where Jordie Anne is, and the last thing I want is for that crazy bitch to have a clear shot at you!”