Natalie Acres (27 page)

Squatting, she peered underneath the stall and checked for a pair of shoes. Breathing a sigh of relief when she saw nothing, she cursed herself for being so paranoid.

Clutching her bag to her side, she exited the small space and went to the sink and hurriedly washed her hands. She reached for a paper towel and could’ve sworn she saw movement at the exit. No, she assured herself, her overzealous imagination was simply having a good laugh at her expense.

Grabbing her keychain, she stuck the jagged end of one key between her fingertips. Now then, she was armed and ready. She was dangerous and mean. No one would fuck with her, not even in an abandoned rest stop area.

She rounded the tile wall and her nerve vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She stumbled backward. “It’s you.”

“Hello, baby mama.” He sneered. “I followed you all the way from Cow Camp and for a minute there, I was afraid I might have to tail you all the way home.”

Her breath hitched in her throat.

“Now, now,” Cash said diabolically, reaching for her. “I won’t hurt you. I want us to spend some time together before we fuck. Does that sound nice to you, baby?”

“Yes,” Trixie replied, not at all green in situations such as these. God only knew how many lunatics she’d had to deal with in her lifetime.

“All right, doll,” Cash said, stepping in front of the bathroom entrance. “Shall we talk in my car or yours?”

“Either is fine,” Trixie said in a shaken voice while trying to keep her wits about her. “But can I grab my jacket out of my car if we sit in yours?”

“We can talk in yours, baby mama.”

“Why do you call me that?” she asked, wishing she hadn’t been so curious when she caught a flash of complete fury in his expression.

Cash grabbed her by the throat and threw her against the wall. Her feet dangled above the floor and she gasped for another breath. Oh God, what had she done? What kind of position had she put herself in this time?

“I call you my baby mama because that is what you will be. You will have my child. You will have many children with me. Then, when I am through with you, I will leave you on the side of the road so your family will find your broken and battered body and then, only then, will your men be able to reunite with you.” He blinked several times. “But they won’t want you after I’m done with you. I will mark you as mine with scars that will only remind them of how they failed as men when they allowed me to catch up with you.”

* * * *

Brock’s phone rang. He stared at the ceiling and cursed under his breath. He started to let the little vixen suffer but he couldn’t help himself, he needed to make sure she’d made it home. Tantrum or no tantrum, Trixie was his heart.

Sitting upright, he glanced at the ID. Ansley’s number and name were clearly displayed right above the time—four o’clock.

“What is it?” Brock asked, forgoing the polite way to answer his sister-in-law’s call.

“I’ve tried to call Trixie. I’m sorry to wake you guys up but I need to talk to her.”

“Trixie isn’t here,” Brock said. “She’s at our place. What’s wrong?”

“I locked myself out of the house. I’m drunk and can’t go to Mom and Dads’ because Caz and Winter are there and I wanted to see—wait a second. Why isn’t Trixie there?”

“Where are you, Ansley?”

“At your house.”

“And you said you tried to call Trixie?”

“I’ve been trying to call her all night. All my guys are at a food show in Atlanta. Kimberly is at Jason’s and I’m locked out so I had a cab drop me off here and—”

“The back door key is in the large potted plant on the porch,” Brock interrupted her. “When did you try Trixie last?”

“A few minutes ago. When was she supposed to be here?”

“I would’ve assumed hours ago,” Brock said. “You might say we had a small disagreement. Let me see if I can reach her. Sober up, Ansley. I have a bad feeling about this.”

He disconnected the call and dialed Trixie’s number. He was sent straight to voicemail. He disconnected again and called Ansley.

“Did you get her?”

“No. Go upstairs and make sure she isn’t home.”

“I’m inside the house. Hang on.”

“Ansley, hurry.” Brock rushed into Mitch’s room and turned on the light. Rory was asleep on a small corner sofa and Mitch was sprawled out on his bed. “Get up. It’s Trixie.”

Rory rubbed his eyes with his fists. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s not home yet,” Brock said, certain Ansley would confirm as much in a matter of seconds.

“What do you mean, she isn’t home yet?” Mitch asked, reaching for his phone. “It’s four o’clock in the damned morning.”

“And if someone hadn’t decided to piss her off, I’d be sound asleep with Trixie in my arms right now!” He marched out of the room. “Ansley, are you still there?”

“Brock, she isn’t here.”

“Okay, listen. Keep trying her. We will, too. You need to go ahead and call Kane and tell him what’s going on. Trixie left here between seven and nine o’clock. She should’ve been there between ten and twelve.”

“She would’ve been here,” Ansley said, an obvious slur to her words. “She would’ve gone straight to the house and picked up Caz and Winter.”

“Of course,” Brock said, releasing a sigh of relief. “That’s probably where she is.”

“Uh, I don’t think so. Mom is remodeling. She is driving everyone bonkers and no one can stand to be in that house right now except the kids. Trixie didn’t stay there.”

“Just check!” He disconnected the call as he became frantic all over again. “Mitch, call the police station and see if Cash slipped through the system somehow.”

“Rory’s already on it,” Mitch said, tilting his head at Rory who was visibly seen through the windows pacing the back deck.

Brock stilled almost immediately. Rory threw up his hand, quickened his pace, and screamed bloody hell. “Just who the hell do you think you’re messing with, buster? I’ll ask Kane Cartwell to place a call and we’ll have your job and your superior’s job!”

Rory rejoined them in the apartment. He was still on the phone.

“What is it?” Brock asked.

Rory held up one finger. His nostrils flared. He punched at the wind then ran splayed fingers through his hair. “You listen to me, asshole. I gave you the description of the car. I gave you our plates. You’d better call me back within an hour and tell me some good news. And if Cash Whitehead has laid one hand on her pretty little head, I swear to you, I’ll come find you and when I do, it won’t be a good day at the police station. Do you understand?”

A beat later, he said, “I don’t care if I’m threatening your wife while she’s in labor, damn you! Find Trixie Cartwell Sheldon or I’ll be a thorn in your ass every day for the rest of your miserable life! Do you understand?”

“Damn,” Mitch said. “Rory has turned into a carbon copy of you.”

“Save the sarcasm,” Rory said, glaring at Mitch and ending his call. Turning his attention to Brock, he said, “Whitehead was released into his brother’s custody. His brother took him to meet his personal chauffeur who in turn called some rookie cop to let him know where he’d taken him.”

“Where?” Brock was almost afraid to ask.

Rory frowned. “Brock, Cash was dropped off here, at the lodge, at seven thirty this evening.”

“That means he was either in Trixie’s vehicle or one of the camp trucks.” Mitch grabbed a set of keys and rushed to the door. “Let me check and see if we’re down one truck.”

“Hurry,” Brock said, punching in numbers. “Time is of the essence.”

Rory slammed his fist against the wall. “Time would’ve been on our side if we’d gone after her right after she left. Now, it may be too late.”

Trixie sat down in the car first, but Cash beat her to the console. Pulling her atop his lap, he grabbed her phone at the same time. “Look at this, why don’t you? Wonder what would’ve happened if you had grabbed this, hidden it from me, and then silently dialed one of their numbers?”

“I didn’t know where my phone was,” she said.

He pinched her side. “Now, now, Trix bitch, let’s not start on the wrong footing here. Okay, my sweet baby mama?”

Trixie stared through the windshield, wondering why she’d stopped there. Now, she just wished she’d peed her pants or kept traveling up I-81. Eventually she would’ve found a truck stop. She would’ve spotted a safe place to take a break.

Cash thrust his hips forward. “Do you feel that?”

“No, thank God,” she replied before she thought.

He hooked his arm around her neck and yanked her to him. “This dick is what will save you, bitch. If you act interested and you make me a believer, then you will stay alive. If you act as if you’re too good for me, you will die a slow death. Are we perfectly clear about that?”

“Yes,” Trixie replied, petrified.

“Good, lover.” He stroked her head. “Now, get in the backseat and take off your clothes.”

“What?” she screeched.

“I said, ‘get in the backseat and take off your clothes,’ and I didn’t say you could wait and strip when it suited you.” He grinned as he peered down at her. “I’ve been listening to the way your fellows talk to you. I know what you enjoy. You like playing with your pussy and having them watch. I also know you like gingerroot.”

“I don’t like gingerroot,” she said, hoping she could convince him of the fact. She loved figging. She didn’t want this creep taking what she’d enjoyed with her men and turning it into something dirty.

“Get in the back, now.” He pushed her aside and clutched the steering wheel. Lights filled the car as a truck wheeled in right beside them.

Trixie dove over the seat headfirst and looked out the window, hoping the man in the truck would make eye contact and sense something wasn’t quite right. She closed her eyes and prayed for help, prayed he would look at her. Even if he didn’t help her, perhaps he would remember her face.

“Wait until he goes inside,” Cash said, tossing his arm over the seat and flashing a jagged blade. “One word and I slice your throat.”

She believed him.

* * * *

“A man doesn’t want to be awakened in the middle of the night to be told of his son-in-law’s ignorance!” Kane bellowed. “You listen to me, Brock Sheldon, and you make damn sure those morons with you understand, too. If one thing happens to Trixie—one small bruise is detected, just one—I will hold each of you accountable!”

Daddy Kane slammed down the phone and sat at the large oak desk, the only piece of furniture in Trixie’s home office. Why she needed a home office was anyone’s guess. Ansley always assumed the furniture was used for more naughty events in the Sheldon household.

“I should’ve known something like this would happen.”

“Daddy, taking this out on Brock and Rory won’t solve anything. We need to work together.”

He dragged his hand over his face and picked up the receiver once more. “Get me Sergeant Leo Selma in Bristol, Virginia.” A beat later, he said, “No, I don’t want to hold for the number. Connect me.”

“Dad, all I’m saying is that Brock loves her. Rory adores her. They wouldn’t have knowingly put her in danger.”

“Then they should’ve kept Mitch Colony out of her life!” he bellowed. “If they’d been doing their damn jobs as husbands, she wouldn’t have needed another man in her bed.”

Ansley froze. A door slammed in the distance and Kimberly entered the room about that time.

“Well look what the cats dragged in,” Daddy Kane said, turning his back to her.

Kimberly ignored him. “I got here as fast as I could.”

The sisters embraced.

“Any word?”

“Daddy Kane is working on it.”

“Where are the reasonable fathers?” Kimberly asked.

“They’re with your mother and the kids,” Kane bit out. “Where you should’ve been.”

“I’m here for Ansley.”

“You damn sure aren’t here for me.” Kane cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m calling for Sergeant Leo Selma. Tell him it’s Kane Cartwell from Fletcher, North Carolina.”

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Ansley said, tucking a fallen lock of hair behind Kimberly’s ear.

“She doesn’t need anyone to tell her that. God no. She has Jason Neely now. He’s the only man she needs.”

“Daddy, please!” Ansley screamed. “Trixie is in danger. Do the two of you have to do this now?”

“It’s all right,” Kimberly said, dragging her fingertips across her forehead. “He’s probably right. I should’ve gone to the house with Mom and the dads who love me.”

Daddy Kane balked at that. He started to retaliate, but about that time, his phone call must’ve been connected. “Yes, Leo. It’s Kane Cartwell. How the hell do you think I am at five o’clock in the morning? Right. It’s not a social call. I’m looking for one of my daughters and need your help.”

He listened for a moment before he continued, “No, it’s not Ansley or Kimberly. It’s Trixie. We think she’s been abducted.” A beat later, he said, “Yes, yes. That’s right. Yes, I’m starting to believe that girl of mine digs ditches to find her tunnel of trouble. The guy is someone you’ll remember. He was close friends with Stephen Pratchert—Cash Whitehead.”