McCullen's Secret Son (The Heroes Of Horseshoe Creek Book 2) Page 9

  Eleanor angled her head toward Brett, her eyes narrowed, then lighting up in recognition. “You look familiar.”

  Brett’s handsome face slid into one of his charming smiles. “You might recognize me from the rodeo circuit, ma’am.”

  She snapped her fingers. “That’s where it was. My goodness, you’re more handsome in person than you are in the magazines.”

  Irritation nagged at Willow.

  “Thanks,” Brett said with a smile. “Ma’am, we don’t mean to bother you, but did you know Leo Howard?”

  “No, the house was vacant when the Realtor showed it to me.”

  “Did the previous tenant leave anything here when he left?” Willow asked. “Maybe some boxes or papers.”

  “I really don’t know.” Eleanor gestured toward the older woman in the chair. “Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for her medication.”

  “Please think hard,” Willow said. “I’m looking for some important documents that I think he put somewhere.”

  Eleanor looked back and forth between them, then sighed. “The house was basically empty, but now that I think about it, there were a few old boxes in the attic.”

  “Would you mind if we take a look?” Brett gave her another flirtatious smile, and she waved him toward the hallway where a door led to an attic. Willow followed him, uneasy at the way the woman in the wheelchair watched them, as if she thought they intended to rob her.

  Dust motes drifted downward and fluttered through the attic as they climbed the steps and looked across the dark interior. Three plain brown boxes were stacked against the far wall, a ratty blanket on top.

  They crossed the space to them, and Brett set the first box on the floor. Willow opened it and began to dig through it while Brett worked on the second box. Flannel shirts, jeans and a dusty pair of work boots were stuffed in the box Willow examined, along with an old pocket watch that no longer worked, and a box of cigars.

  Odd. Leo hadn’t smoked.

  “There’s a couple of fake IDs in here,” Brett said. “A few letters, it looks like from Doris, but Leo never opened them.”

  Willow spotted another envelope in the box and removed it. Inside, she found several photographs. “Look at these.” She spread them out—a picture of Leo’s father, then Doris, then Gus Garcia and two other men. Were those Leo’s partners?

  He slid another box over between them and lifted the top. Inside lay a .38 caliber gun and some ammunition. Beside it, he found another driver’s license under the name of Lamar Ranger, yet it bore Leo’s photo.

  Oddly another pair of boots sat inside. Curious, Brett searched inside the boot but found nothing. Still wondering why the boots were stowed with the gun instead of the other box of clothes, he flipped the boots over and noticed one of the soles was loose.

  “What is it?” Willow asked.

  Brett removed his pocketknife and ripped the sole of the shoe off and found a folded piece of paper inside. He opened it and spread it on the floor, his heart thundering.

  “A map.”

  Willow leaned closer to examine it. “You think this map will lead us to the place where Leo stashed the money?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m thinking.” He folded it and put it in his pocket, then set the gun and fake ID in one box to take with them. They might need them for evidence.

  Willow brushed dust from her jeans as they descended the steps and shut the attic.

  Eleanor appeared in the hallway, her brows furrowed. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “Not really,” Brett said. “But we’re taking this one with us. The boots are special to Willow.”

  Willow thanked her, then she and Brett hurried outside to his truck. She hoped Brett was right. If that map led them to the money, she could trade it for Sam and bring him back home where he belonged.

  * * *

  BRETT’S PULSE HAMMERED as he drove away from Eleanor’s. He waited until they’d reached the dirt road he’d seen on the map, then pulled over, unfolded it and studied it.

  “Where is it?” Willow asked.

  Brett pointed to the crude notations on the map. Symbols of trees and rocks in various formations that must be significant, signs that would lead the way to his hiding spot.

  “If it’s there, and we find it,” Willow said, “maybe we can end this tonight.”

  Brett gave a quick nod, although he was still worried that the kidnapper would hurt Sam.

  He fired up the engine again, and turned onto the dirt road while Willow pointed out the landmarks.

  “There’s the rock in the shape of a turtle.” A hundred feet down the road. “Those bushes, they form a ring.” Another mile. “There’s the creek.”

  He made each turn, the distance growing closer until he spotted the ridge with water dripping over it creating a small waterfall. Willow tapped the map. “Hopefully it’s in this spot, hidden under the falls.”

  Brett pulled over and parked, then got out. The shovels they’d used to bury Leo were still in the back, so he retrieved them and carried them along the trail to the ridge overhang.

  Willow knelt and they both examined the wall of rock. She pointed to an etching of a star. “I think the money may be buried here.”

  Brett propped one shovel by the rock and began to dig. Willow yanked her hair back into a ponytail, and jammed the second shovel into the dirt.

  For several minutes they worked, digging deeper, but suddenly a gunshot sounded and pinged off the rock beside him.

  Brett threw an arm around Willow and pushed her down, just as a second bullet whizzed by their heads.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Who’s shooting at us?” Willow cried.

  “I don’t know, but the shot is coming from behind that boulder.” Brett gestured toward the bushes beside the falls. “Run behind those bushes.”

  Willow remained hunkered down, but crept toward the left by the brush. Another shot pinged off the rocks at their feet, and he grabbed her hand and dragged her from the ledge behind some rocks.

  “Stay down, Willow.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Find out who the hell is firing at us.”

  Willow grabbed his arm to hold him back. “Please don’t go, Brett. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’m not going to wait here like a sitting duck.” Brett ushered her down to the ground, then grabbed his shovel and circled back behind more bushes and trees so he could sneak up on the shooter.

  Rocks skittered and a man scrambled down a path. Brett chased after him, but the man veered to the right and cut through a patch of brush to a black sedan parked behind a boulder.

  Brett looked back and motioned for Willow to meet him at the car. She took off running, and he jogged down the path, trying to catch up with the shooter. By the time they reached the truck, the sedan roared away.

  Brett tossed the shovel into the back of the truck, grabbed his rifle and started the engine. Willow jumped inside, looking shaken. He hit the accelerator and sped behind the sedan, determined to catch him.

  “Can you see the tag number?”

  Willow leaned forward and squinted as the driver spun onto a side dirt road. “SJ3... I can’t see the rest.”

  The truck bounced over ruts in the road, spitting dust and gravel as he closed the distance. Tires squealed and the driver sped up, trees and brush flying past as he maneuvered a turn. A tire blew and the car swerved. The driver tried to regain control, but he overcompensated and the car spun in a circle, then careened toward a thicket of trees.

  The passenger side slammed into the massive trunk, glass shattering and spraying the air and ground.

  Brett grabbed his rifle as he slowed to a stop, and motioned for Willow to stay inside the truck.

  “Be careful, Brett. He tried to kill us.”

  He certainly had, and Brett aimed to find out the reason. And if the bastard had Sam, he’d shove this rifle down his throat.

  He raised the gun in front of him,
scrutinizing the car as he inched forward. The passenger side was crunched, but the driver’s side was intact. Still, the front windshield had shattered, and he didn’t see movement inside.

  Instincts as alert as they were when he climbed on a bull, he crept closer, his eyes trained on the driver. Daylight was waning, the sun sinking behind clouds that threatened rain, the temperature dropping.

  He kept the gun aimed as he carefully opened the car door. It screeched, but opened enough for him to see that the driver was alive. Blood dotted his forehead where he’d hit his head.

  Brett jammed the gun to the man’s temple, then snagged him by the shirt collar so he could see his face. White, about forty years old, scruffy face, scar above his right eye.

  “Who the hell are you?” Brett asked.

  The man groaned and tried to open his eyes. He wiped at the blood with the back of his hand. Brett jammed the tip of the rifle harder against his skull, and the man stiffened.

  “Don’t shoot, buddy. Please don’t kill me.”

  “You tried to kill me and the woman I was with.” Anger hardened his tone. “I want to know the reason.”

  “I wasn’t going to kill you,” the man said, his voice cracking. “I just wanted to scare you off.”

  Brett clenched his jaw but kept the gun at the man’s head. “Why?”

  “Because Eleanor called and said she thought you knew where the money was.”

  So Eleanor had lied. “Was she working with Leo or sleeping with him?” Brett asked.

  “Neither, I’m Eleanor’s husband, Ralph,” the man said. “She takes care of Leo’s grandmother. Leo stayed with her for a while, then moved out.”

  “Where did he move?”

  “I don’t know. He told Eleanor he’d pay her to be the old lady’s nurse, but then he left her high and dry, and me and Eleanor have been trying to pay the bills.”

  “I thought she said she didn’t know Leo.”

  “She didn’t. They set it up over the phone.”

  Unfortunately he believed the man. Leo had been scum through and through.

  The man fidgeted. “Did you find the money?”

  “You know about the money?” Brett asked.

  “Leo’s grandmother told us he had a big bagful. She wanted it to help us. And Leo owes us—”

  “We haven’t found any cash,” Brett said. “And before you ask, I was not working with Leo. He’s a dirt bag who stole that money. He married the woman you were shooting at and lied to her, then he turned up dead. The people he betrayed kidnapped her son.”

  The man’s eyes widened in shock. “Leo’s dead.”

  “Yeah and if I don’t find that money, that little boy may be, too.” Brett gripped him tighter. “Do you know where he is?”

  The man shook his head back and forth, his eyes panicked. “No, I like kids. I’d never do anything to hurt one.”

  “What about the men Leo was in cahoots with? Did you know them?”

  “No, I swear. When Leo called Eleanor to hire her, she said he seemed nervous. But she likes geriatric patients and wanted to help the old woman.”

  “She didn’t mention a name, or maybe a place Leo said he was going when he left that house? Maybe another address?”

  He shook his head again. “If he had, I would have paid him a visit myself. When you showed up, we thought you might lead us back to him.”

  Brett released the man with a silent curse.

  He turned and walked back toward Willow, hating that he had no answers yet.

  * * *

  WILLOW COULDN’T BELIEVE her eyes. Brett was letting the man who’d tried to kill them go.

  “Who was he?” Willow asked as soon as he returned to the truck. “Why was he shooting at us?”

  “Eleanor’s husband. The woman in the wheelchair was Leo’s grandmother. He hired Eleanor as a caretaker, but ran off without paying her.”

  “He really was awful,” Willow said, her heart going out to the elderly woman.

  “Apparently Eleanor and her husband were desperate financially. They thought you and I knew where Leo was, or at least where his money was, so he followed us. He wasn’t trying to kill us, just scare us off so he could take the cash.”

  “So Leo wrecked that couple’s lives, just like he did mine.” Willow grimaced. Of course it was her fault for trusting him, for allowing him to be around Sam.

  Brett started the truck and drove back toward the falls. When he parked this time, he managed to get closer to the area where they were digging. He carefully scanned for anyone else who might have followed.

  “You can stay in the truck, Willow. I have to see if the money is there.”

  “No, I’m going with you.”

  Again, they grabbed the shovels and strode to the ridge, then ducked below the falls. The hole they’d started was still there, so he jammed the shovel in and continued to dig for the money.

  Minutes ticked by, the wind picking up as rain began to fall, slashing them with the cold moisture. By the time he’d dug a few feet, the shovel hit rock. “It’s not here.”

  “It has to be,” Willow said, desperate.

  Brett wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “Let me try a different spot.”

  They spent the next hour digging around the original location, but again and again, hit stone.

  Finally Willow leaned against a boulder. “If he put it here, someone must have already found it.”

  “Or he moved it,” Brett said.

  Willow shivered from the cold and the ugly truth. Another night was setting in.

  Another night she’d have to wonder where her little boy was and if she’d ever see him again.

  * * *

  THEY MADE THE DRIVE back to Horseshoe Creek in silence. Brett hated the strain on Willow’s face, but he understood her fear because he felt it in his bones.

  He’d been certain that map would lead them to the money.

  But Leo could have already retrieved the cash and moved it. Only where had he put it?

  Maddox’s truck was parked at the main house, so Brett bypassed it and drove straight to the cabin. “Was there any place that was significant to Leo? A place he liked to go riding?”

  Willow rubbed her forehead. “Not that I know of.”

  “How about a place he took you and Sam?”

  She looked out the window, as if she was lost in thought. “Honestly, Brett, Leo never spent much time with Sam.”

  He gritted his teeth. The poor kid. He needed a father. And it sounded like Leo hadn’t been one at all.

  Brett thought about his own father and how much he missed him now. They’d clashed over the years, but even when Joe McCullen was hard on him, Brett had known it was because his old man cared about him. That he was trying to raise him to be a decent man.

  They walked up to the cabin together, and he unlocked the door. He ached for his father, for Willow and for her son, who was probably scared right now and wanted his mother.

  “I’m sorry he let you down, Willow.” He turned to her, his heart in his throat. “I’m sorry I let you down, too.”

  Willow’s face crumpled, and tears trickled down her eyes. “Brett, what if—”

  “Shh.” He pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair. “Don’t think like that. These guys want that money. If we don’t find the cash Leo stole, I’ll pay. I already called my financial manager and he’s working on liquidating some funds.”

  Willow looked up at him with such fear and tenderness that he knew he’d do anything in the world to make it right for her. Then she lifted her hand to his cheek, and he couldn’t resist.

  He dipped his head and closed his mouth over hers.

  Overwhelmed with affection for her, he cradled her gently, and deepened the kiss, telling her with his mouth how much he cared for her. How much he’d missed her.

  How much he wanted to alleviate her pain.

  Willow leaned into him and ran her hands up his back, clinging to him just as she once had when they wer
e friends and lovers. Regret for the years he’d missed with her swelled inside him.

  He stroked her hair, then dropped kisses into it, then down her ear and neck and throat. She rubbed his calf with her foot, stoking his desire, and he cupped her hips and pressed her closer to him.

  Need and hunger ignited between them, and their kisses turned frenzied and more passionate. He inched her backward toward the sofa.

  But his phone buzzed, and they pulled apart. Their ragged breathing punctuated the air as he checked the caller ID. Unknown.

  He punched Connect. “Brett McCullen.”

  A second passed.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. McCullen, you talked to my husband, Gus, today at the prison.”

  Brett straightened. “Yes. I was hoping he could help me. Did he give you my number?”

  “Yes, although he didn’t want me to call. But he explained to me about the little boy. I’m...sorry.”

  Brett frowned.

  “I...think I might be able to help.”

  “You can help? How?”

  “I can’t discuss this over the phone. Can you meet me?”

  “Of course. Just tell me the place.”

  “The Wagon Wheel. An hour.”

  The Wagon Wheel was a restaurant/bar near Laramie. “I’ll be there.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Who was that?” Willow asked when Brett pocketed his phone and reached for his hat.

  “Gus Garcia’s wife. She wants to meet me tonight.”

  Willow’s heart jumped to her throat. “She knows where Sam is.”

  Brett grabbed his keys. “She didn’t say. But if she has any information that might lead to that money, I need to go.”

  Willow reached for her jacket, but Brett placed his hand on her arm.

  “I can handle this if you want to stay here and rest.”

  Willow shook her head. “No way. Besides, if this woman holds back, maybe I can appeal to her on a woman-to-woman basis.”

  Brett’s mouth twitched slightly. “I can’t argue with that.”

  The wind splattered them with light raindrops as they ran to his truck. As Brett drove toward The Wagon Wheel, silence fell between them, thick with fear for Sam. Still, Willow couldn’t help but remember the kiss they’d shared. A hot, passionate, hungry kiss that only made her crave another.