Читать книгу McCullen's Secret Son - Rita Herron - Страница 10
ОглавлениеBrett clenched his phone in a white-knuckled grip as he paced the barn. He hadn’t seen or talked to Willow in years, and she hadn’t attended his father’s funeral today. Even as he’d told himself he didn’t care if she came, he’d looked for her.
But now she wanted to see him?
It’s a matter of life and death.
What the hell was going on?
He cleared his throat. Once upon a time, he’d have jumped and run at a moment’s notice if Willow had called. But she was a married woman now. “What’s wrong, Willow?”
“I can’t explain on the phone,” she said, her voice strained. “Please, Brett... I don’t know what else to do. Who to call.”
His gut tightened at the desperation in her voice. “Willow—”
“Please, I’m begging you. I need your help.”
“All right, I’ll be right there.” He didn’t bother to ask for her address. He knew where she lived. Mama Mary had managed to drop it in the conversation once when he’d had a weak moment and had called home.
He’d already unsaddled his horse, so he jogged back to the house and climbed in his pickup truck.
Thankfully, Maddox and his lady friend had gone inside, and he had no idea where Ray was, so he didn’t have to explain to anyone. Not that he had to tell them where he was going.
He hadn’t answered to anyone in a long time.
Well, except for his publicist and fans and the damn press.
He drove from the ranch, winding down the drive to the road leading into town, the quiet of the wilderness a reprieve from the cities he’d traveled to. A few miles, and he drove through the small town, noting that not much had changed.
At this late hour, the park was empty, the general store closed, yet country music blared from The Silver Bullet, and several vehicles were parked in the lot. He wasn’t surprised to see Ray’s. He was probably drowning his sorrows.
Inside, the booze and music was always flowing, the women footloose and fancy-free. Just his type.
Another night maybe...
He turned down the street toward Willow’s, anxiety needling him. He’d never stopped loving her. Wanting her.
But she was taken. And he had a different life now. A life he’d chosen. Another rodeo coming up, another town...
Children’s bikes and toys dotted the yards, suggesting the neighborhood catered to young families. The house at the end of her block, a small rustic log cabin, was Willow’s and was set way back from the road, offering privacy. A beat-up pickup truck that had obviously run over the child’s bike sat crooked, half in the drive, half in the yard.
His father had said Willow had troubles... Did it have to do with the man she’d married? Judging from the sloppy way the truck was parked, and the fact that he’d run over the bike, maybe he’d been drinking...
Not your problem, Brett.
Except that Willow said she needed him.
He scanned the outside to see if her old man was lurking around. Did he know that Brett and his wife had had a romantic relationship years ago?
He braced himself for trouble as he parked and walked up to the front door. Barring a low-burning light in the bedroom, the house looked dark.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he rang the doorbell. Something didn’t feel right...
He waited several seconds, then knocked and called through the door, “Willow, it’s me. Brett.”
The sound of footsteps on the other side echoed, then the lock turned, and the door squeaked open. His breath stalled in his chest as Willow appeared, the door cracking just enough to see her face.
“Brett?” Her face looked ashen, and a streak of blood darkened her hair.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
Panicked at the sight of her disheveled state, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. “What the hell’s wrong?”
She slammed the door shut, then locked it and turned to face him, her eyes wide with fear. “Help me,” she whispered as she threw herself into his arms.
Brett’s stomach churned as he pulled her trembling body against him and wrapped his arms around her.
* * *
WILLOW SANK INTO Brett’s arms, the terror she’d felt since she’d arrived home pouring out of her as he held her. She tried to battle the tears, but they overflowed, soaking his shirt.
“Shh, it’s all right,” Brett murmured into her hair. “Whatever’s wrong, we can fix it.”
She shook her head against him. “That’s just it, I don’t know if I can.”
Brett stroked her hair, and rubbed slow circles along her back. For the first time in years, she felt safe. Cared for.
But he was only being nice. He had his own life, and when she confessed the truth about Sam, there was no telling how he’d react. He might hate her.
Or he might leave town and not get involved in her troubles. A murder case could ruin his reputation.
But really—none of that mattered. Not when Sam was in danger.
“Willow,” Brett said softly. “Honey, you’ve got to tell me what’s wrong. What happened?”
Brett slipped a handkerchief into her hands and she wiped her face. Then she looked up into his eyes.
He had the darkest, most gorgeous eyes she’d ever seen. Eyes she’d gotten lost in years ago.
She wanted to soak in his features, but looking at that handsome, strong face only reminded her of her little boy who looked so much like him that it hurt.
He rubbed her arms. “Willow, talk to me.”
“I...don’t know where to begin.” With the body of her dead husband? Or Sam?
“You said it was a matter of life and death. I know you’re married, that you have a little boy.” She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to look at him for a moment.
“I noticed the pickup truck outside and the crunched bike. Is that what this is about?”
“I wish it was that simple,” she said on a shaky breath.
Brett led her over to the sofa and she sank onto it, her legs giving way. He joined her, but this time he didn’t touch her.
“Your husband? Is he here? Did he hurt you?”
Emotions threatened to overcome her again, and she glanced at the phone, willing it to ring. Willing the caller to tell her how to get her little boy back and end this horror.
“Did he?” Brett asked, his voice harsh with anger.
She shook her head. “Not exactly.”
Brett shot up from the seat, his jaw twitching. “Come on, Willow, tell me what the hell is going on.”
“He’s dead,” Willow blurted. “Leo is...dead.”
Brett went stone still and stared at her. “What do you mean, dead?”
“In there,” Willow said. “When I got home tonight, I found him.”
He glanced around the bedroom, then exhaled noisily. “How did he die?”
“Someone shot him.” Her voice cracked. “There’s blood...everywhere.”
Brett released a curse and strode to the bedroom. Willow jumped up and raced after him, trembling as he flipped on the overhead light. The stark light lit the room, accentuating the grisly scene in her bed. Leo staring at the ceiling with dead eyes. Blood on his clothes and the sheets.
Brett choked back an obscenity. “Who shot him?”
“I don’t know,” Willow whispered. “I...found him and was going to call the police, but then a man jumped me.”
Brett pivoted, his eyes searching her face, mouth pinched with anger as he lifted his hand and touched her forehead. She didn’t realize she’d been bleeding, but he drew his hand back and she saw blood streaking his finger. “He hurt you?”
“I’m all right. He grabbed me from behind, and he said... He told me not to call the police, that he...had Sam.”
“Sam?”
Willow’s lungs strained for air. “My little boy. He has him, Brett. And he said if I called the police, I’d never see him again.”
* * *
BRETT GRITTED HIS TEETH. “You mean he kidnapped your child?”
“Yes,” Willow cried. “I have to get him back.”
Brett stared at the man lying dead in Willow’s bed.
Her husband.
He’d never met the man but had heard he was a businessman, that he’d done well for himself.
So why had someone wanted him dead? And why kidnap Willow’s son?
“I don’t know what to do,” Willow said “I...can’t leave Leo there. But if I call the sheriff, he’ll send police and crime workers, and I might never see Sam again.”
Cold fury seized Brett’s insides. What kind of person threatened a small child?
“How old is Sam?” he asked.
“Four,” Willow said. “He’s just a little guy, Brett. He has to be terrified.” Her voice cracked again, her terror wrenching Brett’s heart. “And if he saw Leo murdered, then he may be traumatized.”
He also might be able to identify the killer.
But Brett bit back that observation because it would only frighten Willow more.
If her son could identify her husband’s shooter, the killer might not let Sam live anyway, no matter what Willow did.
Brett tried to strip the worry from his voice. “What does this man want from you, Willow?”
“I have no idea.” She looked up at him with swollen, tear-stained eyes. “He said to wait for a call.”
Brett turned away from the sight of the bloody, dead man. “I know you’re scared, but think about it—why would this man take Sam? Did your husband have a lot of money?”
Willow shook her head back and forth, sending her hair swaying. It was tangled from where she’d run her hands through it, the long strands even more vibrant with streaks of gold and red than he remembered.
He tried to dismiss memories of running his hands through it, of the way it felt tickling his belly when she’d loved him, but an image teased his mind anyway.
“Are you sure? Maybe he had some investments? Stocks?”
“If he had any money, I didn’t know about it,” Willow said. “He didn’t even have a savings or checking account in town. It’s one of the things we argued about.”
Brett arched a brow. He didn’t have a bank account in town—which meant he was probably hiding one somewhere else? “One of the things?”
Her face paled. “Yes.” She closed her eyes, a pained sound escaping her. “You might as well know. We weren’t getting along. We hadn’t for a while. Leo moved out three years ago.”
Brett tried to assimilate that information. “What has he been doing?”
“I don’t know,” she said in a choked whisper.
“Was he giving you any money to live on? Helping out with the boy?”
Willow worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “No. He...didn’t want to be a father to Sam.”
An odd note crept into her voice.
“What kind of father doesn’t want to be there for his kid?”
Willow didn’t respond, making Brett even more curious about her husband and how he’d treated her.
“Willow, talk to me. What happened between you two? Was he abusing you and Sam?”
Willow cut her eyes away. “When we met, he was kind, charming. But the last year he’d been drinking too much, and his temper erupted.”
“And he took it out on you and Sam?”
Willow shrugged. “At first it was just verbal. But...he hit me once. Then he started in on Sam, and I told him to leave.” A fierce protectiveness strengthened her voice. “I would never let him hurt my son. I asked him for a divorce.”
“How did he take that?”
“He was angry, but he left. Frankly...I think he wanted out.”
“You don’t know what he’s been doing since?”
“No, I have no idea.”
He was obviously in trouble.
Dammit. Even though he and his brother were hardly talking, Brett’s first instinct was to call Maddox.
But that would endanger Willow’s son.
Besides, Maddox had always been by the book. He’d want to call in the authorities, issue an Amber Alert, all the things they should be doing.
But if they did those things, Willow’s little boy could end up dead like his father.
He couldn’t allow that to happen.
So he made a snap decision. He’d bury Leo’s body and protect Willow until they found Sam.
