by Rita Herron
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.
Chapter Four
Willow couldn’t drag her eyes away from Leo’s dead body. She couldn’t believe this was happening.
She’d hated that her marriage had fallen apart, but it hadn’t been right from the beginning. She’d never loved Leo and he knew it.
And truthfully, she didn’t think he’d ever loved her.
But she’d been hurt with Brett, and lonely and a single pregnant woman with nowhere to turn. Leo had offered her security and comfort.
For a little while. Then everything had changed and the charming man who’d swept in like a hero had disappeared and become...someone she was afraid of.
Someone Sam was afraid of.
That was when she’d known she had to get out.
The blood on her hands mocked her. She hadn’t loved Leo but she’d never wished him dead.
And where was her precious little boy? Was he safe? Hurt? Scared?
A tremor rippled through her. Of course he was scared. He’d been taken from his home.
“We’ll bury him on the ranch somewhere,” Brett said. “It’s too dangerous to do it in your neighborhood.”
Willow rubbed her hands up and down her arms as if to warm herself. “But what about Maddox? He’s the sheriff and...your brother.”
Brett’s look darkened. “I know that,” Brett said. “I’ll talk to him and explain once we get your little boy back.”
Willow’s heart constricted. “I’m sorry for putting you in this position, Brett. You could get in trouble with the law. But...I didn’t know who else to call.”
Brett clasped her arms and forced her to look at him. “Don’t worry about me, Willow. I can handle whatever happens. But we can’t go to Maddox yet. We have to play by this bastard’s rules, until we find Sam.”
How could she argue with that? She’d give her life for her son’s.
And if Brett knew that Sam was his, he’d do the same.
He probably would anyway, just because he was a McCullen. Joe McCullen had taught his boys old-fashioned values, that men were supposed to protect women and children.
Brett moved over by the bed. “I need to get him in the back of my pickup.”
“Why? Aren’t we going to bury him in the backyard?”
“No,” Brett said. “You live in a neighborhood. And if anyone comes asking about Leo and is suspicious, this is the first place they’d look.” He glanced down at the floor and indicated the braided rug. “Let’s wrap him in the sheet and I can use the rug to slide him outside.”
“But what if a neighbor sees us?”
Brett’s jaw tightened. “Your house is set far enough back from the road, so unless someone is in the drive, we should be all right. But I’ll move my truck up to the garage and we can go through there just to be safe.”
Willow agreed, although she knew what they were doing was wrong. Illegal. That they could both be charged.
But nothing mattered now except saving Sam.
* * *
BRETT HATED THE FEAR in Willow’s eyes. If he had hold of the bastard who had hurt her and taken her little boy, he’d pound his head in.
He started to roll Leo in the sheet, but doubts hit him. He’d seen enough crime shows to know that as soon as he touched the man or the bedding, he was contaminating evidence. Evidence that could lead to the killer and the person who had abducted Sam.
Besides, he’d gotten in a sticky situation once. Had been accosted by the jealous lover of a rodeo groupie he’d dated, a man who’d tried to make it look as if he was the guilty party. He’d seen how the police handled the situation. If it hadn’t been for a savvy detective who paid attention to detail, Brett might have gone to jail.
Maybe he should call Maddox.
But the kidnapper’s warning taunted him. Willow’s little boy was in danger.
He couldn’t take the chance on that child getting hurt. Pain tugged at his chest. He’d once thought he and Willow would have a family together.
But he’d left and she’d met Leo, and their lives had gone down another path.
Still, her little boy shouldn’t suffer.
He removed his phone and snapped some pictures of the man, the wounds to his chest, the blood on the sheets, and the room.
“What are you doing?” Willow asked.
“We’ll be destroying evidence here,” Brett said. “I should document how we found Leo to show Maddox when we tell him.”
Willow’s face paled. “I can’t believe this is happening, Brett. I...don’t know why anyone would want to kill Leo.”
Brett clenched his jaw. “We’ll talk about that once we take care of him.” He studied the scene again, then snapped a picture of the bullet hole in Leo’s chest. “Do you have plastic gloves?”
She nodded and hurried to the kitchen. Seconds later, she returned with two pairs of latex gloves and they both pulled them on. “Let’s roll him in the sheet onto the floor. Then I’ll wrap him in the rug and drag him outside.”
Tears glittered in Willow’s eyes, but she jumped into motion to help him. The man’s shirt was soaked in blood, his eyes wide with shock, his mouth slack, one hand curled into a fist as if he might have been holding something.
If he had, the killer had taken it.
“Did Leo own a gun?”
“What man in Wyoming doesn’t?” Willow asked.
“What kind?”
“A pistol and a shotgun,” Willow said. “But he took them when he moved out.”
“Look around for bullet casings. Maddox will want them to help with the case.” Willow wal
ked around, searching the floor and the bathroom, but shook her head. “I don’t see any.”
“How about you? Do you have a gun?”
Willow shook her head. “No, I didn’t want weapons in the house with Sam.”
Good point.
“When did you learn about crime scenes?” Willow asked.
Brett shrugged. He didn’t intend to share the story about that debacle with the rodeo groupie. “Television.”
She frowned as if that surprised her, but he wrapped the sheet around Leo, gritting his teeth as Willow’s husband stared up at him in death.
Blood had dried onto the sheet and soaked through to the mattress. Rigor had set in and Leo was a deadweight. Willow gasped as he eased the man to the rug.
“Strip the rest of the bedding,” Brett said. “And bag it. We’ll keep it to give to Maddox later.”
Willow looked ill, but she rushed back to the kitchen and returned a moment later with a big garbage bag.
While he wrapped the top sheet tighter around Leo, she stripped the fitted sheet and comforter and jammed it in the plastic bag. Her ragged breathing rasped between them as she added the pillowcases, then she stood and stared at the bed for a moment as if she’d never be able to sleep in it again.
Brett wanted to comfort her, but he needed to get rid of Leo’s corpse before anyone discovered what they’d done.
* * *
THE SCENT OF the blood on her sheets and the image of Leo lying dead in her bed made Willow feel ill.
She didn’t know how she’d ever sleep in this room again.
“What should I do with these?”
“We’ll bury them with Leo.”
The thought of digging a hole for her husband sent bile to her throat. But as Brett dragged Leo’s body on that rug into the hall, she glanced in Sam’s room again, and determination rifled through her.
That empty room nearly brought her to her knees.
Determined to bring her son home no matter what, she followed Brett with the garbage bag. He pulled Leo through the hallway to the kitchen. She opened the garage door, and he left Leo in the garage, then backed his pickup around to the exterior garage door, which faced the side of the drive.
