McCullen's Secret Son (The Heroes Of Horseshoe Creek Book 2) by Rita Herron Page B

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