Page 18 of Never Stay Gone
Chapter Six
Dakota beatShane into the sheriff’s department the next morning. He eyeballed Shane’s desk, taking in the paper-strewn surface, the cockeyed keyboard, the mangled stress ball in the shape of a cowboy boot.
What hedidn’tsee were any pictures of Shane and Shelly. Or any pictures at all. Shane, as chief deputy, got his own desk, while the rest of the deputies had to share. On everyone else’s desk, there were framed photos of kids and spouses and the deputies themselves posing with prized fish or deer or elk.
The only other sterile, uninviting space in the department was Heath’s office.Dakota had done a perusal yesterday, when Heath had given up his office for Shane to use. Technically, he could be in there now, but…
But he’d rather be right where he was. Surrounded by Shane.
He wanted to put together the pieces of Shane’s life, take the clues that most people left scattered around them and find out what Shane had been up to for the past thirteen years. How had he ended up a Big Bend sheriff’s deputy? The chief deputy, even?
What was Shane Carson, the man, like, and how was he different from the boy Dakota once knew? Did he still like the outdoors? Did he ever hike those old trails they used to haunt, ever go back to the place where he’d leaned in and given Dakota his first—and best—kiss?
Could he still throw a football like he was trying to reach the stars?
Shane had rafted the river at least once, long enough to meet a girl. Jesus. Five years together. Longer than he and Shane had been… well, whatever they’d been.
Dakota tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. His fingers tightened around his paper coffee cup from the truck stop.
Boots echoed on the stairs coming up to the office. Whoever was coming was moving slowly, like they were trudging their way to a funeral. He rolled his head and stared at the doorway across the bullpen.
Shane did a double take when he saw Dakota at his desk, and his gaze raced from Dakota’s face down his body and all the way to his boots before wandering back up. Then he turned crimson and looked away.
Dakota took his time eyeing Shane up too. Shane looked like twice-baked shit. Maybe fighting with his girl at Manuel’s the night before had something to do with that. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all, deep, dark circles clinging to the hollows beneath his eyes and over his broad cheekbones.
Shane used to be solid muscle, all hard angles, strength packed on his frame like he was going to skip college and head straight for the NFL. Thirteen years had softened him in places, turned him from a muscleheaded kid to a man holding on to his strength through hard work. His stomach wasn’t concave like before—probably no rippled six-pack—but it was still flat. His face had filled out, but his jaw was still square. That morning, it was shadowed with two days’ worth of stubble.
Dakota pushed a second cup of coffee across Shane’s desk. “Cappuccino, from that vendin’ machine at the truck stop. Full of fake milk and sugar, just like you like it.”
Shane dumped his keys and his hat on the corner of his desk without looking at Dakota. “Thanks,” he grunted. “You had a good night last night? You seem… perky.”
Dakota shrugged. “Never got a chance to go to Manuel’s before. See why it’s popular now. Good crowd. Good atmosphere.”
Shane mumbled something Dakota couldn’t make out. His fingertip traced the plastic lid on the coffee Dakota bought for him, making slow circles as his face ran through a bunch of twists and turns before settling into a scowl. “Did you go home with Betty Monroe?”
“Don’t see how that’s your business.”He hadn’t. He’d walked her home, kissed her cheek, and then gone back to his motel.
Shane’s tongue ran over his teeth, pushing out his tightly clenched lips. Dakota watched him close his eyes. Waited for them to open again. They didn’t.
“You and Shelly talk things out?”
“No.” Shane shook his head. “I went back to the house this morning to drop off her cell phone. She leaves it everywhere…” He sighed, finally opening his eyes only to stare out the wide picture window overlooking Main Street. “Well, she was there. Mad as hell. Seems all we do these days is fight.”
Dakota heard something Shane didn’t quite say. “So where were you last night?”
“Don’t see how that’s your business,” Shane said.
Dakota nodded. Shane looked like he was going to puke. He grabbed his cappuccino and turned away.
“Got preliminary IDs on some of the bodies.” Dakota scooted forward in Shane’s desk chair and flipped open his case file. He’d collected everything he could get his hands on about the case. So far, there wasn’t much. The night before, he’d printed the photos from the grave off his cell phone and reread the interviews from Jessica Klein’s missing persons investigation.
Looking at decaying bodies at least got his mind off Shane.
“We got positive IDs on three of the vics,” he said. He laid out three printed photos, taken from their Texas driver’s licenses. The women looked nothing alike. “Jessica Klein, as we suspected. Libby Lynn, who, according to her driver’s license, was a Big Bend local. Lived out in—”
“Driftwood,” Shane said. A pained expression tightened his face.
Dakota paused. “Ex-girlfriend?”
