Page 30 of Never Stay Gone
Dakota nodded. “Gracias, Ramón. This helped. Look, give me a call at the Big Bend Sheriff’s Department in a week or so. We’ll be able to release her body to you and her brother, if he wants to make the drive up. Nothin’ funny from us when he does, if there’s nothin’ funny from him. Takin’ your sister home isn’t the time for that kind of business.”
Ramón nodded. He still looked like he wanted to puke—and like he wanted to reach across the bar and rip Dakota’s head off his shoulders. “Why don’t you get out of here if you’re done with your questions, gringo?”
Dakota tipped his hat and headed for the door. Shane stayed on his left shoulder, inside his shadow, all the way back to the truck. Across the street from the bodega, a cluster of young men in dark tank tops and loose jeans stood watching them. Dakota waved as Shane fired up the engine, and then Shane stepped on the gas and roared them right out of town.
“You scared the shit out of that guy,” Shane said when they’d put ten miles between themselves and Presidio. “Pissed him off too. Did you have to show him that picture of Amber’s body?”
“He needed some convincin’.”
“He obviously cared about her. Would you want to see a picture like that of someone you knew?”
“I’ve seen so many dead bodies, one more ain’t gonna mean nothin’ to me.” Dakota hitched his boot on Shane’s dash and leaned against the door. “Look, you have a soft touch with your interviews, I can tell. But you also said you’ve never run a murder investigation before, yeah? You need a different kind of skillset for this. We’re not talkin’ to little old ladies and baby cowboys who still take their clothes back to Momma to wash. Your friendly-deputy routine wouldn’t have gotten far with Ramón.”
Shane scowled. “You’ve changed, Dakota.”
Dakota flinched. “Yeah, well, a man changes when—” He turned his face away. Gazed out the passenger window and watched miles of empty roll on by. Like how he felt inside: scraped raw, down to the dust.
“When what?”
He shook his head. There was nothing left to say. There hadn’t been for thirteen years. “We gotta go to the truck stop. Libby was heading there before she split town, and so was Amber, on her way north. I wanna pull the surveillance tapes and see if we can find anythin’.”
Shane nodded. Said nothing. Miles blurred onward, the silent radio and the emptiness outside echoing the emptiness between them.
You’ve changed, Dakota.
Yeah, well, a man changes when his heart breaks all the way through.
Chapter Nine
On the wayto the truck stop, Shane’s phone rang. Brian, another Big Bend deputy, so young he still had pimples and only shaved twice a week, called to say Jessica Klein’s fiancé had arrived at the station and what did Shane want Brian to do with him.
Shane turned the question over to Dakota, who said, “We talk to him. Now.”
Shane flicked his blinker and then made a U-turn on the empty highway. Twenty minutes later, he pulled up outside the courthouse, and Dakota was out of the truck before Shane put it in park. He had to jog to catch up as Dakota took the grand stairs two at a time.
Brian slowed Dakota down, though, at the reception desk. Bless Brian and his country pokiness. Shane edged his way past Dakota as Brian took his time studying Dakota’s badge and ID.
“Can’t be too careful, sir,” Brian said to Dakota. Shane could practically see the steam crawling from Dakota’s reddened ears. “Howdy, Captain Carson,” he said, nodding to Shane. “Now, I put your guest in interview room two—”
Dakota tried to barrel past Brian down the short hallway with two interview rooms on one side and two holding cells on the other.
Interview room one was their storeroom. Brian was showing off for Dakota by adding the “two.”
Shane blocked Dakota’s way into the interview room with a stiff-arm, then held his ground when Dakota turned an ugly glare on him. They were so close, suddenly, chest almost to chest, hip brushing against hip. He was close enough to see the flecks of gold burning hot in Dakota’s hazel eyes, the five-o’clock shadow dusting his sharp-angled jawline. Thirteen years ago, Dakota had grown facial hair in fits and patches, uneven tufts coming in on his cheeks and his chin but never at the same time. He used to shave in the gym bathroom before school with a razor Shane loaned him, and, when no one was looking, Shane would run his thumb over the tiny spots he missed. Sweep shaving cream off Dakota’s chin and playfully run it through Dakota’s hair. Kiss him on his freshly shaved cheek, where he blushed the color of ocotillo blooms whenever Shane caught his gaze.
Where had that boy gone?
“Out of my way, Shane,” Dakota growled. “I gotta talk to him. Now.”
“Let me.” Shane kept his voice low. “I’m the one who called him in.”
“And I’m the one he’s gotta answer to. Why the hell didn’t he say anythin’ to me about the damn baby a month ago?” Dakota hissed.
“Shh.” Shane moved without thought, putting his hand on Dakota’s chest and trying to still the wildness he could feel beating inside him. He pulled back as soon as his fingers registered heat and soft cotton, the pulse of Dakota’s heart. Felt his cheeks flame, the back of his neck go hot. “The walls are thin.” He swallowed. “Give me five minutes. If I don’t get anything out of him, then he’s all yours. Okay?”
Dakota glared down the hall as if he could bulldoze the old bricks with the force of his rage. His jaw worked left, right, left again. Their hips were still touching, thighs still grazing. “Fine,” Dakota growled.
Neither of them moved. Dakota’s heart hammered against Shane’s chest. His thigh trembled where it brushed against Shane’s.
