Page 79 of Never Stay Gone
Dust coated everything, from the dull husks of the creosote branches to Dakota’s face, his lips, even his tongue. He’d been waiting for two hours, chewing the desert grit.
The ranch airstrip was a hard-packed dirt trail, not even a road, something carved out of the land with a backhoe. It had taken Dakota’s truck an hour to crawl through the rough desert to the empty strip. It didn’t look used. There wasn’t even a wind sock fluttering on the warm air.
Cell signal had faded in and out on the drive but was steady where he’d parked on a rise at the end of the runway. He was just elevated enough to catch the tail end of a signal coming off the tower on top of a distant mesa. When he’d stopped, his phone had buzzed with a voicemail from Shane, and he’d listened with pursed lips as Shane said he was heading out to Danielle’s ranch.
Now he alternated between staring at his phone and staring at the sky, willing something to happen. For Wayne to call him—or Shane to call him, so he could hear his voice again—or for the governor’s jet to scrawl across the horizon and line up for a landing.
Wayne should be here by now. He was past due. If he’d been delayed, he would have called or texted Dakota to let him know. But what if something had happened in the air? What if—
He called the State Operations Center in Austin. A woman with a heavy, honey-slow accent picked up the line, announced her name was Mandy, and asked for his badge or identification number. Dakota recited it, then confirmed his name when Mandy pulled up his information. “And how can I help you today, Ranger?”
“There any air incidents between Austin and West Texas today? I’m expectin’ someone out here in Big Bend County, but they’re overdue.”
Keys clicked, and Mandy spoke under her breath, a soft narration of the searches she was running. “No… I don’t see any aviation incidents. At least, nothing like what you’re asking for. Got some engine lights and dead radios, but the pilots all made their runs successfully, it looks like.”
“No diversions? No emergency landings?”
“Nothing out of West Texas, no. I’m sorry.”
Dakota thanked her and hung up, already dialing another number as a wind gust slammed into the side of his truck.
Bennet answered on the first ring. “What’s up?”
“I need a favor, and I need it fast.”
With Bennet, there wasn’t any bullshit, not when it mattered. “What do you need?” His voice had dropped, like he was coiled and ready to strike.
“I need a cell pinged. I need to know where the owner is, right now.”
“Give me the digits.”
He recited Wayne’s number and listened as Bennet worked on his end of the line. The distance bled static into the connection, almost like someone else was listening in, breathing into an open mic.
“Got it,” Bennet said, his words chewed up by the interference. Dakota pressed his cell against his ear harder, as if that would make the signal stronger. “The cell you’re looking for is right there.”
“Here?” Dakota wrenched around in his truck, looking left and then right. Had he missed the goddamn plane somehow? Or had it gone into the brush—
“Yeah, right there in Rustler. Or just outside of Rustler, it looks like. At a ranch outside town.”
“West?” Dakota frowned. He couldn’t see any plane—
“No, east.”
I’m heading out to Danielle’s ranch, east of Rustler, off Highway 90. Shane, on his voicemail, his voice ragged and tired and small.
Bennet was still speaking. “That phone’s been in Rustler for two days, it looks like.”
Shit. God fucking damnit.
Dakota dropped his cell and spun the truck, blowing a rooster tail of dirt ten feet high behind his tires as he slammed on the gas. He chewed dust and creosote bushes and barreled into thorny mesquites, and he felt one of the tires pop and give way. He gritted his teeth and pushed down harder on the gas. The engine roared, and he felt air beneath him as he crested a rise of windblown dust and dead brush.
As he hit the highway, his phone rang. Shane. He’d saved the number from Shane’s earlier call, even added a little heart emoji after his name. NowShane <3was illuminating his screen. The truck swerved as he grabbed the phone off the passenger seat and answered. “Shane? Where are you?”
“I need you at Danielle’s place,” Shane said, his voice very slow, very steady. Unnaturally so. As still and unwavering as it had been all those years ago when he’d dumped Dakota on Main Street, beneath the desert willow.
“Is he there?” Dakota bellowed. “Is he fuckin’ there? Are you okay? Shane, talk to me!”
“I need you here,” Shane repeated. “Now.”
