Page 81 of Never Stay Gone
“Powerful people always need handlers. They need someone to save them from themselves.”
“You think I would fuckin’murderwomen—”
“There was talk about you in the Rangers: that you were a wild one. Maybe your moral compass was a little loose too. You didn’t seem to care if you lived or died. Why do you think you moved up the ranks so fast, Dakota? People with death wishes get given opportunities to fulfill their dreams.”
Dakota saw Shane’s eyes widen, saw fear flicker through his gaze as he stared at Dakota.
“I wanted to see if you could be useful,” Wayne said. “Amanda had you reassigned, and I kept an eye on you. And you know, for a little bit, I thought there was a chance. But then you got drunk and ran your mouth about the one that got away.” Wayne’s gaze flicked to Shane, then back to Dakota, a hot flash of rage. “And I knew you weren’t going to be useful after all. Brokenhearted men never are.” He grinned, slow like a shark, eyeing up his prey. “But you did plant the seed of this idea, so I guess I have to thank you for that.”
“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”
“Big Bend County. A vast, empty land, wild and almost devoid of people. But it does have Shane Carson. The one man you loved in your whole life, who you said had gone and disappeared off the face of the earth.”
Shane’s eyes closed. He exhaled.
“You gave me the idea to use this place,” Wayne said. “All this desolation. All this death out on the edge of everything. Some country deputy to stumble on the grave, discover the work of a serial killer. Problem solved.”
“Problem?” Dakota’s lips curled back. “You’re talkin’ about Jessica. A woman you knew for years.”
“She became a problem.”
“And Shelly? And the cocaine? All part of your plan to blame everythin’ on the drug wars?”
Rage twisted Shane’s features.
“Watching you think is like watching a dog try to do calculus, Dakota.”
“Where’d you get the uniform?” Dakota asked. “You wear it to get Shelly to open the door for you? Pretend to be a deputy?”
A slow, ugly grin unfurled over Wayne’s face. “Shane, you really should have taken your duffels out of your truck last night,” he purred. “Your uniforms were right there. Easy as pie to grab one. But no, I didn’t need to trick her by wearing Shane’s shirt. Dragging her nails over that came after she was dead.”
“You fucking bastard—” Shane started.
“Shut your mouth,” Wayne snapped. “You’re so goddamn stupid, Shane. I’ve been in your life for months, and you never fucking knew. I met Shelly months ago, right after I buried that Mexican girl. She was all alone in that bar in Pecos when I found her, drinking her sorrows away. I gave her a shoulder to lean on when she was crying about her fiancé. Didn’t you ever wonder about the guy she’d been texting? Or did you not even pay enough attention to her to notice that?”
Shane spun, his hands clenching into fists, right arm pulling back, ready to swing. Wayne ducked as if he’d expected the attack, and Shane’s right cross sailed through empty space.
Wayne straightened and dug the barrel of the gun into the center of Shane’s forehead.
“No!” Dakota rushed toward the porch. “Don’t!”
“Not another inch!” Wayne bellowed. “I’ll blow his fucking head off!”
Dakota stilled. He kept his hands up, right at his eyes, one foot frozen on the second step. “Just don’t shoot, Wayne. Don’t shoot him. We can… Look, we can figure somethin’ out.” Where was Heath, or Brian, or fucking anyone? His hands were shaking, heart pounding so hard inside him he was going to break every which way.
Shane’s eyes closed, and he let out a slow breath. A tear slid down his cheek. His hands were still fisted, held out to the sides, his arms trembling.
“It’s already figured out. It’s been figured since before I sent you here. Poor Dakota Jennings and Shane Carson: star-crossed lovers who couldn’t make it in this world. Coming out here, finding each other again was like striking a match inside an oil well, they’re going to say. Shelly found out about you two. Shane, you fought with her, and then you killed her,” Wayne said. “There’s enough evidence to tie you to her murder, and the circumstantial pieces are going to look a whole lot more compelling after you’re dead.”
Shane’s pulse pounded at the side of his throat. The muscle in his jaw clenched, fluttered.
“Danielle here found out too. She texted you, didn’t she, Shane? When the police come, they’re going to find texts from her to you, bringing you out here to talk. Now your bullets are in Danielle and her husband’s bodies, and you summoned Dakota here in a panic. In a few minutes, both of you will be dead. Murder-suicide, the cops will say. Shane’s gun. Shane’s prints all over it. Shane, broken and distraught about being found out. About fucking Dakota. About killing Shelly.”
“You son of a bitch,” Dakota growled. “You can’t believe you’ll get away with all this.”
“No one is going to touch this case. Your deaths, and your affair, will fuck this investigation completely. How fast do you think the Rangers will want to bury this one? One of their own, fucking a deputy who then kills his fiancée? No one will care about these dead girls after that.”
“And you? How do you explain being out here, Wayne?”
