Page 13 of Never Stay Gone
He closed his eyes.Dakota wouldn’t call. He doesn’t have my number.
If Dakota needed to reach Shane, he’d call dispatch. Besides, since Dakota was now leading the investigation, he’d probably call Heath directly for anything he needed. Why was Shane even on this investigation anymore? He’d stood vigil over the grave, but now that that was done, he should go back to running radar out on 118. Help lost tourists get pointed the right way to find the national park. Hell, even chase cattle off the road.
Dakota didn’t need him.
What was true was always true, wasn’t it?
His cell phone rang again.It’s not him.
Shane cupped water in his shaking palms and ran it over his face. Rubbed at his eyes, trying to get rid of the parched, sandpaper feeling beneath his eyelids. He needed sleep, but that was about as likely now as Dakota smiling at him again. He hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep for months after Dakota disappeared, always waking up crying or hugging his pillow after dreaming about Dakota walking away and that screen door slamming open and shut, open and shut.
No, he wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon.
In the bullpen, he grabbed a paper cup and filled it with the stale coffee that someone had made hours before. Adding creamer or sugar would only turn the sludge to battery acid, so he gulped it down in thick swallows and tried not to shudder. When he got back to his desk, he slid his phone around with one finger, idly checking the display.
Three missed calls. From her.
Shit.
He checked the time. He was already late, way late, which explained the repeated calls. Now his phone was silent, which was almost as bad. Fuck, this was going to be an argument. But these days, what wasn’t?
Shane sent the incident report to Heath’s email, grabbed his sheriff’s jacket and his truck keys, and limped out the door.
* * *
By this time of night,Manuel’s was hopping.
The live music—a garage band of cowboys who liked to blend country, line dancing, rock, and rap and were local celebrities in that they had a standing gig at Manuel’s on weeknights—was so punishingly loud Shane could hear the cacophony across Main Street when he parked his truck outside the courthouse. As he made his way toward the entrance, he thought he saw the old clapboard walls shaking in time to the bass. Cheers and laughs and riotous whoops rose and fell. The current song was a rap-infused line dance, which Shane wouldn’t have thought was possible, but apparently, the crowd was loving it.
He limped up the wide porch steps, nodding his hellos to the clusters of folk moving slow, back and forth, on the rocking chairs as they sucked down cigarettes. Paused in front of the swinging doors. Closed his eyes, for a moment, against the harsh glow of neon bar light.
“There he is!” a high, joyfully tipsy voice called.
Shane pushed through the saloon doors and braced himself, locking his knees right as Shelly launched herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and one slim leg around his thigh, hooking her booted ankle behind his knee. He wavered for a moment but kept himself on both feet. Pain shot up and down his leg, radiating from his weak knee.
“Hey, Deputy,” Shelly purred. Alcohol-soaked eyes stared into his face as she cupped his cheek. “Been missing you.” He could smell the tequila on her breath.
Part of him wanted to smile. At least this wasn’t an argument. But it was a whole different set of problems, and honestly, he’d prefer the arguing over the drinking. This wasn’t her.
Shane wrapped his hands around Shelly’s waist and guided her down as the band ended their song. “How long you been here?” Shane asked. He nuzzled her blonde hair, piled loosely in a messy bun on top of her head. Strands had slipped free, haloing her face and sticking to her sweaty neck.
“A while,” Shelly drawled. She pulled back, still smiling, and waved to the bar, where a group of her girlfriends were perched on barstools, empty margarita glasses in front of them. “I was waiting for you.” The first flicker of a frown appeared. “How come you didn’t answer my calls?”
“I was working.” He took Shelly’s hand and guided her back to the bar, her girlfriends, and her vacated stool. “Looks like you girls had a lot of fun in a short time.”
“Not that short.” Danielle snorted. “You’re pretty late, Shane.”
He forced a smile for Danielle. Of all Shelly’s friends, he liked Danielle the least, and it seemed the feeling was mutual.
Shane caught Alejandro’s eye behind the bar and signaled for water. Alejandro and he had talked about the increase in Shelly’s drinking. He was supposed to keep an eye out, slow her down when she got like this. Shane’s gaze roamed over the empty glasses in front of the girls. Maybe three each, if they were all keeping pace with one another? But Danielle and Misty didn’t seem like they were half as tipsy as Shelly.
“Hey, everyone says you know that new guy!” Shelly’s eyes were wide, glittering with a false margarita joy. “I’ve never heard you talk about a friend in the Rangers, though.” Shelly’s face screwed up, and her head tilted to the side. “Never really heard you talk about any friends.”
Shane scanned the crowd over Shelly’s head. His gaze flicked down the bar, from one group of people to another, cataloging and discarding faces as quickly as he saw them as the music started again.
No, not here, goddamn it, not here.He’d said he was going to eat, then go to bed. Shane thought that meant a drive-through, not Manuel’s.Please, not here—
Of course, like always, luck wasn’t on his side.
