Page 22 of Never Stay Gone
“About a month ago?” Jackson squinted. “If you click there, you can see the date.”
Shane did, and then he went still, still like he used to get when he was having big thoughts out on the football field.Shane read the date aloud, and Dakota got it. He took a deep breath, held it inside.
Odessa, thirty-one days ago. The night Jessica Klein went missing.
“Jackson, I’ve got a question for you.” Dakota pushed off the porch railing and came down in front of the boy. He squatted, looking the young man in his tear-swollen eyes. “Your mom ever mess around with drugs at all?”
Jackson frowned and leaned back. He shot Shane a sidelong look, then glared at Dakota. “Who are you?”
“Dakota Jennings, Texas Rangers. We’re checking every possible lead we can.”
“And you think my momma had something to do with drugs?”
“We’re not sure. That’s why I’m asking.”
He knew as soon as Jackson looked away and bit his lip. When Jackson started worrying at the flesh, and his fingernails picked at a blister on his palm. “She was in pain, you know? On her feet a lot. She worked all her life. She just never felt good anymore.”
Shane took a short, sharp breath. Dakota refused to look his way.
“She’d heard all about how pot makes you feel better. How they’re using it for cancer patients and pain treatment. She just wanted to not feel so bad at the end of the day, but she didn’t want to mess around with those pills.”
“Did you buy weed for her?”
That was apparently too far. Jackson screwed his lips up and squinted over Dakota’s shoulder. He said nothing.
Dakota took that as a yes.
“You’re not in trouble, Jackson. And neither is your momma.” Shane’s voice was kind. “All we want is to find who did this to her. Nothing more.”
Jackson’s head sank, and his chin dug into his chest. His shoulders shuddered.
Dakota rose and backed away, hands on his hips. He faced the road and the slanting midmorning sun as Shane murmured behind him, offering soft, gentle, comforting words to Jackson. He could feel the pulse of Shane’s care like waves against his back, crashing into him and beating him down, trying to break him apart from the inside.
Eventually, Shane helped Jackson to his feet. He walked Jackson to the paddock and waited as he got back on his horse. “I’ll be back soon,” Shane said as he opened the paddock gate. “We’ll find who did this.”
Jackson said nothing as he spurred his horse.
Dakota waited as Shane watched Jackson ride away. They walked back to Shane’s truck in silence.
Chapter Seven
Dakota’s cellphone rang as they made the turn from the ranch road to out to Farm Road 169. He checked the area code before answering: 915. El Paso. “Ranger Jennings.”
“This is Dr. Trevino,” was the husky, nicotine-soaked reply.
The pathologist on the case. She’d given Dakota the preliminary identities over voicemail and said she’d call later with more information. His eyes darted to the dashboard clock. Eleven in the morning meant ten in El Paso, the only part of Texas in Mountain Time. “Dr. Trevino, good to hear your voice.”
There was a sucking sound, like she was taking a deep drag on a cigarette. “Maybe you won’t think that after you hear what I have to say, Ranger.”
He waited. Shane’s tires hummed over the road.
“I’m sorry for the delay in calling. There are nuances to these victims, both as individuals and as a group, that are confounding. I wanted to be absolutely sure of what I was seeing.”
“Confoundin’, huh?”
“Do you have time to review the autopsies now? I’ve sent the report to the email you provided.”
Dakota glanced at the laptop mounted on the truck’s dash. “Shane, pull over,” he said softly. “And what’s your email here?” Shane spelled it out, Dakota angling his cell so Dr. Trevino could hear. She repeated the address back as she typed it in, her keyboard clicking.
