Page 58 of Never Stay Gone
Such a normal thing for lovers to do. Something he’d wanted to do for Shane ever since he was sixteen years old and falling harder and faster than a boulder slide.
Dakota heard Shane’s scream all the way out on the sidewalk.
It was a broken wail, the shout of a man being torn in half. Fury, anguish, disbelief all rolled together in one discordant cry.
Dakota took off, moving faster than he’d ever run under enemy fire. He was up the stairs and bulldozing his way into the sheriff’s department before Shane’s scream tapered into a broken sob.
“Ranger Jennings—” Brian started. He rose from his desk, tried to get in front of Dakota.
Dakota shoved Shane’s shitty cappuccino against Brian’s chest and elbowed him out of the way.
The noise had come from Heath’s office. The door was shut, but he could hear the rumble of Heath’s voice, hear Shane weeping. He threw his shoulder into the door and burst in.
Shane was on his knees, his face in his hands, sobbing his guts out. Heath crouched awkwardly in front of him, like he didn’t know whether he should reach out and offer comfort.
“What the fuck is going on?” Dakota roared.
“Dakota.” Shane gulped, gasped his name more than he spoke it. He lurched at Dakota, not quite a crawl, not quite a stumble, more of a falling toward him.
Dakota hit his knees and dragged Shane the rest of the way into his arms, and Shane lost himself. Tears made wet circles on Dakota’s shirt.
He glared at Heath. “The fuck is goin’ on?” he repeated. “What happened?”
Heath looked like he’d taken four shots of battery acid, and like he wanted to be doing another one instead of looking at Dakota holding Shane or having to answer Dakota’s questions. He stood, and his gaze flicked to the holstered weapon at the far edge of his desk.
Dakota ran his hand down Shane’s side. Felt the empty space where Shane’s pistol should have been. “Why did you disarm ’im?”
“There was another murder last night,” Heath said. “There are enough similarities to the bodies found in the desert grave that we believe it may be connected.”
Dizziness nearly made Dakota topple sideways. The facts of the case spun in his mind. Was there or was there not a pattern? A kill every thirty-odd days, except when there were two murders at once, and except for the bones that were a decade old. What was today? How many days had it been since Jessica was taken and killed?
Thirty-two.
I don’t like it. Maybe Frank’s coming down every month for more than just a drug fix.Hadn’t he said that yesterday? And now, here they were, looking at another victim.
“Who? Where was she found?” And how the hell did they find her so fast? It took months—hell, over a decade, for one woman—for the victims in the grave to be found.
“Shelly Atchinson. Shane’s fiancée.”
No. Not her. Not this. Not now, notfuckingnow.
Dakota dug his fingers into Shane’s shoulders. Shane shook so hard his teeth were chattering. He clung to Dakota like if he loosened his hold at all, he’d fall away from Dakota forever.
Maybe he would. How was it possible Shane’s fiancée—ex, though no one seemed to know that—was killed the same night Shane told Dakota “I love you” and “I’ll never leave you again”?
How could that promise hold in the light of this fucking day?
Heath cleared his throat. “Shane, I need to ask you some questions about last night—”
“Wait. Is Shane a fuckin’ suspect?”
Heath ignored him. “There’s witnesses that say you and Shelly fought yesterday evening. That there was shouting, and that you stormed out of the house after. That you had a meltdown in the driveway before you left. There’s boxes of your things strewn all over the front yard. I have to ask you: what happened?”
It took Shane a long time to answer. He gripped Dakota’s biceps so hard Dakota knew there’d be bruises. “We split up,” Shane finally breathed. “Shelly and I. Last night. She asked me to move out. We haven’t been happy, not for a long time.”
“I know you two have been going through a rough patch—”
Shane shook his head. “It was more than that. We’re not right for each other.”
