Page 76 of Never Stay Gone
Unless that’s just what he preferred: looking into a woman’s eyes as she died by his hands.
What about Frank Lynn? He’d been at the truck stop when Libby and Amber disappeared, and now he was at the same motel Jessica was on the night she vanished.
Why would Frank mutilate Carly Hurst, though?
Dakota was still missing something.
He went back to Amanda’s calendar. Three days ago, there was an entry that simply readDrew: OOT. Out of town. Destination unlisted.
Goddamn it.
What the hell did he do now? Was Drew a murder suspect or just an adulterer? Was it coincidence he’d been out of town on every day a victim had gone missing, or was it something far more sinister? How did Jessica play into the case, if so?
Either way, whatever he found was going to destroy Amanda.
Amanda loved her husband down to her bones. Dakota had seen the way she looked at him across a dozen different rooms: adoration, admiration, and an affection that hadn’t waned. If Drew was having an affair with Jessica, it would shatter her.
Not to mention, dead bodies—and adulterous spouses—sank political careers.
You bring me whoever did this, Dakota. Bring him to me fast.
Wayne would know what to do. If Dakota did have a murder suspect in Drew Riggs, then he had to tread carefully, make sure all his evidence lined up perfectly, every i dotted and every t crossed. He’d need warrants, witness statements, cell phone records. He’d need to reinterview everyone connected with the rally, everyone at the Odessa office, everyone at the governor’s mansion. He’d need to confirm Jessica and Drew’s affair—really confirm it, with photos, records of hotel stays, records of flights and travel arrangements. The investigation opening before him yawned wider than the Grand Canyon. Jesus Christ, this was going to be a fucking nightmare. Where did he even start?
Wayne would know how to take care of Amanda too. He was her best friend. Dakota couldn’t be—wouldn’t be—the one to break this to her.
He dialed, his boot tapping on the floorboards of his truck—wild, out of control, faster than his racing heart. Wayne picked up on the third ring. “Dakota.” Wind rustled over the line, like Wayne was outside. His voice was dry, rough as the desert. “Got an update from Sheriff Reed last night. Would have liked to have heard from you.”
“Sorry. Had a long day. This investigation… it’s kickin’ my ass.” That wasn’t what had kicked his ass yesterday, but Wayne didn’t need to know that.
Silence. Dakota cleared his throat. “Wayne, I… I think I got somethin’. But I don’t know what to do with it.”
“Tell me.”
He did, a frenzy of words bursting out of him in a rush. He barely stopped to breathe as he recounted the threads of the investigation. Tracking the women and their last known sightings, nearly all of them vanishing in or around the Rustler truck stop on the highway that bisected the heart of West Texas. Frank, and how tracking him led to the surveillance video of the Odessa motel where Shane saw Jessica visiting someone in secret the night she went missing. How that led him to Drew’s and Jessica’s matching travels all over West Texas on the same days the women went missing. Drew’s trip to Pecos and Carly Hurst’s trip to Big Bend on the same weekend, and Carly’s text of surprise to Drew’s private number, exclaiming at how delighted she was to run into him deep in the heart of West Texas nowhere. Then, Carly Hurst’s body, the only one mutilated and disfigured, as if the killer was trying to hide her specifically and cover his tracks.
“But how does she connect to Jessica? Why are they in the same grave? If it was Drew…” Dakota ran out of steam, his words fading away. “What if thisisDrew, Wayne?”
“You think he’s cleaning up after himself? That he decided Jessica and her baby weren’t worth the trouble anymore?”
“Could he?” The Drew Dakota knew, no. But then again, he’d only known Drew for six months, and he hadn’t had any idea, any at all, that Drew was having an affair and hiding it across half of Texas. “You know him far better’n I do.”
Again, Wayne was quiet.
“Goddamn it,” Dakota breathed. “Wayne, I don’t know what to do.”
Follow procedure, the rule book said. But procedure got tossed out whenever the powerful and connected came under suspicion.Jessica made a call.Holly Holt’s file, gathering dust, declared unsolved, with only a minimal investigation.
If Dakota wanted Drew Riggs to pay for this—to pay for killing Shelly and ripping Shane’s heart out—he needed help. His guns-blazing, ride-in-on-a-fast-horse, take-no-prisoners approach wasn’t going to cut it this time.
“I’m flying out,” Wayne said. “I’ll be at the airport in thirty minutes. We’ve got to work this carefully, Dakota. I’ll help you take it to Chief Ranger Skidmore, and the FBI if we need to, but we’ve got to make sure this is ironclad.”
“Bring everythin’ you can get your hands on. Calendars, travel records, expense reports. Anythin’ we can use.”
“Of course. Do you know where Long Canyon Ranch is?”
“I can find it.”
“There’s an airstrip on the west side of the ranch, about fifteen miles east of Farm Road 169. Rough country, which is why they built the strip. I know the guy who owns that spread. It’s quiet. Private. I’m going to fly there. Come meet me. I’ll be wheels up within the hour, on the ground in two.”
