Far Gone Read Free

go, okay? Call you later.”
    She stuffed the phone back into her purse and knew it wouldn’t ring again. Nathan wasn’t like that. He wouldn’t call incessantly, but he would track her down some other way. He’d probably come pounding on her door late tonight when he knew she’d be home. And he’d probably refuse to leave until she let him in and at least went through the pretense of answering his questions. He was her assigned “sponsor”—whatever that meant—and it was his job to ask.
    Nathan had been her mentor when she first joined Austin PD’s homicide unit. They’d been through ups and downs together and many hellacious cases but nothing that came close to this. This was out of her realm of experience, and she didn’t know how to talk to him about it.
    Which was what shrinks were for.
    Another chime emanated from her purse. She jerked the phone out but didn’t recognize the area code.
    “Hello?”
    “Hey, it’s me.”
    She felt a flutter of panic at her brother’s voice. She’d considered the possibility of her grandparents calling. Dee and Bob read the paper every morning and might stumble across the story out of Austin. She’d planned what she’d say to them, but she hadn’t given her brother a thought.
    “Are you there?”
    “I’m here.” She cleared her throat. “What’s up, Gavin?”
    Now it was his turn for quiet. Andrea waited. Would he bring it up right away or dance around it?
    “I need a favor.”
    The statement startled her.
    “I need some money. Not a lot,” he rushed to add. “And I’ll pay you back, I promise.”
    He didn’t know, then. This wasn’t about her at all—he was hard up for cash. If he was like most college kids, she’d assume he needed it for beer or gas. But Gavin wasn’t like most college kids. He wasn’t like anyone. “You been taking your meds?” she asked.
    “Come on, Andie.”
    “Have you?”
    “Yes, all right? Gimme a break. Can you lend me the money?”
    “How much?”
    “Two thousand.”
    “Two thousand ? You said not a lot!”
    “It isn’t a lot.”
    “Are you out of your freaking mind? I’ve got rent due next week. Jesus. What’s it for?”
    “I’ll pay you back.”
    She snorted. “How? Last I checked, part-time busboys weren’t making the big bucks.”
    “I quit that job.”
    Andrea thought about the number on the caller ID. Her stomach clenched with anxiety, and for the first time in days, it wasn’t because she’d taken another human life.
    “Gavin . . . whose phone are you on?”
    “A friend’s. Listen, can you lend me the money or not? I’ve got wiring instructions here. You can send it straight to my bank, and I’ll pay you back, I swear.”
    “Where are you? Are you even in Lubbock?”
    Silence.
    “If you dropped out, I swear to God—”
    “I didn’t call you to get the third degree.”
    “You did, didn’t you? You dropped out. Gavin! You’re what? Fifteen credits shy of graduation?”
    “Twelve,” he said tersely. “And I didn’t drop out. I took a leave of absence. For something important. I can go back whenever I want.”
    “Go back now . What the hell are you doing? And what’s this money for?”
    “Damn it, Andie. Why do you have to be such a bitch all the time?”
    “Does Dee know? Don’t you dare tell me you hit her up for money.”
    His silence confirmed her suspicions.
    “They’re on a fixed income! What the hell’s wrong with you?”
    She waited, half expecting an answer.
    “Gavin?”
    The call went dead.
    ♦
     
    Jon North should have been fighting insomnia on a lumpy, too-short mattress, but instead he was speeding toward a crowded honky-tonk on the outskirts of Maverick, Texas, the capital of Middle of Fucking Nowhere.
    All because he trusted Jimmy Torres.
    Jon surveyed the array of cars and pickups as he pulled into the gravel parking lot. Located on a two-lane highway just south of Interstate 10, the Broken Spoke attracted its fair share of ranchers, roughnecks, and