Page 116 of Girl Between
LaSalle nodded, eager to pursue the new lead.
George frowned, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He knew Dana was right. Ignoring the signs would mean taking a chance that more innocent lives might be lost. And that was something he couldn't allow.
“These men match the description from Taurant,” Dana pressed. She pointed to Fontera. “He was dating one of our victims. Jasmine Baker.”
“Okay,” George said. “Let’s get Taurant down here. We need a positive ID on record.”
“Already on it,” Dana replied. “Taurant is on his way in.”
“Start a full work up on Fontera and Monroe,” George ordered. “Iwant priors, last knowns, everything. If we get a positive from Taurant we need to be able to move on this, stat.”
“What about Landry?” Dana pushed.
George swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. “I’ll handle Landry.”
101
Jake zipped his duffle closed.He stood, taking stock of his apartment. A mix of melancholy and fondness filled him. It was unexpected. His blank walls and black leather furniture stared back at him like they always did—void of warmth or comfort.
The place wasn’t a home. There’d been brief periods of times when Jake let himself believe it could be, but they never lasted.
He’d always thought it was the job that got in the way. But maybe it was more than that.
It’d been years since he left the Army, but he could still fit his entire life into a rucksack. At what point did he assume the blame?
One more look around the cold, empty apartment. He felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was the finality of his decision. He shook his head, pushing the thought away.
Jake picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter. As he turned to go, his gaze caught on the lone splash of color—a refrigerator magnet Dana had bought for him.
It was a souvenir from a case long ago, one that had left them both with scars and memories. Dana had insisted he keep it, a tokenof resilience, a reminder of their shared victories. And here it was, still clinging to his fridge amidst the emptiness of his apartment.
The buzz in his pocket chased the memory away. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered under his breath.
Jake didn’t need to see his phone to know it was Dana on the other end. If nothing else, the woman was relentless. Jake had lost track of the missed calls and unanswered text messages. But he knew if he didn’t call Dana back soon, he’d pay for it.
Twenty-four hours. That was their rule. If they went longer than that without proof of life, the other had cause to worry. He didn’t want to do that to her.
Jake’s conversation with Nowak had made things unexpectedly clear. Making decisions had never been difficult for Jake. It was justifying them to others that he found challenging.
Still, he’d have to tell Dana eventually.No time like the present.
By the time Jake fished his phone from his pocket it’d stopped ringing. He fought the ghost of a smile that found him in anticipation of seeing Dana’s face on his missed call list. But Jake’s smile quickly dissipated when he saw the missed call number flash across his screen. It wasn’t Dana.
The country code was France. The rest of the numbers told him the call was coming from Paris. He took a deep breath debating whether to return the call. Before he’d come to a decision, his phone began ringing again. The same caller.
Skipping formalities, Jake pressed answer. Clutching the phone to his ear, he spoke. “I told you not to contact me again.”
102
Dana stared into her beer,Agent Creed’s attaboy a distant memory.
They were at Boondock Saint, a favorite watering hole to NOPD’s finest. She hadn’t asked why they chose to haunt a dingy dive bar with non-existent air conditioning. Not when her mood fit the dismal atmosphere.
The doors and windows were propped open, inviting in a constant parade of street noise and blackflies along with the heat. Dana easily guessed this was a place tourists avoided. And from the sparse patronage, it seemed most locals didn’t appreciate the stifling heat and pungent scent of stale beer either.
But there was something to be said about having a place to wallow in her failures.
“At least there’s one place left in our city to escape the bureau,” Neville grumped. Excluding Richter of course, who raised his beer, taking the comment as a compliment.
