Page 14 of Girl Between
Jake chuckled. “Something like that.”
“What can I do ya for, brother?” Flynn asked.
“It’s a long story. But to make it short, my partner’s in New Orleans. Our last case put us through the wringer. I’d feel a whole lot better if you could check in on her for me.”
“Her, huh?” Flynn asked.
Jake chose to ignore the question considering Flynn’s flirtatious persona. He’d been quite the charmer when they’d served. It seemed that hadn’t changed. Jake reminded himself that those days were long behind him. He’d changed since then, and he found himself hoping Flynn had as well. Particularly if he was sending him into Dana’s orbit.
“It’s not like that,” Jake muttered, mostly because he didn’t know how to clarify his relationship with Dana these days, and this wasn’t the time or place to get into the details of who they were or weren’t to each other.
“Hey, anything you need, Shepard. I’m your guy. I owe you at least that much. Give me her twenty and I’ll give you the rest.”
17
Dana mentally scoldedherself as she quickly showered. She cranked the hot water near scalding, as though there was a chance she could burn off her self-loathing. But she knew no amount of lather, rinse, repeat would wash away her embarrassment. Though Hotel Monteleone’s luxurious bath products were at least soothing the ache of her muscles.
A moment more of enjoyment and Dana turned the faucet to the right, assaulting herself with brutally cold water. She forced herself to endure the torture a bit longer, hoping to shock herself back to reality. Because what she’d done last night … that wasn’t her.
She didn’t want to be someone who woke up with a different stranger each morning, having to retrace the foggy recesses of her memory to figure out where and with whom she’d been. Not to mention how reckless such behavior was.
Stepping out of the shower, she toweled off and rushed to get ready for work. Downing the café au lait and beignets room service had delivered, she promised herself she’d do better, starting now.
Dana had come to New Orleans to escape, but all the alcohol and avoiding had only prolonged the truth that she still wasn’t ready to face. But it’d been long enough. It was time to put her life backtogether. No more running. No more hiding between then and now. She needed to make a decision.
As always, she turned toward research. Her work kept her focused on what was truly important—bringing light to the darkness.
She wasn’t sure she still could. She’d certainly been tested and lost a bit of her faith in herself and the beliefs that drove her. But Dana still had to try. She believed she’d been put in this world to devote her life to death. If she couldn’t do that, she wasn’t sure what she had left. And that terrifying thought made her willing to keep trying.
Rushing through the ornate lobby filled with cascading flower arrangements and dazzling chandeliers, Dana stepped out onto Royal Street, the pavement already warm beneath the thin soles of her sandals. Truthfully, she loved spring in New Orleans. It was warm, and the sun was ever present, ready to kiss her normally pale skin, making her scars less visible.
If only my internal wounds were as easily erased.
Dana turned right, heading toward Canal and away from the bustle of buzzing tourists already flooding the Quarter. She had many courses to correct, but with each footstep, she couldn’t help feeling that finally, she was back to walking the right path.
Dropping her change into the toll collector, Dana took her seat on her usual streetcar. It rumbled merrily along, the humid Louisiana air kissing her cheeks and drying her hair as she gazed out the open windows at the beautiful historic homes in the city’s Garden District. A short jostling ride down St. Charles and she was at 1122 Jackson Avenue, entering her own stunning Double Gallery home.
The New Orleans Arts & Science Institute, affectionately referred to as NOSA by locals, had claimed the legendary Goldsmith-Godchaux House as its office and research center. Designed by Henry Howard, the property had been meticulously restored. It featured an unrivaled ballroom with custom crown molding, fresco and gilded archways painted by Dominique Canova. Decorated with ornate Greek Revival details, the hand-scraped crown and relief plaster moldings alone could’ve given Dana enough to study for months.
But alas, she wasn’t there to marvel at the soaring fifteen-foot ceilings, marble mantels, gilded plaster medallions, Waterford Crystal, and Murano Chandeliers. Maybe in another life she’d been an architect or interior designer, but in this one, she was an occult specialist, and her highly focused skill set kept her sequestered to the first-floor solarium, where she studied ancient manuscripts at a desk boasting views of the immaculate French gardens, lotus pond, and Alhambra fountain.
Beyond the gardens was a pool and guest apartment that she’d been offered along with her grant, but she’d opted to stay in the French Quarter. She felt more at home there, surrounded by people and parades.
There was something about the quiet here that prickled its way under Dana’s skin. Maybe it was the ghosts of the place ever-present in the gilded portraits. Speaking of ghosts, Dr. Henri Taurantstrolled into the solarium at that moment.
As NOSA’s chief curator, his presence was expected, but he still rubbed Dana the wrong way. She didn’t know if it was his pallor, unidentifiable accent, or eccentric fashion sense, but if vampiric bloodlines still existed in New Orleans, Dana’s first suspect would be Taurant.
“Miss Gray. So glad you could grace us with your presence this afternoon,” Taurant drawled.
“It’sDoctorGray,” Dana corrected, like she did every day. “And it’s barely eleven.”
Taurant strolled too close, hands clasped behind his back as he offered a patronizing, tight-lipped smile. His obnoxious cologne overwhelmed Dana’s senses, heightening her headache. It was most definitely from overindulging last night, but she preferred to blame Taurant.
It’d been obvious from day one that Dr. Taurant didn’t share Dr. Broussard’s enthusiasm at inviting Dana to join NOSA’s research team. Luckily, the Tulane professor outranked the ornery NOSA curator.
At first, Dana had thought Taurant was just protective of thepriceless collection he’d been put in charge of and would simply take a while to warm to her. But more than a month later, he was just as cold and hostile as when she’d arrived. If she cared more about forging personal connections, she might’ve been offended. Fortunately, she’d always been one to focus on work and little else.
Eager to be worthy of the grant that brought her to New Orleans, Dana ignored Taurant’s lurking and refocused her attention on the manuscripts she’d been deciphering the past few weeks. It was fascinating work; tracing the bloodlines of the original settlers of La Nouvelle-Orléans.
