Page 30 of Girl Between
“My work requires patience and dedication. Which is easier to achieve without interruption,” she’d snapped.
The comment seemed to have done the trick, because the nosy old man hadn’t poked his head in since. But that didn’t stop Dana from constantly glancing at the old grandfather clock. It was nearly five. George hadn’t specified what time he’d be stopping by with the mask for her to examine, but since the matter had been urgent enough for him to show up at her hotel room last night, she’d expected him to be waiting for her when she arrived at the NOSA office this morning.
Patience wasn’t Dana’s strongest quality. And after a full day of waiting on George, her agitation was gathering strength like a storm over water. She decided to bottle it, saving her irritation for herimpending conversation with Jake. It was his fault she was in this predicament.
Why do all roads lead back to Jake Shepard?
Just as Dana was returning the passenger manifest she’d been working on to its case, she heard the telltale rumble of a motorcycle engine approaching. Both she and Dr. Taurant arrived at the mansion’s foyer at the same time. Ignoring him, Dana went to stand at the front door’s left sidelight window. Taurant took his position at the right.
Together, they silently watched Detective George park his motorcycle and remove his helmet. He’d perfected the move like he was an action hero in a slow-motion movie montage. Or maybe it was just Dana who was seeing it that way.
Shaking herself from the depths of her overactive imagination, she smoothed the imaginary wrinkles in her white blouse and khaki skirt as George approached. Why was she nervous? The ridiculously casual NOPD detective was wearing another Hawaiian shirt and shorts. His attire was as disarming as it was alarming. Dana often found herself forgetting he was a member of law enforcement.
Perhaps that was one of his tactics. Appearing less official probably went a long way to loosen lips. Or maybe George’s laissez-faire nature was genuine. Either way, he was deceptively hard to say no to.
Not wanting to give Dr. Taurant more ammunition, Dana grabbed the door handle and stepped outside before George made it across the lawn. She rushed down the steps and met him on the paved path.
“If it isn’t my favorite Jane Doe,” George greeted affectionately.
Forgoing a greeting she asked, “Did you bring the mask?”
“Eager to get started,” George quipped. “I like it. But I’m not going to make you work on an empty stomach.”
“You want to eat first?”
“Well, I sorta made reservations we best not be late for.”
Dana stood there, stone-faced as George turned and walked back through the iron gate he’d just come through. He paused, holding it open for her. “You coming? Or did you want me to extend an invitation to old Dr. Prying Eyes, too?”
Dana glanced over her shoulder to see Taurant glowering disapprovingly at her through the windows. She turned back to face George. “What about the mask? I thought it was important to your case.”
“It is. But so is discretion. Let’s get something to eat, then we can come back here when it’s less crowded.”
Relenting, Dana followed George out of the gate to his motorcycle. When he handed her a helmet, she shoved it back. “I’m not getting on that.”
George grinned, like he knew she was and that only pissed her off more.
“I’m wearing a skirt!” she protested.
He shrugged. “Hike it up. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Cheeks heating, she grabbed the helmet and shoved it on. Silently thanking the invention of Lycra, she mounted the bike with what little grace she could manage.
Teeth clenched, hands like a vice grip around George’s waist, Dana watched the city fly by in a blur.
Dana had traveled the world, but few places were more beautiful than the Garden District, though it was hard to appreciate at breakneck speeds.
George hit an unavoidable bump and Dana squeezed him tighter, causing a rumble of laughter to reverberate through him.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she muttered into his shoulder.
“Immensely,” he replied, throttling the motorcycle even faster.
31
Dana climbedoff the back of the motorcycle, her legs rubber from gripping so tightly. Doing her best to discreetly straighten her disheveled skirt, she surveyed her surroundings. The brightly painted double shotgun homes of the neighborhood seemed vaguely familiar and so did the street that buzzed with life.
Zydeco music drifted toward her from a bustling front porch. Some of the best restaurants in New Orleans started from humble beginnings in homes just like these, hosting dinner parties to build up a following before going brick and mortar. But from the way George had spoken of their reservations, Dana had been expecting a more traditional restaurant.
