Page 138 of Girl Between
If she hadn’t met George, who Jake had put in her path, Dana might still be drowning her pain in the bottom of a glass on Bourbon Street.
But George had lifted her out of that pit of despair, distracted her, pulled her into a case that made her face her demons, and reminded her that there was still more to do. More wrongs to right, more monsters to slay. He reminded her that she was capable—no, more than capable—good at it.
She knew she owed that to Jake. He’d been the one to set her on this path.
It always came back to Jake.
And right now, he was the only one she wanted to talk to. About the case, about the torment it was resurrecting, about the way she couldn’t stop missing him.
Somehow, his absence was even more intense than his presence.
That meant something.
She was too tired to sort out what, but that didn’t stop her from picking up her phone one more time. The empty space after her last message to Jake glared back at her. She swallowed her pride and started typing.
Dana:Where are you?
Dana: I thought I asked you to stay.
Dana: In case I wasn’t clear, this is me officially asking. I need you.
Still no response.
She waited a few agonizing minutes longer, but there was nothing. Not even the confirmation that her message had been read, or the hopeful bubbles of a tentative response.
Dana didn’t know what she’d expected. It was a cellphone, not a magic lamp that granted wishes. Jake wasn’t going to miraculously appear at her bedside.
Accepting defeat, she poured herself a large glass of bourbon and climbed into bed.
121
Sunlight spilledinto Dana’s hotel room, rousing her from her bed. She cringed away from the light that sliced through the gap in her curtains, like a vampire emerging too early from slumber. Thanks to the bourbon and her sleeping pills she managed to drift off, but it hadn’t been restful.
Forcing herself to her feet, Dana shook off the disturbing images that haunted her dreams. She walked barefoot to the window and pulled the curtains back, bathing in the warmth of the day. It was still early, but she could tell it would be a scorcher.
Weather in New Orleans was fickle. Last year had been unseasonably cold, dumping snow in January. It seemed this year was out to make records of its own. Dana cranked on the air conditioning before calling in her usual room service breakfast order and heading for the shower.
She’d resisted looking at her phone until she got out.
Nothing from Jake.
Dana quashed the lance of pain the empty text app provoked. Instead, she focused on the voicemail notification.
She pressed play and stuffed a beignet in her mouth as George’s voice filled the room.
“Fontera sang like a canary. If there was something to give up on Monroe, he would’ve. Other than admitting he thought the guy was a creep and he let him borrow his bus a few times, we’ve got nothing. Looks like you were right. Fontera’s not our guy.” George sighed, and Dana heard the wariness in his voice. “Wish I had better news. Creed’s still keeping my officers at arm’s length, but I’ve got a few guys I can count on to loop me in if there are any developments. Hope you got some rest. We can start from square one tomorrow. Anyway, see you at the wedding. If you need a ride, you know how to reach me.”
Dana put the phone down, pondering George’s message while she finished her breakfast. When it came to Fontera, she figured as much. But having her predictions confirmed wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it should be. Monroe was their guy. Dana knew it the moment she set foot on his property. She could shower until the end of time but she’d never be able to completely scrub away the stain of darkness walking in his footsteps had left her with.
George was right. Today was for celebrating. Tomorrow they’d go back on the hunt. In the meantime, Creed would make sure nothing slipped through the cracks. Dana didn’t exactly like the man, but his dedication to justice was palpable. She couldn’t ask for more.
Setting her phone down, Dana walked to her closet. The bridesmaid dress greeted her like a flamingo among the forest of her bland attire. She pulled the dress out and hung it on the back of her door.
Looking back, it was hard to imagine how she’d gotten here. It seemed only yesterday she’d arrived in New Orleans, looking to outrun her past and start fresh.
The pink dress seemed to symbolize the new life she craved. As though with one leap she could slip on the dress and step into a new life.
She knew that wasn’t the case. It had been a series of tiny steps and missteps that landed her here. She may be far from D.C., but all running proved was that her problems followed.
