Page 5 of Girl Between
“Do you mean Adam Berger?” the man asked.
“No. Miller.”
Jake watched the younger version of himself shake his head vehemently. “Your last name is Shepard?”
Jake nodded.
“Berger is the French translation, no?”
Again, Jake found himself stumped. If Dana were here, she would’ve probably started speaking French fluently and explaining Jake’s confusion. But without her, he found himself dumbfounded. Thankfully, the young man in front of Jake wasn’t.
“I’m sorry, I think you may have the wrong address. This is the Berger residence. I’m Luca Berger. Who are you looking for?”
The words rattled around in Jake’s skull, understanding unable to settle in. Berger was the French surname for Shepard. Why hadn’t he seen that before? He’d studied the residency of this apartment extensively, but until now he hadn’t made the connection. Yet, with his spitting image staring back at him, it was impossible to deny.
Jake’s throat rolled as he fought back the pain of this sudden realization. “Can I come in?” he asked.
Luca took a step back and opened the double door wider, inviting him in.
6
Dana followedthe bronze-skinned stranger out into the bustling streets of the French Quarter.
“Vincent George, by the way,” he said as he led Dana off Bourbon Street to St. Peter. “But everybody calls me George. And you are?”
“Jane,” Dana said, giving the pseudonym she’d become accustomed to using.
“You got a last name, Jane?”
“Doe,” she said, making him laugh.
He stopped in the street to gaze at her. “You’re something else, aren’t you?”
“So, I’ve been told.”
“Well,Jane,” he said, overemphasizing her alias. “Where to?”
She could see Touchdown Jesus, the affectionate name given to the giant statue behind St. Louis Cathedral. Tonight, like most nights, its massive shadow loomed against the backdrop of the Gothic Cathedral as Dana moseyed down Royal Street.
Her hotel was a short walk from here. Habit had her stopping at the entrance to the narrow lane known as Pirate’s Alley. It was the route she usually took on her way home, but tonight a ghost tour blocked her path.
She stood with George, waiting for them to pass as a local guide regaled the tour with the completely inaccurate legends of Jean Lafitte, Voodoo priestesses, and vampires.
George shook his head, a good-natured smile on his face as the last few stragglers stumbled by. One asked the tour guide, “Is it true that there are secret vampire bars in the French Quarter that serve blood?”
“Yeah,” George shouted. “Why do you think the Bloody Marys are so popular at Muriel’s?”
The guide glared at them. “It’s not the vampires you need to worry about. It’s the local witches that will beguile you in the Quarter.”
The straggling tourists stared at George and Dana, giving them a wide berth, whispering to each other as they rushed to catch up with the rest of the group.
“If they’re going to charge money, the tours should at least be factual,” Dana muttered.
George waved her off. “It’s harmless fun. Besides, we don’t care why they’re here, only that they keep coming. Tourism is the lifeblood of this city.”
“Yeah, but wouldn’t it be better if they took the time to learn the true history of New Orleans?”
He raised his eyebrows. “You some kind of history buff?”
