Page 119 of Girl Between

“Allegedly capable,” he countered.

“Allegedly,” she agreed. “But trust me … you can never truly know someone.”

“I hope that’s not true. Because that’s a shitty way to live.”

She tried a different approach. “Sharing isn’t my strong suit, but facts are. And we can’t ignore the facts. Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it, right?”

George huffed a laugh. “Are you quoting Churchill right now?”

Dana had actually been quoting George Santayana, not Churchill, but she chose to ignore the common misconception. “What I’m trying to say is that I want to learn from my mistakes. And if I can help others avoid making the same ones, then maybe everything they cost me wasn’t without purpose.”

George remained silent, his gaze holding hers without judgementor expectation. Dana took a deep breath and began. “My last case, I was exactly where you are. There were so many glaring facts. I can see them now, but then, nothing could’ve made me believe she was involved.”

“You’re talking about Claire?” George asked.

She nodded. Even thinking her name was painful, yet Dana managed to force it from her lips. “Claire …” Dana cleared her throat and tried again. “I trusted her. I loved her. I don’t have any family left. But Claire … she was family. That made me blind.

“Whatever I thought we were to each other, it was one-sided. She used me to further her own agenda, and a lot of people died. More than should’ve if I’d opened my eyes sooner.”

George squeezed Dana’s hand while she collected herself.

Dana forced herself to continue. “That’s on me, George. I can’t go back and fix it no matter how much I wish I could. But here, now, I can do my damnedest to make sure I don’t miss something like that again. Trust me, you don’t want to tangle with that kind of guilt.”

Slowly, George began to nod. “You’re right. I’ll talk to Landry. But, Dana, I need to be the one to question him, understood?”

She agreed. “I know it won’t be easy, but if he’s the man you say he is, he’ll know you’re just doing your job.”

George exhaled deeply. “One helluva job it is.” He slid off his barstool and slung an arm around Dana’s shoulders. Grinning, he said. “Come on, let’s go back inside. You’re gonna buy me a drink.”

103

Dana wasat the bar ordering another bucket of beers when Donnelly, one of George’s rookies, let out a string of swears that would make a sailor blush.

“What is it?” George asked the young officer.

“1-5-3,” Donnelly muttered.

“Not it!” Donnelly’s partner shouted, putting a finger to his nose.

“Come on!” Donnelly shouted. “I just got here.”

“Exactly,” his partner chided. “You haven’t had anything to drink yet,” he said, swiping Donnelly’s untouched beer.

Donnelly grabbed the bottle back, handing it to LaSalle with a wink before turning to the bartender. “You can put that on this shmuck’s tab.” He shoved his NOPD hat back on and strode out of the bar, responding to the chatter on his radio. “Officer responding. 10-6.”

“What’s a 1-5-3?” Dana asked.

“Trespassing,” Neville explained, joining Dana and George at the bar. “Tower again. Third time this month. Wish they’d tear down that damn eyesore already.”

“He means the Plaza Tower,” George explained.

Neville huffed. “That 45-story monstrosity needs to meet the business end of a wrecking ball.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Dana asked.

“Don’t get him started,” George warned.

“What isn’t?” said Neville. “Building a skyscraper below sea-level is batshit enough. Land don’t got the infrastructure to support that kinda weight. And thanks to shoddy construction, toxic mold, and asbestos, no business will set foot in the place. Been closed since ’02. Which means we’ve been battling junkies, prostitutes and vagrants squatting there for more than a decade. Fires, jumpers, falling debris, you name it. That building is a disaster waiting to happen.”