Page 6 of Girl Between

“Just someone who prefers the truth.”

“Truth, huh?” He laughed. “Well, if you want to see the true Nawlins, you came to the right guy.”

He extended his hand, and Dana found herself tempted by the offer. Her phone rang again. She knew it was Jake without looking. They had an arrangement. It was the one condition he’d demanded. Proof of life. Each night she’d agreed to text him to let him know she was okay.

Tonight, she’d yet to do so, hence the repeated calls.

She looked at the time. It was just after midnight, which meant it was 6 AM in Paris.

“Oh, I know that look,” George teased. “Boyfriend calling to check in?”

Dana shook her head. “No.”

“Husband?”

“Definitely not.”

His grin widened. “Then nothin’s holding ya back.”

It was true. She’d come here to forget. But try as she might, the icy grip of her last case and everything it’d cost her still surfaced each time she closed her eyes. Maybe it would never go away. Or maybe she wasn’t trying hard enough.

George was offering her the distraction she craved. And he was a cop. There was no one safer to spend her time with. Even Jake couldn’t argue that logic.

Decision made, she silenced her phone and took George’s outstretched arm. “Show me the true New Orleans."

He grinned. “At your service.”

“Where are we headed?”

“This is Nawlins. Food is always the first stop. Have you been to Coop’s yet?”

Dana shook her head, making George flash his dimples again.

“You’re in for a treat.”

7

Jake sankinto the exceptionally soft velvet sofa in apartment 16. The copper color reminded him of a new penny. Thoughts of the mundane coin made him miss home, but he remained focused.

He only had a moment to admire the collection of books and musical instruments before Luca brought over the espresso he’d kindly offered upon inviting Jake inside. Picking up the fragile porcelain cup, Jake did his best to feign calm as he inhaled the fragrant aroma of java and hazelnut.

Thankfully, Luca spoke first. “I assume you’re here to inquire about my father.”

“What makes you say that?” Jake asked.

Luca nodded to the weapon tucked discreetly against Jake’s hip. “Your firearm, your accent. You’re American. FBI or CIA if I had to guess.”

“Good guess,” Jake said, not ready to give too much away.

“My father was an American pilot.”

“Was?” Jake said, trying not to betray his nerves.

Luca nodded. “After moving here, he flew for the Armée de l'air et de l'espace. His plane was shot down over twenty years ago over the Red Sea. He and his crew were never recovered.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jake said, offering the obligatory response.

“Was it my loss alone?” Luca inquired, his identical blue eyes searing into Jake’s.