Page 60 of Girl Between

For Dana, coming to New Orleans had always been about finding herself and figuring out what came next in her life. She didn’t know what that was yet, but she was tired of living in between.

Perhaps that’s why she finally began talking about what happened in D.C. For the first time since fleeing the city she’d called home, she was ready to face the truth. “I always wanted to come here,” Dana started. “But being here after what happened in D.C…” She paused. “I wonder if it was a mistake.”

George stayed quiet, his only response the subtle easing of his posture as he released her and leaned back against the porch rail. The streetlights cut him in a striking silhouette. Drawn in, Dana joined him on the rail.

The wooden railing groaned but held when she leaned against it. Dana let her palms caress the worn grains of wood that peeked through the layers of paint. For a brief moment her mind wandered as she pondered just how much history was buried beneath each coat.

Her fingernail scratched gently at the smooth paint, wishing she could peel each layer back and absorb the history hidden there—like an onion, giving up a little more of itself with each layer.

Jake flashed in Dana’s mind, his smirk cutting a familiar line across his chiseled features as it always did when he discovered something about her. He’d often called her an onion. It was an accurate assessment. Dana was slow to reveal herself, even slower to trust, and for good reason. Life had taught her the prudence of caution at an early age. A lesson that was sadly repeated more frequently than necessary. The events of her last case perhaps being the most catastrophic and irrefutable lesson of all.

It all came crashing back with horrific clarity. Dana closed hereyes and drew in a breath. When she opened them, she remembered where she was, and why.

George patiently gazed at his shoes. For some reason, his lack of pressure made her want to open up.

“I told you I don’t trust my instincts,” Dana admitted. “There’s a reason for that.”

“Gathered that,” he said softly. His eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Care to educate me?”

She exhaled deeply. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Where the pain is,” he answered.

The notion was so simple. It unlocked a cage deep inside of Dana where she buried her wounds. Suddenly unleashed, words began spilling out of her. “Claire. She was my intern. But more than that, she was my friend. Almost a sister, or maybe daughter, given our age difference. I don’t know. It’s not important. None of it is. Because it was all a lie. She wasn’t who I thought she was, and I was so caught up in my own problems that I missed it. I missed it, and my mistake cost people their lives.”

Dana crossed the few paces to where she’d left her beer and drained it. She set it back down wishing it was something stronger. But as the moonlight danced across the scar on her palm, she felt another pang of guilt.

Jake. Bourbon. Blood. Bedrooms.

It was always like that with them.

The good with the bad. Sour with sweet.

Why is there always a price?

Marjorie’s words drifted back to her.Don’t fight the darkness. It gives way to light.

What did it mean that Dana only saw light when she looked at George?

Lately her own reflection held nothing but darkness. The all-consuming kind that fed on swallowing light and everything it touched.

“It’s a heavy burden to bear,” George said, interrupting Dana’s spiraling thoughts. “Knowing you’re not alone helps.”

She met his gaze, drawn in by the way the streetlights made his eyes glow like whiskey in firelight. She recognized his pain. It was distant compared to hers, like an echo more than a scar, and it made her want to know more.

As if sensing her need, George spoke. “My first tour was Benghazi. It’s where I met Shepard. He was my CO. Total hard ass. Lived to push us past the brink.” George paused, shaking his head at some distant memory. “It pains me to say without a doubt, I wouldn’t be drawing breath if it wasn’t for Jake Shepard.”

Dana watched the distance expand between them as George revisited the horrors of war that Dana couldn’t begin to imagine.

“After Gaddafi fell, you could just feel the power grab coming. The air was electrified with militant tension. There were military grade weapons freely available on every street corner. Libya was a ticking timebomb, and Benghazi was the fuse.

“None of us wanted that station. Not when our only job was glorified security guards. We wanted to follow the fight, liberate the compounds. Instead, we were playing bodyguards to a bunch of paper pushing bureaucrats taking their sweet ass time with the burn bags.

“But Shepard didn’t take any flak. Orders were orders. He was there to see we carried them out.” George’s gaze hardened, his voice full of remorse when he spoke again. “If I’d helped him more instead of fighting him every step of the way, there would’ve been a lot less bloodshed.”

Again, Dana watched the pain dance across the distance clouding George’s gaze.

The light in his amber eyes dimmed. “Shepard saw it coming. He didn’t miss a thing when it came to the locals. We were more laxed. Tried to win ‘em over. Thought if we traded with ‘em, made ‘em feel safe, they’d have our backs.” George exhaled a bitter laugh. “It makes sense now, the way Shepard is. The things we saw, they make you hard. And that hardness keeps you alive.”