Page 65 of Girl Between (Dana Gray FBI Mystery Thriller #5)

Stepping on toes was part of the job. Albeit, a part George didn’t much like. Especially when those toes belonged to ex-Army Ranger and FBI agent, Jake Shepard.

Shepard could get on board with that or get out of the way.

The fact that the surly FBI agent was crammed into the cab of George’s old pickup truck seemed to be a sign that Shepard understood.

“And this is the same MO?” Shepard asked after Dana finished catching him up on the first two cemetery bodies with impressive accuracy.

Dana turned her inquisitive gaze to George. “Seems so,” he replied. “LaSalle’s on scene. Said the vic is another female, lividity points to same blood loss as the others, but we won’t know about the organs until we get the autopsy. I’ve got Cruz on standby.”

“Dr. Lena Cruz is the ME,” Dana explained to Shepard. “She’s incredible.” Turning toward George she asked, “Where is she with identifying any additional transnasal craniotomy markers? ”

George kept his eyes on the road, but couldn’t help frowning. “Given that it’s been less than 24 hours since we asked her to dig into half a year of backlog, I’m gonna say she’s not made much progress.”

“Right,” Dana muttered. “She’s looking for links to past victims just in case,” she relayed to Shepard.

He caught on immediately. “Smart. Identify early works.”

“See if it’s serial,” she added.

“Could warrant federal assistance,” Shepard said. “Maybe even BAU.”

“Exactly,” Dana concurred.

George kept quiet as he listened to their uncanny shorthand. It wasn’t the run of the mill partner stuff. The way Dana watched Shepard. The way Shepard shadowed her. They completed each other’s thoughts for heaven’s sake.

In George’s eyes there was nothing complicated about it. They might be the only two on the planet who couldn’t see it. Dana Gray and Jake Shepard were a hell of a lot more than partners.

His history with Shepard and his attraction to the brilliant doctor made things more complicated, but that didn’t mean George didn’t want them on the case.

Shepard might have ulterior motives for offering to assist, but George didn’t mind.

He certainly wasn’t about to turn down help on a case like this.

Even if Shepard was here in an unofficial capacity.

George would tap every sharp mind available to him if it helped stop this senseless killing.

“Your department short cruisers?” Shepard asked as the old pickup’s shocks were tested on the infamous potholes of New Orleans.

“Got plenty,” George muttered as he affectionately patted the dash. “I just prefer the classics.”

Shepard rolled his broad shoulders, crowding Dana on the bench seat between them. “I think you mean antique,” he muttered.

George only laughed. “Just be glad I didn’t ride my chopper. It doesn’t seat three.”

Shepard was about to make another comment, but Dana’s gasp cut him off. “Where are we?” she asked as George guided the truck down the I-10 ramp onto Pontchartrain Blvd.

Before them lay a sprawling necropolis of ornate marble and immaculately manicured grass.

“This is Metairie Cemetery,” George said quietly.

“It looks endless,” Dana replied, gawking at the sheer size.

George chuckled. “Metairie dwarfs our other cemeteries. Just shy of 150 acres. It’s the city’s largest and possibly most historic cemetery.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Dana whispered in awe. “I mean Wadi al-Salam is the world’s largest cemetery,” she continued, “but still, this is something.”

“Have you been?” George asked. “Wadi al-Salam?”

“It’s not an amusement park,” Shepard snapped.

“Wasn’t implying it was,” George replied.

“Yeah, well once you’ve been there you know better than to talk about it.”

Both Dana and George were quiet, absorbing the fact that Shepard had not only been to the infamous 6 million grave cemetery in Iraq, but he’d probably put more than his fair share of bodies there.

Normally, George found cemeteries peaceful.

But today, police tape crisscrossed the entrance to Metairie like cobwebs, police cruisers acting as silent sentries.

He was grateful he didn’t need to tell them to kill their sirens this time.

The some nine thousand souls laid to rest there since the Civil War didn’t deserve to be disturbed.

Pride brimmed in George’s chest at the respect he saw his officers showing as he pulled up. Their lights were off, radios turned down, faces grim.

He parked the truck and took a deep breath, switching into his least favorite role. He reached across Dana and grabbed his badge and gun from the lockbox between her legs.

It was time to begin.