Page 76 of Girl Between (Dana Gray FBI Mystery Thriller #5)

Jake held his hand out expectantly for the keys.

“You’re not driving the Rover,” Dana said, her jaw set like a petulant child.

“Why not?” Jake argued.

“Because, I said so.”

He scoffed. “That’s a great argument. Remind me how many PhDs you have again?”

“It’s my car. I don’t need an argument,” she protested, delicate nostrils flaring.

“Well, I don’t have a vehicle here, and it’s gonna be pretty hard to hold up my end of things without one.”

They’d decided to divide and conquer. Jake would finish up at the coroner’s office, then head back to the Quarter to oversee things at the station, while George headed to the bayou to track down any similarities that might connect the current homicides to the Harvest Girls cold case.

Dana had jumped at the chance to accompany George, a stinging blow to Jake’s ego that he was just petty enough to hold onto. Hence the current bickering .

“You can take my truck,” George offered, trying to diffuse the tension. “I’ll drive Dana’s to the bayou.”

“You’re not driving it either,” Dana told him.

Jake knew it was childish to be smug, but he silently savored the tiny victory. “I’ve driven it before,” Jake continued, ignoring George’s offer.

The flash of fire in Dana’s eyes told Jake the comment landed the way he’d intended.

He knew they needed to stop trading blows. But she’d started this round by suggesting he wasn’t needed.

An adequate replacement, my ass.

If Dana wanted a cease fire, she’d have to be the one to call it this time.

Hurt people, hurt people. The familiar Wade-ism rang in Jake’s mind like a warning bell.

He chose to ignore it.

He might’ve been able to let it go if George wasn’t standing there, ready to swoop in, the easy-going hero with the quick smile.

If that’s what Dana wanted, Jake would rather find out now, because he wasn’t the hero. He’d never pretended to be. Jake had been nothing but honest with her about who he was and who he was not.

For a fleeting second, he thought she’d understood. Seen him. Accepted him. More than that. Wanted him—for all he was, and all he wasn’t.

But now, as they faced off for the thousandth time, he wondered if he’d gotten it wrong.

He should’ve known better than to let himself catch feelings.

Not feelings. It was more than that.

You fucking loved her, sucker, his subconscious nagged.

Loved? As in past tense? Was it over then? If his subconscious knew it, was the rest of him playing catch up, or just too stubborn to admit defeat?

He glared at her perfectly pursed lips, hating that he still wanted to crush them beneath his own. Still, he leaned closer, placing one scarred palm on the Rover, right next to Dana’s flushed cheek. Whatever twisted game this was, two could play.

Trouble was, dragging up their history in the old green Range Rover meant Jake had to face the flashbacks, too.

He and Dana driving to the cabin. Claire in the backseat.

It should’ve been a happy memory. But Jake could see it now. It was just the beginning of the end.

George cleared his throat, interrupting their stalemate. He shoved his keys into Jake’s hand. “Take my truck, Shepard. Dana, you can drive us out to the bayou. We’ll regroup back in the Quarter.”

Dana crossed her arms over her goddammed perfect breasts triumphantly. “Works for me.”

Jake grumbled something ungentlemanly under his breath but knew when he was outmanned. He gave George a sarcastic salute and sauntered toward the truck, tossing the keys in his hand.

“That’s my pride and joy,” George called to him. “I expect her back in one piece, Shepard!”

Jake huffed. I could say the same thing, he thought bitterly.