Page 84 of Girl Between (Dana Gray FBI Mystery Thriller #5)

George sat next to Dana, in his usual booth, trying not to glare at the interloper who’d invaded their date. Is a threesome a date? Or was it a throuple nowadays?

He couldn’t keep up. He didn’t want to. But he could at least admit he was out of practice in the dating scene.

When he’d invited Dana to one of his favorite dinner spots in the French Quarter, he’d been hoping to impress her, not have to share her attention with his ex-brother in arms.

George’s only consolation was that Shepard looked even more uncomfortable than he was stuffed in the cozy corner booth.

Dana seemed oblivious as she ordered an apple salad and vegetarian spring rolls. George stuck with his favorites. Gumbo Ya-Ya and barbequed shrimp. Shepard said ditto , so George added a round of Mr. B’s famous Creole bread pudding with Irish Whiskey sauce.

When the waiter left, Dana was the first to break the awkward silence. “So, what couldn’t you say over the phone?”

George gave a nod in Shepard’s direction. “You were right to put LaSalle on point. She doesn’t miss a thing.”

“What’d she find?” he asked .

“She ran every case Lena flagged as a match in the last twenty-four months to your parameters.”

“Missing organs and/or TNCs, sorry, trans-nasal craniotomies,” Dana clarified for Shepard’s benefit.

George nodded. “Two of the Jane Does share DNA markers with one of the Harvest Girls.”

Dana’s pretty brown eyes widened. “Is that enough to get the Harvest Girls case attached to the BAU’s Casquette Girl case?”

“At my recommendation it is,” George said with a grin.

“Oh my God!” Dana flung her arms around him. “That’s the best news!” She pulled away much too quickly for George’s liking. “Wait, does that mean you identified two of the Jane Does in the Casquette Girls case?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes. Chloe St. James and Veronica Richards. Second cousins of Elizabeth Barton.”

“What are the odds?” Jake asked.

“It’s hard to say. Bloodlines run deep here so it could be nothing more than coincidence.” Jake and Dana exchanged wary looks. “But I know how Dr. Gray here feels about coincidence.” George winked, which made Shepard look like he was about to start spitting teeth.

Dana squirmed between the two men, fighting for whatever space she could in the booth that was clearly meant for two. “How come the DNA never matched before?”

“The Harvest Girls are classified as missing persons. No criminal history, so nothing in the database to reference. LaSalle went the extra mile. Looked up birth certificates, medical history, and bingo,” George said, draping an arm along the booth behind Dana.

He had no trouble laying his flirting on thick despite the daggers Jake was shooting him.

“You were right, Gray. I think there might be more to uncover on the Harvest Girls.”

“What’s next?” Dana asked.

“I think it might be worth talking to the families after all. We’ll start with the Bartons and see where that leads. Assuming the BAU shares our sentiment.”

Just then, their waiter returned with a bucket of champagne. Jake’s eyebrows rose. “A little premature to be celebrating, don’t ya think?” he grumbled.

“I didn’t order champagne,” said George.

“I did,” came a gravelly voice. A salt and pepper haired man sauntered over to the table in an expensive blue suit—shoulders broad, hair cropped enlistment short. George recognized the ex-Army officer instantly.

“Richter!” Dana shrieked. “You’re here!”

“You think I’d let my favorite duo have all the fun without me?”

Shepard slid out of the booth so Dana could throw her arms around the iron-jawed man.

When she released him, Shepard shook his hand.

George stood up and followed suit. He, of course, knew who Richter was, but it’d been a while so he made the introduction anyway. “Detective Vincent Flynn George, NOPD.”

“That’s a mouthful, son. Can I just call you Flynn for old times’ sake, or will you be calling me Supervisory Special Agent Grant Richter, FBI?”

“George is just fine,” replied George, grinning at the old battle axe.

He hadn’t trained under the man directly, but their paths had crossed in the Army.

More than that, George’s father and Richter had their own history.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, sir. You’re early. Where’s the rest of the BAU?”

“Who knows? Probably getting their bottoms powdered,” Richter muttered, pulling over a chair. “We fly commercial now,” he said jauntily, passing out the four glasses of champagne the waiter had expertly poured before slinking away.

“What happened to the jet?” asked Dana.

“No-sack!” Shepard and Richter said in unison, clinking glasses at the inside joke.

“They’ll be here at sun-up,” Richter said with a sigh. “I wanted a few hours to dig in the old-fashioned way before the young guns start talking algorithms and anarchy.” He raised his glass in the air. “To getting the band back together. And new members,” he amended, nodding in George’s direction .

They all clinked and drank. “So,” Richter said. “I’m famished. Did you already order?”

As if summoned, their waiter appeared. “What can I get for you, sir?”

Richter pointed to Shepard. “I’ll have what he’s having. No offense, Gray. I still don’t know how you live on rabbit food.”

“Healthily,” she said with a grin.

That egged the two Feds on as intended. George had no choice but to take a backseat on his first, and definitely failed, attempt at an official date with the intrepid Dr. Dana Gray.