Page 109 of Floodgates

“Cord told us to stay here,” I reminded him.

“He said for us to all stay together and listen to the police,” he argued. “And since they’re coming with us, we’ll be fine.”

“Where are you going?” Lucien asked as he walked up beside me.

“To the old dairy they converted into an art gallery,” Breckin informed me, turning to look at Lucien. “Please come.”

Lucien smiled at Breckin, who suddenly grabbed him and hugged him tight. “I missed you too, buddy.”

It was nice to see them hugging, and when Breckin turned and saw the look on my face, he smiled the smile I had fallen in love with, the one that made his eyes glow.

“You come too,” he said gravely, and when he touched my face and I let him, he got bolder and slid his hand around to the back of my neck and dragged me close. “Say yes.”

And I did.

Once we were all piled into the car, I called Cord.

“What?”

Really, the man’s social skills were for crap. “Meet me at the old dairy that was converted into an art gallery. Everyone is going there now.”

“What did I tell you to do?”

“Yeah, but, I mean, the whole place is emptying out. There would be no one home to guard me against crazed psychopaths.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Nope.”

He growled on the other end.

“Meet me.”

“Fine.”

“And don’t be mad.”

He grunted. “No promises.”

THE GALLERY had a rustic feel to it, and it was really big. As soon as we got there, Breckin and Celia were swarmed by people. I noticed two policemen hovering close around them as well, which reminded me that I wasn’t at home meeting Cord out on a date. Someone was actually trying to kill me.

But no matter how I tried to stay on guard, I wasn’t scared. It seemed like ages since the bathroom incident and the intruder trying to leave me a dead rabbit. Seeing someone outside the window had been alarming at the time, but not really that scary in the bigger picture. Logically I knew that whoever had killed Tim Stanson was dangerous, but if whoever it was had really wanted to hurt me, he could have shot me right there through the glass. Everything I knew about the case was running through my head, and so I decided to remain vigilant, thus turning down the champagne-filled flutes the waiters floated by with.

“So? What do you think of the gallery?” Lucien asked as he reached me.

“It’s nice,” I said, looking for Cord, hovering close to the front door so I wouldn’t miss him.

“I wish I could ask you to dance,” he said, smiling at me.

“Well, that would be odd in the middle of an art gallery,” I reminded him.

He was staring at me.

“Lucien?”

“I’m sorry; you just look so much like Turi.”

“You didn’t tell me that at first.”