Page 110 of Floodgates

He nodded. “And I should have.”

It hit me then that waiting for Breckin’s little sister to find an old yearbook was a waste of time. Surely Lucien was a quicker source. “Lucien.”

“Yes?”

“Would you happen to have a picture of Turi in your wallet?”

“I do.”

Of course he did. “May I see it, please?”

Immediately he pulled his wallet from the breast pocket of his suit jacket. Inside, tucked in the compartment right behind his driver’s license, was what must have been a senior-class picture of Turi Carrera.

The tuxedo jacket Turi was wearing was terrible: dark royal blue with a black collar. Underneath, the pale-blue ruffled shirt was even worse, but the teenager himself was very handsome. He actually bore more of a resemblance to my brother Alex than to me, but even that was merely superficial, as I had assumed. He had dark eyes and brows, strong features, broader than mine, and thick black hair. Had he allowed himself to become a man, he would have been gorgeous. He was one of those guys you knew would get better with age. The awkward duckling would have become a swan. It was quite a compliment to be compared to him, but the similarities were fleeting.

“He had a nice face,” I said gently, smiling at Lucien as I returned the picture.

“Yes, he did.”

I cleared my throat. “But I’m not him, no matter how much you might like that.”

He furrowed his brows. “No, I know.”

“I just want you to be sure you see me and not him.”

He nodded. “I do.”

“Okay.” I squeezed his shoulder.

Lucien turned sideways then and put his arm around me, clutching my waist. I was going to say something, but Cord did it for me, appearing out of thin air.

“Move your hand,” he warned coldly.

Lucien stepped back. “I apologize, Inspector. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Cord nodded, but he took hold of my wrist and drew me close, turning me into his larger frame. I put a hand on his abdomen and leaned my head into his shoulder.

He rubbed his chin in my hair as Lucien excused himself.

“You scared him,” I whispered, inhaling deeply, drinking in the smell of soap and a trace of rain and musk.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he grumbled. “He should never think that touching you is okay.”

“This possessive side of you is kind of hot,” I teased. “But with me, you never have to worry.”

“I know,” he said softly, his voice husky.

Looking up at him, I saw his jaw muscles flex. “So, what did you have to go over with the chief?”

“I just wanted to make sure he vetted everyone who was going to be working with him for the next couple of days. There is other crime going on, even in this tiny little burb, so he’s bringing in some outside help.”

“I see.”

“So, have you seen any good art?”

“Nothing I feel the need to take home.”

“I’ll walk around with you.”