Boston Blues - BLACKBIRD book 2

6. nice to meet you

When they came out of the meeting room, they found the office was empty, and the only light still on was Gillian's desk lamp. She filled a report while Connor drowsed against her shoulder. Brock checked the time: it was almost one a.m.

"Where's everybody?" asked Russell, approaching her desk.

"I sent them home for a while. We're starting early tomorrow. I wanna do another search before the banks open."

"You think we missed something?"

"No, but I'm sure this was just a distraction, Russ. Or a trial. The threat couldn't be talking about that joke of a bomb. It proves us right, though, but the real thing's still going down tomorrow morning."

Brock joined them and gave her the list. "Lieutenant, we really need you to check this," he said, a little drier than usual, and swallowed his surprise when she took it, nodding.

"Of course. Hey, Russ, would you give Connor the ride home?"

Russell frowned. "You're staying?"

She flashed a little smile. "Reports to fill, lists to check..." The stupid bitter man standing here like a damned soldier. She poked Connor gently. "Hey, baby, wake up. Russ is taking you home."

Connor sat up, rubbing his eyes and scowling as Russell handed him his jacket.

"Let's go, kiddo."

The boy stood up in autopilot, kissed Gillian's hair and headed out. Russell turned to Brock, noticing he was by the coffee machine, filling a mug.

"You're staying too, Brock?"

"I'm helping Lieutenant Gillian to go through the list," he replied—or she will never do it.

Gillian scoffed, shaking her head.

Russell sniffed the air. "I smell someone's just been profiled dead-on," he said, and winked at her. "Night, guys, have fun."

Fun. Gillian huffed to herself as Russell and Connor walked out. As if being left alone with Brock could fall anywhere within a thousand miles near the idea of fun. She stood up and found him coming to her desk with a questioning scowl—where do you think you're going?

"Fancy a coffee, Agent Brockner?" she asked, and needed to fight back hard one of her stupid smiles when he gave her the mug he'd just filled.

The stupid man had foreseen any possible distraction. And of course the coffee had the exact amount of sugar she liked. He was relentless, but that was one of the things she liked about him.

So she sat back down, muttering, "Thanks." And for the relentless stupid man's sake, she grabbed the list and started reading.

Brock pulled up a chair and sat at her desk, opposite her, while her eyes moved down the page. And as he studied her smart, focused frown, he realized that it was going to be the first time they had anything like a personal conversation.

She sighed, shaking her head. "I know all these names."

"Anyone you think would do something like this?"

"Some of them, maybe. I think we could strike out a few, though."

"Why?"

"Some of them are actually very nice people. The others are real alpha males. They wouldn't waste their time in bragging or whining about."

"Remember this is no classic bomber," he said.

Gillian felt as if he'd slapped her hand with a ruler for not paying attention in class, but her curiosity was stronger. "What are you thinking?" she asked, looking up at him.

"So far, the subject fits the profile of a narcissist better."

She scowled down at the list in her hand. "Which puts those names on top of the list."

"Yes," was all he said, feeling once more the pure intellectual pleasure of interacting with her, so... fulfilling. It was always so odd, that this rogue, reckless woman turned out to be his best student ever, despite she'd never been his student. And she was such a good asset to work with—well, as long as she didn't plan the procedures. But that didn't narrow down the list. So. "Did you work with any of them?"

"With all of them."

"Did you have any kind of problem with any of them?"

"With all of them."

"Any of them resented you for making it to the SCU instead of them?"

"Your list is lacking some hundreds of names in that category, sir."

Brock frowned. He'd never expected her to show off about it, but that was exactly what it sounded like. "Why? You're a good leader. I know how much your team respects you, and I've seen you with your old partner."

Gillian flashed a bitter smirk as she looked straight into his eyes. How come he hadn't seen it? "I'm a woman, Agent Brockner," she replied. "And having King Gillian in the brass doesn't exactly help."

Brock nodded. Not smug: defensive. He recalled reading that her father's political rivals accused him of using—rather abusing—his position to secure her career in the force. And that night at the Baileys' house, Ron had mentioned people saying she'd earned her stripes only thanks to her last name. No matter how surprising it might seem, she'd had to prove herself worthy at every step way harder than all of her colleagues.

His next question was rather obvious. "Then why did you stay in the force?"

Gillian's smirk got wider, knowing he wouldn't like her replying with another question, especially that one. "Why didn't you quit the Bureau six years ago?"

Epic bull's eye, like Brock's scowl showed. He stiffened as if she had just slapped him, wondering how much she knew about what had happened after Georgia's death.

But she didn't expect him to answer. She wasn't being indiscreet or cruel. She just wanted to make her point. "That makes two of us, Agent Brockner. This is what I love to do. I couldn't be anything else," she said, softening her voice as her smirk turned into a mild smile.

Still taken aback and pushed on guard by her question, Brock pointed his chin at the list—can we work now?

Gillian looked down at it and sighed again. He noticed she looked suddenly exhausted. "I'm gonna need more coffee and a quiet while to do this, Agent Brockner. You go home. Promise you'll have the checked list in your inbox first thing tomorrow."

Brock met her eyes and held them for a heartbeat. He knew she would, so he nodded and stood up.