Three Libras - BLACKBIRD book 4

17. only for the coffee

At the staff kitchen, Brock spoke as he moved around out of years of habit. "Do you expect the targets to get in touch with the Ghost today?"

She shrugged. Her hands failed to find the pockets that weren't there, so she folded her arms. "It's a long shot, but we gotta have it covered."

"Then how are you planning to identify and locate him?"

"When we pick up his minions tomorrow."

Brock handed her a steamy mug and rested against the counter, with a nod to invite her to go on.

"As soon as he finds out, he'll come after us. Tanya's mirror will launch a tracking worm within every defense he triggers as he tries to breach the mainframe."

He scowled deeper.

She shrugged again. "Don't ask me more than that. All I know is that something will track back every attack. That's all I got to understand." She met his eyes and recalled his broody stare at Cassidy's office. She didn't want to ask, but this was too important to play proud. "Do you think there's something we're missing or doing wrong, sir?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"It's just that earlier today, at Chief Cassidy's office, I thought... I don't know, looked like there was something you weren't saying."

Oh, that I'd have you around looking like this every day. Your plan? Just fine for me.

He let all that play in his head as he said, "I already told you I think it's a good plan, Gillian." He narrowed his eyes. "What is it still worrying you?"

That I hate it when you get mad at me, and I was pretty sure I hadn't screwed up after this morning's procedure, but you were pissed all the same. True. But not the only thing in her head. Oh, well, we're receiving anonymous messages with the Libra sign painted in blood. Nice.

She shrugged for the third time. "It's just that I can't quite grasp this Ghost, and it really gets to me."

Safe ground. Brock relaxed a little. "You're still wondering about his narcissism."

Gillian would've hugged him and kissed him at the way he always knew what she meant. "He's a weird mix of some nasty definitions. But if we don't know which one will prevail when it all comes down, there's no way to plan a safe way to get him."

"Which 'definitions' do you have in mind?"

"Morning, Brock!"

Gillian turned to the door with something very close to a death glare. Who was this man? Couldn't he see they were having a conversation?

Frank Tremont came straight to shake Brock's hand. "Taking a break from your big case?"

"Not really. We're actually discussing the subject," he replied, dry and cold, with a vague hope of hinting Tremont he was interrupting something.

But Tremont turned to Gillian, wearing what he thought a charming smile, so Brock had to introduce them. The way Tremont's eyes moved up and down Gillian, pausing for a heartbeat on her legs, made him clench his teeth.

"Please, don't mind me," said Tremont, holding her eyes. "I'm only here for a coffee."

He went back to the end of the counter closer to the door, where the coffee machine was, and pretended to focus on setting it to work.

Gillian glanced at him, feeling awkward.

Brock felt awkward too, but before he could suggest they should go to his office, she lowered her voice to resume what she was saying before Tremont's intrusion.

"I can't help thinking of the Wood case."

Brock turned his back to Tremont, to shut him completely out. As if. "Because of the retribution and the plan for a flashy end game." Gillian nodded. "But Wood wasn't a text-book bomber for personal reasons."

"I remember. A paranoid narcissist using bombs as his weapon of choice due to his expertise."

"Yes."

"That's what I'm talking about. I think they're pretty much the same. The only difference is that the Ghost is not choosing bombs because of his expertise. And I can't tell why he chooses bombs. That's what makes me nervous."

Brock could sense how their conversation had caught Tremont's attention behind him. Sure as hell he'd try to recruit her for the BAU at the first chance he got. Focus, Brockner. "You wonder how he will react tomorrow when we knock on his door."

"Exactly. He's organized, patient, sophisticated. How can we be sure he doesn't have one or two bombs already assembled?"

"It figures. You think he'll drop whatever plan he has and do at least a little noise going down?"

"In a blaze of glory, as you use to say."

Brock folded his arms with a thoughtful scowl. Not easy, staying focused, with Gillian's bright blue eyes fixed on him from only three feet away and only three feet above those legs. And Tremont right behind him, registering everything to go tell his friend Grubber. Good thing his mind didn't need his attention to process the pieces of the puzzle.

"Maybe, but not right away," he said.

She wore that slight frown he knew so well. It meant 'give me more.'

So he did. "If he's so good as they say, he'll find your tech's worms trying to locate him. But we agree he's a narcissist..."

"And his reputation is pretty much all he has."

"It could be destroyed if a whitehat beats him in his own turf."

Brock almost smiled at the spark of realization in her eyes.

She gasped, cherishing once more that dizzy moment of understanding Brock always led her to. "That's our window to catch him!"

Tremont let out a muffled cough, as if he'd choked on his coffee. Brock turned to him, raising only one eyebrow—still here?

The man showed his mug as an explanation and met Gillian's eyes. "Sorry, hotter than expected. I'll leave you guys to it. See you."

Brock shook his head at such a bad taste pun. Gillian watched him leave as if he were a caterpillar—maybe there's something pretty in there, but right now you suck.