+18 eps. 17-21 - After a hard case that takes the team to DC in order to catch a blackhat and prevent a bombing, all hell breaks loose on their return to Boston , when the ghost of the Libra killer comes back to torture Brock seven years after the m...
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Gillian already had the chili, and looked for the raisins when she heard the high pitched voice of a woman from behind the shelf. "Declan! Really! Looks like we're destined to meet here!"
She scowled up, her death glare meant to drill a hole through the shelf.
"Why didn't you call me if you were in town? Mean Declan!"
A chill ran down Gillian's spine at the plummy tone and the way the woman tried to sound sexy, young and thrilled, all at the same time. To greet Brock. She spun on her heels and headed to the nearest end of the shelf, paused a step before walking into the wines aisle, flashed an evil smirk and turned it into a casual, unaware smile. Then she went on.
"I came just for a couple of days," Brock replied at the moment she showed up behind him. "Work, you know."
Gillian scanned the woman talking to him. Late forties, dressed as if she was just out of the gym—white leggings and a red tank top, both so tight that they looked more like body painting than actual clothes. Gillian was about to give her that her figure was hot enough for her age to show it off like that, but she refused to. Fake blond hair in a high ponytail, no trace of sweat, and enough makeup and perfume to show she'd dressed up like that only to go to the supermarket. In a heartbeat, she recalled that conversation with Connor, about Andrea being upset because her father was dating a woman she didn't like at all.
"Oh, well, but we definitely gotta have dinner before you leave again. What about tomorrow night?"
Gillian muttered a conspiratorial, "Hum!" and approached them, pretending to read the small plastic bag in her hand. Her voice was the epitome of casual and familiar. "Got the chili, but can't find the... Oh, sorry, didn't mean to intrude."
Gillian had the time of her life at the murderous glare the woman shot at her. Yep. Definitely the woman Andrea didn't like.
Brock turned to her with a mild frown. Gillian, talking to him like that? What was she up to? "Beg your pardon?"
She could tell what that frown meant. Just like she knew it would look perfectly casual to the other woman, like his tone. She met his eyes as if they shopped together every single day, her friendly, casual smile carved in her lips. "No raisins. D'you know where to find them?" Then she turned to Viv. "Sorry, don't think we've met. I'm Reg, nice to meet you."
"Hi, I'm Viv," the other woman replied, synthetic silk in her voice. Her smile twisted a little as she pointed her thumb over her shoulder. "You can find raisins at the next aisle."
Brock observed them both, curious eyes narrowed as they moved from one woman to the other. Had he not known better, he would've sworn they were fighting a silent but bloody battle for rights over territory—him. Which made absolutely no sense at all.
"Oh, thanks!" Gillian turned to Brock as she took a step toward the next aisle. "Should I fetch some chocolate syrup? Andrea ordered it with her ice cream the other night."
Brock and Viv arched their eyebrows, proving how many meanings such a simple gesture could hold. Hers asked, "The other night?" Brock's screamed, "What!?"
She smiled even wider, moving away from them. "Never mind. I'll call her and ask. Nice meeting you, Viv." Then she said to Brock, "Meet me at the register?"
"Sure..." he managed to reply.
He watched Gillian head to the next aisle. What the hell did just happen? Why on earth would she even suggest any of the thousand things she'd implied? Like she gave a damn about his private life! Then he found Viv's eyes fixed on him, her lips pursed in something very close to a pout.
Her voice oozed irony. "Well, guess now I know why you didn't call."
Brock frowned. "What? You mean...?"
She tilted her head, expecting some lame excuse.
One Brock was just about to offer—she's just a colleague, our children are friends, they're leaving tomorrow... Then something rebelled inside of him. He owed Viv no explanations. She was free to fancy whatever she liked. He flashed a quick smile and nodded at the wines.
"Sorry, Viv, but I gotta go now." He grabbed the Californian Malbec. "I can try to call you tomorrow, if you want."
Viv radiated enough toxic fumes to be labeled as biohazard. "Oh, never mind. Looks like you're too busy. Maybe next time."
Brock knew it meant to never call her again and delete her from his contacts for good. Waist down, his body let out a sad sigh. Waist up, he couldn't care less. So he smiled again. "Sure. Take care," he said, as if he actually meant it, and walked away.
