Three Libras - BLACKBIRD book 4

8. personal

Brock didn't hear them chuckle together because he was reporting to Cassidy. About Maine.

He waited for the questions that never came. The hints that never came. The teases that never came. And disconnected with a puzzled scowl, wondering if Cassidy had hit his head or something. Keep me up about that copycat case? Good luck? That was all? What the hell was going on? As if Cooper hadn't called him, claiming for vengeance because Brock had sanctioned their precious Gillian and kicked her out of such an important case! Yet the Section Chief hadn't even mentioned it?

He got into the SUV behind the wheel and watched Russell come, shaking hands and bumping fists again in the best of moods. Yeah. Too good a mood. Just like when he called last night, and he sent over the file. And when they discussed the case this morning on their way here. His only mention about his best friend had been to clarify that she wasn't working the case.

But the punks were. Sure. He'd kicked Gillian out and the punks were willing and happy to work the case under him just the same. No poisonous powders in his coffee, no laser scopes on the back of his head, no bombs wired to his car, no deadly virus in his computer. The merry punks had thrown away their careers after their team leader and now they couldn't care less about her.

Anytime.

All of this could only mean two things. Gillian still worked on the case, but careful to stay under his grid. Or she'd threatened everybody around her with a slow, painful death if they didn't work the case with him. Or a combination of both, which was actually much more like Gillian. That way, she would stay on the loop of every little break they had on the case, and work on it as if she was actually a part of it. As if he'd never sanctioned her. Of course. Because rules didn't apply to Regan Gillian.

"So now what?" asked Russell, climbing in.

Brock started the engine, clenched teeth. "Field office," he grunted. And pray I don't lay eyes on that scheming friend of yours. Or I'll make sure she stays out of my way. For real and for good.

Russell granted him two full minutes to sulk. "Tell me, Brock, how many levels of personal are you gonna make it?" he asked then. Softly. Even friendly.

Brock's angry silence was all the answer he got.

So he smiled, his tone even softer, conciliatory. "Give'er a break, man. It's our town, they're our friends. Can you blame them if they call her for advice? Can you blame'er if she obliges?"

Brock understood Russell talked about Taylor's explanations, overflowing profiling jargon and conclusions not even Russell could deliver with such accuracy. Well, he could rant about that bit, instead. So he did. "She shouldn't go around, voicing her opinions at the first question from a friend," he replied. From her lover, actually, who shouldn't discuss his cases over sex. "She's no profiler."

"But she's no newbie either, Brock. And you gotta give'er that. Have you forgotten that before joining the Bureau, she was a hell of a cop for twenty years?" Russell managed to swallow the mocking smirk trying to purse his lips. "What was it you called her just last month, back in Portland? Oh, yes. A hound who loves the thrill of the chase."

Russell felt the urge to move his legs away when Brock shot one of his worst glares at the passenger's door.

Dammit. It was locked. And Russell had his seatbelt on. No way to launch him off the SUV in motion. Well, maybe later, at the office. Brock could always push him down the stairs. Or out the window.

His outraged silence forced Russell to go on. "And you know she's got it in her. She's got the sharpest mind and the best instincts I've ever seen. But, man, we both know it was you who helped her become the unbeatable hound she's now."

Thank you very much for reminding me it's all on me. Maybe after pushing you down the stairs or out the window, I should jump too. "All I know is that we have a team of sadists on a brutal spree, and not a clue to ID them. So we should stay focused on the case and try to catch them asap."

"I see. That's why you left out an excellent asset, who also happens to be the person who knows this case best."

The stairs and the window now seemed too merciful. Maybe some slow potion? "Can we stick to the case, Coleman?"

"Sorry. You were talking about something else?"

Russell noticed the vein beating in Brock's temple. He'd never seen it before. So he should probably drop it. At least for now. And for his own safety.