Three Libras - BLACKBIRD book 4

15. the eighth circle

Brock nodded, dead serious. She'd said it, no matter the attitude. And he knew acknowledging her emotions couldn't have been easy for her. That was really why she was so deep into her armor, trying to pick up a fight. But now they could move on.

"It's okay, Gillian. I know you care for me, and I—"

"Oh, please! Spare me the profile!"

Her rough interruption didn't affect his calm, controlled tone to balance her outburst. It would help her get a grip on herself. Else, she would loathe herself to no end for opening up like this. And it was his turn to offer something in return.

"Gillian, I was trying to say that I understand what happened to you. Because it happens to me every time I see you in danger. Which is pretty much every time we work together." There. That. Step by step. Take it in so we can go on. 'Cause I'm just getting started.

She frowned—what? "That's because I'm a woman, and you don't like women on the front line," she replied, annoyed at his silly attempt to rationalize it. They were feelings. They couldn't be rationalized. She didn't want them rationalized. She wanted them—and him—off her system.

He scowled even deeper, not hiding his surprise at her conclusion. "That's not why, Gillian. You know it." Because she had to know he cared about her too. There was no way she didn't.

A beep from her computer gave her the perfect excuse to look away from him, and discard the sudden questions his words threatened to bring up. She checked her computer and scowled. Somebody had just accessed the building's security system. She glanced up and noticed the red light blinking from the camera above the door. There were only two people able to do this—Tanya and Connor. Damn peeps. She hit a key. It launched a worm that would crash the hacker's system. Nice try, lads. Here's a taste of your own medicine.

And then she had no other choice but facing Brock again. He studied her as if she were some kind of mental case. So she arched her eyebrows—now what? And he landed the cherry on top of this awful pie.

"Is it that bad?" he asked, and he sounded truly interested. "Caring about me?"

Oh, well. That was just too much. She yanked the glasses off her face as she stood up, her blue eyes shooting lights and bolts at him, her hands clenched in tight fists. She couldn't punch him. But she would do something way worse to him: telling the truth.

"You mean loving you? Well, you tell me, Agent Brockner! Is it bad that I have you standing here, wearing my favorite of your suits, and instead of fancying some wild night, all I can think about is Wednesday breakfast with you?"

She held his shocked scowl, not giving the last damn about her agitation, that got her almost panting. Because that was it. That was the exact measure of her lack of wits and common sense. That's me for you, Agent Brockner. That's how terribly wrong and stupid I am when it comes to you! Now please take offense and leave me be!

But Brock's shock came basically from surprise. And then his face softened, captivated by those two words: Wednesday breakfast. Because they painted the best picture, one he would've never been able to harbor. And they captured such a broad, deep meaning, implying everything that would take people like them to share breakfast at home on a working day. And it meant so much more coming from her.

His lips pursed in a little smile as he nodded. "Yeah, same here. I think it's called aging."

Gillian was so taken aback by his reaction that she stepped back from the desk. And before her racing heart allowed any coherent thought to take shape, he spoke in the same soft, warm voice she'd never heard from him before. And he smiled wider as he met her eyes.

"Let me buy you a drink, so we can talk about it."

Her lips parted, as she took her turn to stare in shock at him. What!? Then she got it and shook her head, looking away from him. Oh, no! Not in a zillion years! She would never let him buy her the pity drink! She would never have him offer some stupid and rational friendzone to make things easier for both of them at work!

Brock frowned, at a complete loss. No? What did she mean, no? She'd just said—actually yelled in his face—that she loved him. Then why wouldn't she give him a chance to say he felt pretty much the same?

She spun around and went to stand before the outer window, arms folded tightly, her back turned on him. Her voice didn't sound quite firm when she said, "I'm sorry, sir, but I'd really need you to leave now."

Her words were a bucket of cold water on Brock. What? She couldn't want him to leave! Not now! Yet his eyes did nothing but tell she actually meant it. Her body language spoke loud and clear to him. She'd geared up in her heaviest armor, and she wouldn't let him in anytime soon. Try to fight his way in would only hurt them both. And Brock didn't want to hurt her anymore. Not after all he'd put her through.

Yet he tried to speak. To let her know he understood that right now she needed time to put herself together. And tell her that he'd be right there, waiting for her, when she felt back in shape and willing to listen to him. To tell her he loved her too.

He tried to say it but she cut him off at his first word—her name. "Please, sir."

She wouldn't give him any room to say anything. And after all what had happened over the last days, she'd earned the right to do so. And he'd more than earned the back she'd turned on him. So he let out a heartfelt sigh and turned to the door.

He paused there to glance back at her. Maybe she'd give him at least a chance to meet her bright blue eyes one last time. A chance to smile at her.

But she stayed by the window, looking out and up at the stormy sky.

And there she lingered when he finally walked out. She didn't bother to wipe away her tears. She thought she should write to Dante, because she'd just found out there was a whole circle of hell he'd forgotten to write about. And it was made of the sound of Brock's footsteps as he walked away from her.

The BLACKBIRD Series
Book 4

THE END

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