The Hill - BLACKBIRD book 5

7. room with a view

**picture: skyline - Savannah GA

Their accommodation turned out to be a pretty two-story B&B near the river, in Savannah downtown. Only half a dozen rooms on the second floor and a back garden with a swimming pool.

The owner, a big, nice sixty-year-old woman, came out from behind the counter when the three SUVs drove into the parking lot. A minute later, the team walked into the reception area and met the woman's bright smile.

"Welcome, y'all! I'm Greta," she said.

Gillian stepped up to shake her hand. "Hi, Greta. I'm Reg Gillian, nice to meet you."

"Come, come, let's see how y'all wanna sleep." Greta led Gillian to the counter and showed her a diagram of the second floor, where she pointed at the different rooms as she spoke. "These three are single. These two have twin beds put together to make a king size. And this one has only a king size. There's one room left down here, and it's the one I kept for 'your stuff', as you requested."

Gillian felt as if the others had turned into owls to perch on her shoulders and peek at the diagram. She winked at Tanya.

"Looks like you're getting a room all for yourself, T." She turned to Greta. "We need the twin beds pulled apart at both rooms, please. The rest are just fine as they are. May I have the keys?"

"Sure thing." Greta handed all the keys to Gillian and flashed another nice grin. "The kitchen's down the hall. You can help yourselves anytime you want. Or just let me know if you want a bite. As long as I'm around, I'll be happy to cook for you."

"You mean real food? Home-made food?" asked Ron.

"You bet, gorgeous."

"Greta, would you marry me?"

The woman patted Ron's hand on the counter. "Sure, love. As soon as you get rid of that golden thingie around your finger."

Brock arched his eyebrows while the others laughed. Even if somebody else picked their lodging, somehow the punks always gravitated to places where their ways were welcome and even indulged.

"Al, please check us all in. Lads, set up the one-oh-one. We're meeting in twenty," said Gillian. She handed keys to Russell and Brock, gave the rest to Aldana and headed to the stairs.

Brock and Russell followed her to the second floor, while Greta went looking for her two employees to help her fix the double rooms.

"Where are we gonna work, Reg?" asked Russell.

Brock paid attention, curious. He could tell there were no other guests at the inn, and it looked like the team meant to make it their basecamp. Gillian's reply confirmed it.

"Here, Russ, close to our beds, to crash whenever we need to."

"You don't work at our field offices or a police station?" asked Brock.

They reached the second floor and she paused to smile at them. "We got used to this working for CT. Our presence can be upsetting for people, 'cause it means something horrible may be about to happen. So we like to keep our distance, be left alone to do our thing without people asking and gossiping around. Russ, you room's the last door on the left. Sir, yours is the last one on the right."

"Not on the garden side?" asked Russell, at the brink of pouting.

Gillian scoffed. "You got the big bed, champ. So Agent Brockner and I get the view to the garden. See you downstairs in twenty."

She smiled at them one last time and headed to the opposite end of the short hall. Brock and Russell started to their rooms.

"View to a garden, swimming pool. Why didn't we work like this when we were on the road, Brock?"

Brock raised his eyebrows. "Because we never even thought about it?"

"Yeah... Guess we're too proper feds to come up with something like this."

* * *

Brock's room didn't have the king-size bed, but the iron queen-size with its nine-inch mattress looked inviting right from the door, covered with a fluffy white comforter and half a dozen throw-pillows. There was a nice wooden armchair under the window and a low chest of drawers with a mirror on top of it. The window was open behind closed wooden shutters, to keep the morning cool during the hot hours. It looked like the guest room of a family home: nothing luxurious, but cozy and welcoming.

He dropped his duffel on the bed and loosened his tie. Because he didn't feel like wearing his suit in that warm humidity. Especially in the privacy of the inn, around the punks with their Bermuda pants and their Hawaiian shirts.

As he took off his suit, he thought that all in all things were going better than expected. Gillian hadn't shut him out completely, and she'd even shared her thoughts about the case. Brock didn't trick himself into believing her civil ways meant the air was clear between them. All the way around: it only meant she'd walled up so tight and high, that she was able to treat him as if nothing had happened.

He zipped his suit cover with a sigh. Step by step, Brockner. The first obstacle—meeting again—was overcome. Now it was time to work on the case and let things flow their own way.

At the other end of the hall, Gillian kicked off her boots and jeans, humming a Perfect Circle song. She didn't want to keep thinking about things, but rather enjoy her relief. She'd never expected to see Brock again so soon and like this, so out of the blue. And over the two-hour flight, she'd realized she'd spent the last months so lost in her private ramblings about him, she'd almost forgotten who he really was—an old school gentleman who would never even mention her unforgivable outburst three months ago.

So she could let excitement take over at the thrill of working with him again, and taste in advance the pleasure of following the exquisite way his mind had to dig and drag any dark spot into the light.

She couldn't afford to go any further. She already knew all too well it was a dead end. Yeah, she loved him. Yeah, she'd jump his bones on the spot. But she wasn't about to let it come in the way ever again.

He knew how she felt and he was there anyway. She needed to take this chance to let her feelings grow up and give herself a break.