+18 - eps 22-27 - A case takes Russell and Brock to the brink of death. It'll be up to Gillian and the team to rescue them before they're killed by a white supremacist militia. And in the aftermath of the Paris attacks, the threat of a bio attack fo...
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Ron joined Russell before the sliding door and looked out with him. "That's why you let Brockner go out alone," he said.
Russell nodded, his eyes across the garden on Brock and Gillian.
Ron watched them talk, while Gillian kept her trademark slow pacing. "Are they...?"
"Profiling the subject, yes."
"Reminds me of that case in Portland last summer, when Brockner made her do all the profiling like it was kinda test. And they looked like having a blast out of it."
Russell nodded with a mild smile.
Then Gillian halted and turned to Brock. They looked at each other without a word.
Ron arched his eyebrows. "Man. That looks like some weird foreplay."
"Hopefully."
Ron shot a sideways glance at Russell and scoffed. "C'mon! Profiling porn?"
"I got the convenience store feeds!" Tanya said behind them, from her computer.
"You bet," Russell muttered, his hand on the door to slide it open.
* * *
Gillian stopped sharp to gawk up at Brock, realization taking her over. So she was right? Did they just profile a poisoner? Good Lord, this man! She hoped her face didn't sell out the true dimension of her awe. Still looking into his eyes, she spotted the way his lips pursed, at the brink of a smile, and sensed the most awkward twitch inside. How could this feel sensual? Jeez, she was in urgent need of a shrink, but it did. Ten wild dreams of him wouldn't make her feel like she did now.
Her survival instinct pulled some stuttering words from her mouth. "I... I should..." She moved her hand toward the 101. "...tell them..."
Brock noticed her sudden uneasiness and frowned.
Gillian suffocated a desperate groan, because that combination of frown and smile threatened to turn her knees to jelly every time.
"Reg!"
Relief swelled upon her. God bless Russell! She turned to her friend, who circled the swimming pool toward them, his thumb pointing back over his shoulder.
"T's got the feeds from the convenience store."
"Coming!"
She tried not to run as she hurried away from Brock. On her way to the 101, she thought Russell whispered something like, "Easy, Scully," when she passed by him. Well, no time to argue. She'd get back at him later on, when she was able to come up with a fitting payback.
Brock watched her go with his hands in his pockets. He breathed deep and slow several times, refusing to listen to a single mock from his sarcasm. Profiling with her had always been so compelling, so fulfilling. The thrill of doing what he loved with the only person he'd met—ever since good old Jackson retired—able to keep up with him, and bring in a unique way of processing the information.
