+18 - eps 28-32 - On the sixth installment of the Blackbird series, Cassidy sends Gillian and her team with Brock and Russel to Tampa, Florida, to look into the death of a girl while winter storm Jonas beats the East Coast. But this seemingly ordina...
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On her way into the kitchen, Niki Thompson dropped her phone on the island with a dismissive attitude. Gillian pursed her lips at the woman's back and stayed near the door. That kitchen looked like straight from a catalogue, all so white and clean as an operation room. But Niki Thompson wasn't exactly the housewife who spent her days rubbing and polishing. And judging by the size of the house, she needed at least two domestic assistants there around the clock. As to answer Gillian's thoughts, a door opened at the other end of the room and a woman came in.
Niki Thompson turned to Gillian, her face in the exact angle to leave her scars out of sight.
"Do you like any special flavor, Agent?"
"Anything would do, thanks. Agent Brockner likes Earl Grey, though."
Niki Thompson glanced at the other woman, who set to work. She wore an old fashioned maid uniform, one size too big and down to her knees. However, Gillian could tell she was an attractive woman. Not even her loose clothes hid her curves, nor the push-up bra outlining her firm, round breasts. Despite her dull uniform, she looked young and inviting.
Gillian met Niki Thompson's eyes, wondering if she was into that type of women or it was just some kind of revenge—being served by a woman who had everything she lacked.
"Let's go back to your partner, Agent," said Niki Thompson. "The maid will bring us the tea."
The maid, Gillian thought as they walked out of the kitchen. It'd sounded just as if she'd said 'the dog'. Could she hate that young woman any more? Or did she hate herself for her own sexual orientation? Being gay couldn't be easy for a woman her age working for the Tea Party's strong man on the Hill.
Brock stood up when they came back into the room. A glance at Gillian's face told him she was completely focused on Niki Thompson, mapping the woman out in her head. He was a little surprised when Gillian sat on the couch with him. Well, at the other end of it, leaving a notorious gap in between. Niki Thompson sat in an armchair at their right.
Once more, the way the woman faced them left the scars out of sight. She'd invested half her life, ever since the car crash, learning how to hide the ruined side of her face in a way that seemed natural. She'd never accepted her scars. Not even after all those years. Another thing she hated about herself.
Niki Thompson used her most casual way to ask, "What did you say at the door, about Irene and a baby?"
Gillian's lips pursed again—are we really gonna play that game? Before she could say, 'I said the exact words you didn't wanna hear,' Brock anticipated her.
"We found Irene's baby, Liam," he said in his trademark calm and distant tone.
Niki Thompson stiffened for a moment, then grimaced and sighed.
"She was so close..." she muttered.
All of a sudden, Irene's phone records made sense to Gillian. "You didn't keep calling her to try to stop her from going to Florida. You're the one who told her where to find'im."
The other woman glanced at her, then turned to Brock, ignoring her words. "What do you want from me, Agents? I wasn't lying when I said I'm a busy person. I've got a meeting in an hour."
The maid came in with the tea service on a silver tray. She moved without a noise to settle it on a small table near Niki Thompson. She filled the three cups and brought them to the coffee table with a small silver plate with sweet cookies.
Brock held Niki Thompson's eyes while the maid moved around. When she left, his tone had hardened to say, "The Graff brothers are going down for this, Miss Thompson, both of them. Irene's mother too, and everyone involved in what happened to Irene over the last ten years. That includes you. But you still have one last chance to make it right for Irene."
"She's dead, Agent. Nothing can 'make it right' for her."
Despite her passive-aggressive pose, her bitterness was true.
"You might be the only one who ever tried to help her," said Gillian. "Are you letting them get away with it?"
Niki Thompson gifted her with a patronizing smile—so naïve. "They already got away with it. They always do."
"That's what they want everybody to believe," Gillian replied.
"Don't get us wrong, Miss Thompson," said Brock, his voice growing colder. "We do have a case. We arrested Dawson not an hour ago, and you could be next. If you don't want to talk to us now, we'll see you in court."
Niki Thompson scoffed. "You are naïve. The only place your case is going is the paper bin."
Brock's phone buzzed. He checked it and stood up. "Sorry, I have to take this," he said. "Goodbye, Miss Thompson." He turned to Gillian. "I'll be in the car."
As he strode out of the room and on to the street, Gillian stood up and handed her personal card to Niki Thompson.
"Sleep on it. You have until tomorrow noon to give us an answer," she said. "No matter what your master tells you when you meet'im in a while, he should think about a discreet way to leave his bench and avoid the scandal."
Niki Thompson didn't take Gillian's card. She kept looking at her with that dismissive grimace. "He's gonna destroy you if you dare him."
Gillian's smile softened. After all, this woman had lived most of her life under Graff's rule. She did believe he was invincible.
"Destroy me?" Gillian repeated, amused. "Just ask yourself this: how d'you think we know Daryl Ross is actually Liam Graff? The DNA test to establish which man from the Graff family is Liam's father may take a couple of months and a hell of paperwork, but it'll come through eventually. And about destroying anybody, a lifetime of credibility can be destroyed by 140 characters in about a minute. Especially if they're based on evidence available to the public and they include the word 'pedophile'."
Niki Thompson shook her head with a sarcastic chuckle. "You have no idea who you are up against."
Gillian left her card on the coffee table, her smile still gentle and her voice as soft as the silk hiding the dagger.
"Yes, I do. Does he?"
The other woman let out a husky, bitter laugh. Gillian nodded goodbye at her and left. Outside, she found Brock had the engine already running. As soon as she got in the car, he geared in and drove away.
"It was Barnes on the phone, from our Tampa field office," he said, speeding up down the quiet streets.
"Your misogynist fan. I remember him," said Gillian.
"Bennett confessed to Irene's murder."
"That's good news."
"There's more." Brock glanced at her. "He was given a picture of Irene and information about her car model and plate."
"What!?"
"Barnes is looking into it. Somebody paid Bennett $500 to call if he saw her on the Interstate."
