The End - Blackbird book 7

10. stay tuned

**picture: Boston PD dispatch

Tanya's words seemed to wipe away Gillian's bitter rambling, to kick her wide lucid. She spoke as if she were with them at the office.

"T, call the dispatch to issue a warning to all officers on the street, on and off duty. Kurt, call Banks and warm him. Then patch the team through."

Brock scowled, worried at her agitation, and rested a hand on her good shoulder. She snorted, hating to be tied to bed and morphine.

"Fred?" she called.

"Right here, Reg."

"Tell Anna to stay home until we clear her to go out." She looked up at Brock. "Gimme my phone, please."

Her voice gave no room for refusals. Brock did as she asked without a word, knowing she'd seen something the others missed—himself included—and she'd explain it as soon as she could.

Gillian dialed and waited until her call skipped to voice mail. She disconnected upset. "Fred! I can't reach Brian!"

"You mean Hall, with Vice?" asked Ron.

"Yeah. He needs to stay outta the street."

"We'll get'im, Reg. You don't worry."

"Keep us up," said Brock, and disconnected.

Gillian glared up at him. "What're you doing?"

"You cannot be exposed to this stress, Gillian," he said. He realized the I-outrank-you gambit wouldn't work this time, so he softened his tone. "Doctor Cole's on his way here. You don't want him to find your heart rate up like it is now."

She looked away, grimacing. Brock was right, for a change. But how was she supposed to just shut herself out from what was going on?

"Who are the persons you wanted to warn personally?" Brock asked, sitting down.

Now he tried to distract her, but she had no way around it. And since she was in no shape to help the team, it wasn't a bad idea, filling Brock in so he could try to figure the whole thing out.

"Anna is Fred's girlfriend. They live together," she said, forcing herself to speak slow and calm. "Brian Hall runs the DCU—the Drug Control Unit of the PD, what we call 'Vice'. But four years ago, when Fred, Gomez and I worked full time on gangs with the YV—The Youth Violence Task Force—, Brian was our senior."

Brock nodded slowly, with a focused scowl. Gillian could almost see the cogs and wheels turning in that amazing mind of his.

"So you think that's the link between the shootings."

"They dress up like gangbangers, they park their car in gangs' territory, they're shooting cops who work or worked with gangs..." She shook her head, frustrated. "I can feel there's more to it, but I can't think straight with so much morphine in my system." She met his eyes. "You have to go to the office."

"Beg your pardon?"

"They need your wits, sir."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere, Gillian." His mild smile took her aback. "And calling me 'sir' won't make me leave your side."

She couldn't help smiling back. Stupid man! He knew her so well! She did deserve the property tag with his name around her neck.

"I'm fine. And you can help'em catch these kids before they hurt more people..." The way she trailed off screamed the out-of-habit 'sir' she'd just swallowed.

Brock pressed her hand on the bed. "Should I go, I'd be but a nuisance," he said, calm and serious. "Instead of focusing on the case, I'd be wondering whether you're okay, or sneaking out of bed for a coffee, or even trying to escape the hospital." He arched his eyebrows. "So you see, this is where I need to be."

Gillian scoffed and then grunted, taking a hand to her aching chest. Doctor Cole came in then.

"Morning! Didn't expect you to be awake so early. How're you?"

"Starving," she growled.

"Oh, yes, Marge told me. Maybe I can get you a flavored IV?"

Gillian let out another mix of scoff and grunt. "Very funny."

"I'll be outside," said Brock, standing up.

She saw him walk out producing his phone. Damn Brock. He'd call Russell and work on the case while she'd only get more pocking and morphine.