+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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A young agent in a flawless suit and sunglasses designed for the Matrix waited for them outside the FBI hangar at Tampa airport. He assessed the group coming down from the Pilatus and automatically assumed who led it. So he ignored Gillian, who stepped out to meet him, and stretched out his hand to his only peer around. He also assumed Brock's scowl was a senior command demanding a sit rep—it never crossed his mind that Brock was shocked at his lack of manners.
"Welcome to Tampa, sir. I'm Special Agent Barnes."
Gillian stood by Brock with a thoughtful look on the young man, as the team gathered around them. Barnes produced three sets of car keys and kept his eyes on Brock as he handed the keys to Gillian.
"Three vehicles as requested, sir."
He missed to notice that Brock's scowl deepened, and the muffled scoffs around when Gillian didn't take the keys.
"Your accommodation is already fixed according to your instructions, sir." Barnes went on, the keys still pending from his hand.
"Including the last-minute changes?"
Barnes tried hard to ignore Gillian's question. But the way Brock arched only one eyebrow bypassed his brain to speak straight to his preservation instinct. He shot a quick glance at her and nodded, his eyes already back to Brock.
"The address is loaded to your GPS, and one of our agents is waiting for you there," he said. "We already emailed all available information on the case to your tech, sir, and the Metro PD will keep the crime scene until you can inspect it." He produced a personal card and handed it to Gillian, always looking at Brock. "Please don't hesitate to call us about anything you might need, sir. We're here to help."
Brock's eyes moved down to the young man's hands, holding the things Gillian hadn't taken, and up again to meet his eyes.
"There's actually something you can do for me, Agent." Brock's voice was so cold it almost altered Jonas' course. "You can apologize to Special Agent Gillian here, Unit Chief of the team in charge of the case, for your complete lack of manners."
Barnes' eyes widened in horror as they moved to Gillian. His jaw loosened and his lips moved, but he needed a moment to find his voice. "I... I'm so sorry, ma'am. I didn't know. Please forgive my roughness."
She lifted her chin a little, and held his eyes in silence until Barnes was about to apologize again. Then she tried to reproduce Cooper's way to arch her eyebrows and bestow a royal nod at minions. Barnes nodded back and stalked away as if the devil was on his heels. Four steps. Then he realized he still had the car keys and his own card, so he had to go back, gave them to whoever wanted to have them—Russell with a mocking smirk—and hurried away again.
Gillian scoffed.
"I'm sorry," Brock said.
"Don't be, sir. You're not to blame for his chauvinist upbringing."
She turned to the team and they started to the three SUVs parked by the hangar. When they finished loading their cases, Russell gave one of the keys to Fred and another to Brock, keeping the third for himself. Gillian made sure Brock had turned his back on them to shot a furious death glare at her friend. Russell smirked again, raising his eyebrows as if inviting her to speak.
"What's up, Scully?" he whispered. "Don't you fancy the ride?"
"You're so gonna die," she replied in the same tone. Then she composed a quick smile and faced Brock, who had already circled the SUV to get in behind the wheel. "Would you give me the ride, sir?"
He nodded with his best blank scowl. "Sure." Too quickly, Brockner.
Soon the three SUVs left the airport to head northeast across the city. Brock turned on the radio and tuned a local news station, so neither of them would feel forced to start a conversation. She liked a quiet drive as much as he did but it wasn't easy for them, being alone and keeping from starting an idle conversation just to avoid talking about Savannah.
Gillian wore her sunglasses and rolled down her window to look out. The tail of the storm had sent some clouds to veil the sky, and the forecast warned about showers and even thunderstorms, but it still was a warm, bright morning, and the sea breeze was refreshing, mixed with Brock's cologne. She didn't want to talk about anything but the case, and she hoped Brock didn't talk either.
As usual, he didn't let her down. They crossed the city from the airport to the North Tampa area in complete silence.
