#youlikeit - BLACKBIRD book 1

10. thanks for leaving

**picture: North End, Boston

Gillian narrowed her eyes.

Brock hurried to add, "But I agree about the killers being young females."

It was so damn odd. Just like that noon at Boloco, a few words from him and her mind seemed to step on the gas. Of course that was what that picture was all about! The killers had never meant it to go viral, else they would have posted it themselves—to get arrested right away. They'd reported to that damned ghost user, the cunning bastard not even Tanya had been able to track down yet. And the ghost user had decided to kindly share it with the world.

Gosh, the man was razor sharp. No wonder he was the best in his field.

"You should check the security footage from the alley's access after the body was found. The killers may show there. It wouldn't be unusual that they revisited the place, both to relive the thrill of the killing and to make sure their deed was getting attention."

She almost gawked and turned to her computer. Tanya took the call right away. "T, get me some TV coverage from this morning," she said, trying to not sound as excited as she actually was.

"On it." Tanya went on as she kept working. "By the way, there are at least two secret Facebook groups for Johnson's haters. Connor was invited to both after beating him up, so now we're checking them. There you go, call me if you need anything else."

"And you call Kurt if you need more help."

"Nah. He had a rough battle scheduled for tonight. Connor and I got it covered. Laters."

Brock sipped his whiskey, studying her as she opened the files Tanya had just sent her. He could tell she had both intelligence and good police instincts, working along with years of experience. She was the leader of a team with at least a couple of agents and she knew how to handle authority, in order to have that girl willingly working from home when it was past ten.

Despite the formal and respectful way in which she'd addressed him at all times, her way to behave with everybody else seemed to be completely informal, to an extent he didn't quite like. But she didn't seem to have any problem recognizing other people's expertise. She'd read the crime scene like an open book, yet his suggestions didn't bother her at all. Rather the other way around. She expected him to point out anything she might have missed.

She played a video, muting the volume. It was the same coverage he'd watched at the hotel. He didn't need to watch it again, so he kept observing her instead. And he saw her eyes widen with a spark of realization as she paused the video.

"There," she muttered, fighting hard to not jump on Brock to hug him and kiss him, as she spotted the three girls giggling just a few steps behind the reporter.

Brock only needed a glance at the screen to confirm she was talking about the right persons. Gillian turned to him, trying to find her voice. He just raised his eyebrows—there you go—and she was already calling Tanya again.

"T, the first video," she said, struggling to keep her awe at bay. "Go to minute two-twenty, the three girls on the reporter's left. I need names."

Tanya tried to say something, but Gillian disconnected to face Brock again. He was sipping his whiskey, flicking through her folder.

"Thank you," she said, taking him completely aback.

He glanced up at her with one of his curt nods and killed his drink. "Glad to be of help," he replied flatly, closing the folder. He stood up, produced his wallet, ignored her when she tried to stop him and left a bill under his empty glass. "Good night, Lieutenant."

And Gillian was left again at a table, watching him stride out and away. This time she reacted fast enough to pick up her stuff and hurry out after him, her mind still a swirl.

"Agent Brockner!" she called, seeing he was already opening his car.

He waited by his open door, his scowl back in place.

As Gillian circled his car, she realized she had nothing to say to him, no reason at all to call him out like that, or keep him from leaving. She felt utterly stupid and puzzled at the same time. So she could only stretch her hand out to him.

Brock was about to ask if she was kidding him, but he read the confusion in her bright blue eyes and shook her hand.

Gillian met his dark, piercing stare, already expecting the chill that ran down her spine at the brief touch of his hand. "Thanks, sir," she said, almost stuttering. "Thank you so much. I'm really sorry for any inconvenience I may have caused you."

She knew she sounded like a stupid fangirl asking for an autograph, and that was exactly how she felt. So she stepped back, spun around and hurried to her car, cursing herself.

Brock watched her drive away, taken aback once more.

Gillian stepped on the gas, still cursing herself and feeling so stupid. Surely the damned man would be laughing so hard at her right now—well, not laughing, with that face carved in stone, but sure as hell he at least despised her. How could she—?

Her phone buzzing forced her to put her self-contempt on hold to take the call.

"T," she grunted.

"Reg, I think I found the girls, but—"

"But what? Did you identify them or not?"

"There's something else here, Reg. The victim? Looks like he assaulted them."

"What d'you mean assaulted them?"

"He raped them, Reg."