#youlikeit - BLACKBIRD book 1

12. distracted

Brock woke up early as usual and made breakfast, pondering about whether to call Burton again. The Section Chief hadn't called him back, just like he expected, and he hadn't insisted. But maybe he could catch him on his way to his office, and Burton would have no choice but talk to him. He took his phone and pulled up Burton's number. His finger hesitated right before dialing. Burton wouldn't take the call when he saw it was him.

He had no choice but to go to the Hoover Building and sit outside Burton's office until the man showed up. Fine, he had nothing to do—except packing and getting his apartment ready for a six-month absence, and hell if he was doing it. So to downtown it was.

He turned on the TV to the morning news and went to his room to get dressed. He was fastening his tie when the reporters brought up what was on Boston's every headline that morning: how the Special Crimes Unit's investigation had uncovered an unexpected, shocking twist in the case of the teenage quarterback murder.

He took his suit coat to the kitchen and poured himself a tea, watching the report. He recalled Gillian telling him about this.

"We have at least fifteen minors abused by the victim, including the three killers, about as many adults involved in covering it up, some of them outstanding citizens from health and education areas, and half a dozen rich boys who witnessed many of the assaults. So I'm gonna be up to my neck as soon as I step back in my office, and soon probably suspended without pay, according to my boss' habit every time I nail a bad guy. But that's just a day at the office, right?"

A soft click from the front door startled him, and he found himself reaching for a holster that wasn't there, and hadn't been there for six years.

"Dad?"

Andrea? His daughter popped her head in, saw him coming and walked in.

"Hey, what're you doing here? What happened?"

She shrugged, dropping her school bag on the couch. "The regular pranksters messed up the water supply, so they sent us home for the day. I've been calling you, why didn't you pick up? I was worried, that's why I came."

Brock fished through his pockets for his phone, then spotted it on the breakfast bar.

"Did you have breakfast?" asked Andrea. "'Cause I can have a second one."

She paused before the TV while Brock checked his phone. It was muted.

"What the hell?" he grunted under his breath. How had he changed it to silent mode? He had three missed calls: two from Andrea, the first one from Burton.

His daughter circled him and the bar to go to the kitchen, while Brock stood there, still scowling down at the phone. "Excuse me, I gotta make a call," he muttered.

Burton's number skipped straight to voice mail, and his secretary said he would be busy at least until noon. He didn't bother to leave a message. Andrea saw him coming back and nodded at the TV.

"Have you seen that, Dad? Looks like that murdered boy was a total rat."

"Yeah, I heard something about it when I was there."

"So how did it go yesterday? Where are they sending you?"

Brock hesitated. "Massachusetts. But I don't know if I'm going, Andrea."

The girl spun around and shot a questioning frown at him. He tried to come up with some answer but she didn't give him a chance. She strode up to him and threw her arms around him. He hugged her back, puzzled.

"Please, Dad, don't do this to yourself," she whispered.

Her words took him completely aback.

Andrea looked up at him and grimaced. "I'm not a little girl anymore, you know, I see things. This is about Georgia."

Brock could only hold her eyes in shocked surprise.

"You can't keep punishing yourself for what happened, Dad. I know you loved her, you still do, but d'you think she'd be happy if she saw you now?"

It was such a cheap trick, but coming from his daughter, there was no way he wouldn't fall for it.

"Please, take this new post. Do it for me, if you want, but please do it."

"Why would you want me to go, Andrea? It's a six-month assignment, and I don't wanna be away from you for so long."

"Didn't you say you'd be coming every month to see me?"

"Yeah, but anyway—"

"And I can go over to see you, right? You know I'd like to visit Boston."

Andrea winked. Brock narrowed his eyes.

"You cheater."

"Promise you're going."

"So you can come visit me."

"No, you silly, because I want you to try something new. Georgia used to say that changes are always good. Remember when you and Mom decided to sell our old house? I was whining 'cause we wouldn't have a garden anymore. Georgia found me crying over it. And she told me all that about changes being always good, and the park near my new house, and how I would meet a lot of new friends there and have a lot of fun. And she was right."

Brock noticed that he was smiling back at Andrea. Yeah, that was Georgia, always finding a bright side to everything.

"Then go, Dad. Find the park nearby, meet new friends."

Brock studied her, suddenly aware of how mature her words were, how much she'd grown up. Not a child anymore, not his baby girl, but a smart, sweet little woman, throwing nothing but the truth in his face.

He knew he was doomed when Andrea's next question was if he was going anywhere that morning and he answered, "No, I'm free until Monday."

Andrea's eyes slid to the TV behind him and she giggled. He glanced at it and saw Gillian dodging reporters with two of her agents, on their way out of the police station.

"See? There are not only universities in Boston, there are also hot cop chicks."

Brock frowned at Andrea, who elbowed him with a wink. He chuckled, shaking his head. He'd better never tell her that the hot cop chick also happened to be Blue Label.