#youlikeit - BLACKBIRD book 1

10. the best compliment

Brock held her bright blue eyes. How did this woman come to be such an avid reader, even a student, of the training manuals he'd written? And her words showed she didn't only stick to his material, but consulted other authors as well. Yet she kept his manuals as her most reliable source of information on the matter. And the genuine respect for him that she didn't bother to hide. That was why she'd addressed him right there, back in August. There was also a quality of honesty in her respect that made it even more valuable. She believed in criminal psychology as an effective tool, and she believed in him as a profiler.

Maybe you weren't popular.

That was why she'd been cold and distant at her office. Because she'd never be embarrassed by shaking his hand or talking to him in front of whoever might be around. So she'd taken true offense because he had pretty much ignored her back then. He could see she expected him to keep talking, and realized he was more than willing to do it. The dialogue flowed so fluent between them. Brock told himself he was a Fool with capital F, letting half the time he'd stay in Boston pass by before getting in touch with her again.

She was about to speak when her phone buzzed. "Russell. Not coming," she foretold, picking up. "You stinky ass, I'm not taking your damned burritos to go," she said, not giving Russell time to speak. She listened and rolled her eyes. "Of course we are. At four. Bye." She frowned. "Nope, you stood me up, don't love you anymore."

Brock wasn't surprised at hearing her, 'cause this wasn't the first of their phone conversations he'd witnessed. He invested that little time in finishing his salad, knowing she was about to make him talk till his tongue dropped dry.

And he was right.

"Team dynamics?" she said as soon as she disconnected, and sank her fork into her salad.

So Brock told her about it while she ate, nodding with a slight frown. Absorbing his every word. When he was done, her empty fork drew little circles in the air.

"So you mean the sexual sadist is the dominant, that manages to have his submissive partner work for him, bring him prey, clean up after him."

"Parenting," Brock said. "If this is the case, they're most likely related—a spouse, an actual parent, a sibling, maybe even a son. And the dominant's power would feed on the submissive by both love and guilt, or fear."

Gillian nodded slowly, taking in his words. "And maybe, when they lack a piece of their collection, the submissive takes the boss for a ride to the city scheduled for that day, so he can pick his new victim firsthand."

"That would make sense, 'cause the submissive is not likely to have the social skill to engage in conversation with a girl, and charm her enough to lure her to his vehicle, or whatever ruse they're using to abduct them."

"I need coffee," she said out of the blue, dead serious. "You make me think, Agent Brockner. I need to stay sharp if I don't wanna fall too far behind you."

Brock nodded with a quick little smile, thinking she'd just made one of the best compliments he'd ever received as a professional.

When they were leaving, she grabbed Russell's untouched lunch.

She was about to step out in the rain when he stopped her. "Where's your car, Lieutenant?"

"Two streets away."

"Want me to go bring it?"

"No, thanks, I was going to tell you to wait here, to keep the rain from ruining your suit." Gillian never allowed anyone else to drive her car if she was there, but she didn't need to be rude with such an elegant excuse at hand.

Brock shook his head. He took off his suit coat and held it over their heads. Gillian looked up at him, wondering if he was kidding.

"Shall we?" he asked.

He wasn't kidding—he was just old school. So he walked all the way on the curb side of the sidewalk, holding his suit coat to cover them both from the rain.

Gillian played along, because she found his gesture just too sweet to decline. She felt a chill when he stretched his arm past her shoulders and matched her pace, walking very close to her but without touching her at any moment, his cologne wrapping around her with its subtle, sober scent. And of course, right after the chill, she felt hopelessly stupid.

At the parking entrance, they saw an old homeless man curled up in a corner, seeking shelter from the rain. Gillian poked him softly and gave him the food Brock had bought for Russell. She waved at the parking employee and led Brock to her car as she made a call. Brock heard enough to figure out she was asking some kind of social service to come pick up the old man and take him to a shelter.