+18 eps. 12-16 - Gillian and Brock face huge changes in their lives after she leaves the PD and he moves back to DC. But no matter what, looks like they just can't help coming across each other.
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Still sticking to her plan of getting done with it as soon as possible, Gillian headed to the stairs and the upper floor.
Brock followed, right in time to spot Wilson openly inspecting her butt. Oh, well, good for them. As long as they kept it to their free time, they could marry and live happily ever after for all he cared. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and when he checked it, he was surprised to see it was Viv. He rejected the call. It couldn't be anything important. He'd call her later.
He found Gillian in the bathroom of the master bedroom, leaning forward to slide a finger along the tube. A sight Wilson would've appreciated.
"She came here before disappearing," she said, smelling her finger.
That was some wild guess, so Brock asked, "Why would you say that?"
She waved around. "She stopped to pick up her laundry. Then came home, took a bath with aromatic oils, ironed her hair, left all her makeup out here. She was in a hurry not to be late."
Okay, no wild guess at all. He was about to speak when his phone buzzed once more. Viv, again? What could it be, to make her insist? He'd better pick up, or she'd keep calling until he did.
"Sorry, I need to take this," he muttered, leaving the room.
He took the call at the hall, and instantly regretted doing it. Viv was mad because he'd left before the weekend, like he'd said he would. Not giving her a chance to see him one last time. Brock scowled, letting her speak—he knew interrupting her would only made things worse. He'd told her it was the last time they were seeing each other, at least for the month, because he was moving to Boston on Wednesday. Then she'd asked him to delay it and leave on Sunday, so they could have one more date, that she promised to make one to remember. He'd explained he couldn't do it. Obviously, the control freak hadn't even heard that. There was no saying no to her. So she'd just assumed that, because she'd asked him to, he would stay until Sunday.
Brock waited until she needed a pause to breathe, then told her in his calm, controlled way that he was working, and it was not the time for that conversation. He'd call her later and they'd talk it over.
At the bedroom, Gillian searched the victim's clothes in no hurry. When she opened the first drawer, she smirked and produced her phone. Tanya picked up right away.
"Hey, T, take a look at Rose Coleridge's online activity. Check if she was on any dating site or something like that," she said. "Kurt, find out who her ex-boyfriend and her cleaning maid were."
"Got it," the girl replied. "How're things going over there?"
"Oh, like champagne with no glasses, baby."
Tanya giggled, but before she could ask anything more, Brock barked from the door, "Is that your tech, Gillian?"
His tone added the 'it better be', but Gillian didn't even flinch. Brock's reaction at hearing her words had just given her the key to get him off her neck. So she glanced back at him and nodded, putting the phone on speaker.
Brock's chin pointed at it. "We need the names of Coleridge's cleaning maid and boyfriend."
"Already on it, sir," said Tanya.
Gillian's lips pursed in another little smirk as she disconnected—see? no matter what your CARD friends think, we ain't no rookies and you know it damn well, stupid bitter man. Then she took something from the open drawer and met his eyes again.
Brock saw the piece of daring red lingerie and shot a warning glare at her.
She spoke in her plainest way. "The subject didn't hijack Rose in her car: she went on a date with him."
He scowled deeper. She moved the lingerie in her hand—anybody home? "Dumped woman in her late twenties, no boyfriend and a drawer full of this? She was looking for action."
Brock swallowed, fighting his impulse to tell her off about trying to mock him. "So she knew the subject."
"I don't think so. My money is on a first date with an online contact. Tanya's already checking it."
Brock looked away from her to call Russell, while she closed the drawer and searched the closet one last time. Somehow the turning-her-hound-mode-on plan was backfiring, and she was also back to her worst rogue smartass ways from her time in the police. And it was getting on his nerves worse than ever, because he was not used at all at Gillian acting like that with him.
"Coleman, we need to access Christie Reynolds' computer and check her online activity." He disconnected, saying, "We should go back to the station."
They headed back down to the ground floor. Brock knew he needed to smooth things at least a little with Gillian, or the next days were going to be a nightmare for him, struggling not to slap her every time she played the smartass on him. Maybe if he made the first move, some kind of acknowledgement?
"Good job, Gillian," he said, as he followed her down the stairs. "You figured out the date just by looking at her bathroom and the drawers."
Wilson was at the living room like a soldier, within earshot when she replied, "C'mon, Agent Brockner. I'm a divorced woman in my forties. I have three drawers like that back at home." Now try patronize me again, stupid bitter man.
Brock made a mental note to never acknowledge her a damn thing again and noticed pretty Wilson had his eyes fixed on her with a hungry spark in them. He beat the detective to open the front door and hold it for her, growling, "No, Gillian. You've worked homicides for a decade."
