+18 - eps 22-27 - A case takes Russell and Brock to the brink of death. It'll be up to Gillian and the team to rescue them before they're killed by a white supremacist militia. And in the aftermath of the Paris attacks, the threat of a bio attack fo...
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Brock and Fred hurried to the SUVs as Gillian brought Sarah Murray, who was still crying her heart out. Brock noticed Gillian had turned off her radio when he saw her talk to the woman and heard nothing through his earphone. Gillian took the woman to Fred's SUV and made her climb to the backseat.
"Take'er to our field office," she said to Fred. Then she turned to Brock, ignoring his concerned scowl. "We need the CDC here. There's more stuff in her car." She gave him the car keys. "It's the silver Chevrolet parked just outside the gates."
Fred honked and drove away. Gillian turned around and headed back to the child's grave. Brock didn't follow. It was plain to see the whole situation had gotten to her, and she needed a while alone to pull herself together.
So he called Russell and went to the woman's car. Russell was there with two CDC agents only ten minutes later.
"Everything okay at her house?" asked Brock, as they stepped back to a safe distance to let the CDC agents search the car.
"Yeah. They found a couple of tricky things, but they took care of everything right away. What about here?"
"Fine."
Russell knew Brock was keeping something to himself. But since it most likely was about Gillian, he didn't insist.
Soon one of the CDC agents waved at them to come closer and showed them the large packs of small water bottles in the trunk of the car. About a hundred tampered bottles, ready to be placed in wait for new victims of Sarah Murray's insanity.
The bottles didn't need special handling, so the CDC agents took the packs to Russell's SUV and they got back in.
"See you at the inn," said Russell, starting the engine.
Brock waited for them to leave and then walked in no hurry to the boy's grave. Gillian was there, as he expected. She stood before the headstone, sunglasses on, hands back to her pockets. She'd put in place the vase with the fresh flowers. He stood by her side and they remained in silence for a long moment.
"It's such a terrifying thought, that we can lose our children," she murmured.
Brock only nodded.
"I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to Connor." She sighed. "Die right after him just outta grief, I guess... But what this woman did..."
He couldn't help himself. "That's why you took every possible risk to make a simple arrest?"
Gillian's lips pursed at the brink of a smirk. There he was, her stupid caring man. Almost back to bitter.
"Not my first rodeo, sir," she replied softly. "And I knew you and Fred had my back."
Brock kept scowling but didn't insist. He didn't feel like having an argument.
To his surprise, she shrugged. "Maybe you're right," she said in a thoughtful tone. "I did wanna punch her, shoot her, hurt her. So I guess I settled for contempt." She sighed again and nodded at the headstone. "We should see that Jesse gets some wildflowers now and then."
"His father will take care of it."
They kept quiet for another long moment, until she shook her head with a bitter grimace.
"You know? Wildflowers are my favorites..." she muttered.
Brock felt the twitch in his guts. The death thought was right there—would somebody bring me wildflowers when I'm six feet under? And he couldn't have her talking about her own death. Not when they still hadn't talked about life.
"They're waiting for us," he grunted. He needed her away from graves and broody thoughts.
Gillian nodded but didn't move until he took the first step. Then she followed him without a word down the cool, quiet lane.
