+18 - eps 28-32 - On the sixth installment of the Blackbird series, Cassidy sends Gillian and her team with Brock and Russel to Tampa, Florida, to look into the death of a girl while winter storm Jonas beats the East Coast. But this seemingly ordina...
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She was back in a heartbeat with her tablet and gave it to Brock. While he scrolled down Irene's Instagram timeline, his eyebrows coming up and down depending on the picture, Gillian filled their mugs with fresh coffee and took one to Tanya. Mostly because if she looked up, she'd find his eyes. And if she looked down, the buttons to his pajamas shirt seemed to call her out. Which came to add to being alone with him in the kitchen, and the rain tapping on the window, and the shattering thunder out there, and... Yeah, better bring T some coffee. She couldn't linger in the 101, but at least she'd have about a minute to get a better grip on herself.
Brock was about to join them when she came back to the kitchen. He would've rather been with Tanya around, as a lousy excuse to keep his libido in check. Not easy at all, alone with Gillian in her sleeping outfit. Which suited her so fine in other ways than the obvious. It was so her. Male pajamas bottoms, rolled up so she wouldn't step on it, and one of those informal-but-feminine tops she always wore. Only this one's collar was... more than inviting, Brockner?
He swallowed a sigh, because that was a light way to put it. And to make it worse, she moved their mugs to make room and bring her collar closer to his height when she sat on the counter, her bare feet hanging loosely until she crossed her ankles.
"What d'you think, sir?" she asked.
That I'd lock the door and have you right here. Oh, she'd nodded to the tablet. He arched his eyebrows. Drat. "That you're right. But you already have your own ideas about it..."
He saw her lower her eyes from his face and waited. The way she frowned, she was looking for the right words.
Meaning the right words not to ask, 'Can I undo those pretty black buttons to your pretty black pajamas?' She cleared her throat and grimaced.
"I don't like how this looks, sir," she said. You've got too much clothes on. "When I put together their rush to give Irene's child away, and then to retrieve her body, as to erase anything that could track back to the baby..."
He stepped back to rest his hip against the counter, leaving Gillian out of the reach of his fidgeting hands, and folded his arms. Tight. Just in case.
"You mean the secret you think Senator Graff wants buried with her."
She sighed. "All the lies, sir... Why tell us she was an addict that got unwillingly pregnant partying outta rehab? How can a mother say such a lie about her dead daughter?"
"Maybe the lie, no matter how bad, is better than the truth they're trying to hide," he said.
"That's what I think. There's not a single picture showing her pregnant on her regular accounts. But you saw it, her alternate account is all about it..."
"So her pregnancy wasn't to be shown off officially on social media."
Gillian huffed. "Twenty-first century, for God's sake! What's wrong with a girl of age being pregnant? I mean, even the Bible's Belt Tea Party can stomach Graff's niece with a baby!"
Brock held her eyes. She knew what felt off about it, but for some reason she couldn't bring herself to say it. Which was odd. She understood the meaning of his silence and shook her head again.
"Did you see the post about 'making him pay'?"
"She's talking about the baby's father."
"I think so. And the one about the baby's name?"
"She wanted to call him 'Liam', but he wouldn't let her."
She nodded with another sigh. "Liam. That's one fine Irish name," she said, almost casual. "It means 'good-willing warrior' and 'protector'. High hopes on a baby boy to have a good, strong heart." Brock didn't bother to nod, so she went on. "It's also the short for William," she said. "And it's weird he didn't want Irene to use it, being a name that runs in her family."
When Brock scowled, she took her turn to raise her eyebrows.
"Irene's older brother is William..."
"And her uncle, the Senator..." muttered Brock.
"And Irene's grandfather. It's the traditional name for the family's firstborn son of each generation."
Brock looked away from her and sipped his coffee to overlook the chill that ran down his spine. He felt the pieces of the puzzle click in place. Nothing of the usual, addictive thrill. This time, it felt like a cold well in his belly. Because it wasn't only the best answer to all of Gillian's questions about the shady edges around the case. It even answered the questions they were still to ask. But he needed to be sure. He looked up at her again, and she could've been naked, for all he cared. "I need to see pictures of the family."
