The Reckoning - BLACKBIRD book 3

4. profile for me

Okay, here we go. "So one day Mom is outta the picture. Dead, gone to visit a sister, whatever. And he's finally alone, free to stage his fantasy. So he's just doing it."

"We're still talking about one isolated stressor." C'mon, Gillian, forget about that silly kiss and use your brain. You have to see it.

She looked up at him with a bright smile. "Of course! You're right! It's his mother suddenly outta the picture!"

"So why isn't he getting any high?"

"Because... Okay, give me a minute on this one..." She looked down for a heartbeat, then back up at him. "Because Mom's not here to see what a real man he is? That's what makes him snap?"

Russell tiptoed back into the room and joined the others around the table. He didn't want to miss it either.

But Gillian didn't even register his moves. Brock kept her completely focused on him and his words. "Yes, maybe. Or maybe he's trying too hard to stick to his fantasy, but there's something in it that just cannot be played out in real life, and that impossibility triggers his rage. Now what do you think about his type?"

"No, thanks, not really into this kinda guy." She scoffed at his annoyed scowl. She was having the time of her life. "I'm kidding, Agent Brockner! His type is the kind of woman that turns him on."

"As simple as that?"

So not as simple. Think, Gillian! Fine, you just screwed up. Again. But you can mend it. What turns us on? And you better don't say stupid bitter men in blue suits and red ties 'cause you'll be in deep shit—hey, his gray blue tie looks good, too.

"What turns us on...," she muttered, frowning.

"Say it properly. No smart puns, no we. You're not talking about yourself."

Alright. That's my punishment for my big mouth. He just raised the stakes. Be up to it. "Okay... Erotic markers are defined by what causes pleasure or disgust to children under the age of three."

"That's it. Go on."

"The type of woman that attracts a man can be found among the women around him when he was a toddler."

"Always?"

Tricky question. Not falling. She replied without hesitation, "Yes, always. A happy child grows into a man attracted to women resembling those associated with pleasant memories. Not-so-happy children will grow into men attracted to women opposite to the ones associated with unhappy memories."

Brock nodded, fighting back a smile of satisfaction and even pride. The explanation, the words, even the tone. Why couldn't she be always like this? If she could only make her behavior match her outstanding mind, she would be just—"And what about this subject and his emasculating mother?"

Gillian faced him with a little playful smile. Want more? Ask and you shall receive. "A mother is the first indicator of love. And no matter what happens as a person grows up, the parent of the opposite gender is always the first parameter of sexual love."

"So...?"

His question felt as if he'd patted the back of her head. C'mon, open your eyes. Look and see.

Brock saw the spark of realization in her blue eyes. "That's what's not working in his fantasy!"

Her enthusiasm! It was contagious. Brock wondered if he'd ever seen a profiler so happy profiling. Not even Russell, after waiting for years to become one, would show such a pure delight bringing together the different aspects of the situation and make sense of them. She'd been doing it for nearly two decades, yet she still preserved that feeling intact.

"Tell me what's not working. And mind your words."

Russell and the team swallowed scoffs and smirks. It was so weird, seeing Gillian allow Brock to boss her like that. But they could also appreciate the way he led her reasoning. They made such an odd pair, so opposite in nature, yet sharing that subtle chemistry that left the whole universe out to let their minds work together.

Gillian met his eyes, as serious as he was. "The center of his fantasy is his mother, but not as his witness. That's why she can't play the real part he wants her to."

"Yes."

She tried to stay serious, but the conclusions were just too surprising. "So he's not abusing these women for his mother to see, or because she's not there to see what a man he is. He's abusing them because he cannot have her! They're intercourse surrogates!"

"And what would it tell you about the subject's age?"

Brock expected the apparent change of flank would distract her. But it didn't.

She smiled, gloating in understanding. "He's gotta be younger than the victims in order to pretend they're his mother."

Had Brock been Gillian, he would've hugged her and kissed her. But he was just himself, so he nodded with a quick smile, master pleased at young grasshopper. And that simple gesture made her feel a sweet warmth in her chest.

They lingered for a heartbeat looking into each other's eyes. Until Fred handed the Worst Timing of the Year Award he'd won at the blasted building over to Russell, who came to pat Gillian's back with a big grin.

"Way to go, Reg!"

Brock hurried to look away from her with the excuse of glancing out the inner window. Then he turned to Russell. "They're ready."

Brock went to the table to grab some reports. The team headed out to join the police staff, patting Gillian's shoulder as they passed by her side. Russell was about to follow when he noticed she hadn't moved.

"You ain't coming?"

She smiled. "In a minute. Right now I really need a coffee and stop sweating blood."

Brock was walking out, and paused to frown at her. "It wasn't that hard."

Gillian's warm smile made him feel a chill, and she said in that plain, honest way of hers, "That's because you weren't facing your scowl, sir."

He sighed not to scoff—and smile again. "C'mon, they're waiting for us."