Gillian and Brock hurried back to her desk, while Connor, Tanya and Kurt worked into warp.
"Kurt! Wait for T to track the IP and access all the cameras in a ten-street ratio!"
Brock saw Fred stride out from the storage room with his rifle case. Hank got rid of the sling while Aldana checked their guns.
"Almost there," said Tanya.
"Be ready, lads! We need eyes on him!"
"Got'im! Chinatown! Another internet café!
Gillian turned to the other three. "Go! We'll text you the address!"
They hurried out and she snatched a paper from her desk. She faced Brock, dead serious. "You're sure that bastard is in this list, right?"
He nodded with a surprised scowl.
"Then please, Agent Brockner, help me open my eyes and see him."
Brock could only nod again and point at the meeting room.
She turned to her son and her techs. "Stay on him. And call Russell, in case he wants to join the party," she said, striding back to the meeting room.
Brock followed her without a word and closed the door behind him.
At the hospital, Russell flashed a fierce smirk when he read Kurt's text and showed it to Ron's wife Laura. She faced him with welling eyes.
"Go, Russ. Get that son of a bitch."
He nodded and hurried away, putting his radio on as soon as he exited the hospital.
"Got a feed from the café," Connor said as Russell started his car.
"D'you have'im?" he asked.
"He's still there," Tanya replied. "Where are you, lads?"
"Park Street," said Aldana, as Fred floored his car across town.
Isolated in the meeting room, Gillian filled her coffee mug and sat down at the head of the table, facing Brock, who set a pile of files between them.
Once more, despite the rage and the stress, she felt relieved he was there. Because she didn't need to explain a damned thing to him: he saw, he knew, way further and better than anyone she'd ever met. Just overhearing his profile had made her gawk.
Now the laser scan in his dark green eyes scrutinized her. She allowed him to, holding his piercing stare. She could fill a book with all the things Brock didn't like about her, but right then she felt it was somehow better that way. She didn't want to befriend him: she needed his skill to use her as a tool and figure out who was the son of a bitch that had almost killed half her team. She expected the cold bitter man would whip her senseless in order to keep her focused. And she'd be more than happy to let him do it. Because she knew he would crack the case.
Brock grabbed the first file and opened it, still staring into Gillian's glaring blue eyes. She knew the subject, but she needed to cool her anger down to be able to connect the dots as she used to and come up with a name. That was why she'd asked him this, so out of the blue. Because she knew he could push her hard in order to make her do it. Because he knew how. So he spoke with all the weight of his canon calm.
"I want you to describe these men to me one by one, in a few words."
Gillian drew in a deep breath and nodded, letting his rock-solid calm act on her.
Brock handed her a picture from the file. "Sam Thompson."
"War vet, plenty of medals and friends," she replied.
Short, accurate, straight to their point—perfect. Even injured and so upset, Gillian's head worked the way he needed.
"Bill Sheppard."
He noticed the way she set her jaw. Her eyes darted away from the picture. "King of bullies with a fan club."
"Oliver Kendall."
"He'd sell a commendation for a—for sex."
At the same time, Tanya alerted everybody. "He's offline! Pillbug, get eyes on him!"
Connor did so and frowned, leaning toward his screen. "It's not him! I mean, he's the one who sent this email, but not the same guy from last night. He looks my age!"
"Stay on him anyway!" said Hank over the radio.
"He's on the move," said Kurt.
Fred and Russell kept steady feet on the gas.
"He's heading to the Public Garden!" said Tanya, skipping from feed to feed. "We're gonna lose'im!"
"Like hell we are," growled Fred.
In the meeting room, Brock handed Gillian another picture. "Franklin Wood."
"A frigging genius. We were surprised he didn't apply."
Brock checked the file. "He did, but failed the preliminary psych eval."
"No wonder," she grunted under her breath.
He noticed it was one of the names Gillian had added to the list. "Tell me more about him."
"A bitter loner and a pain to work with, but he knows his thing better than most. I think only Ron can best him."
"Why did you include him?" he asked, sincerely curious.
She shrugged. "Last night you said a paranoid narcissist, right? He sure acts like one, and he's an explosives expert."
Brock nodded, summing up Wood's records. "Forty-five, training in both explosives and electronics. No commendations in twenty-five years of service. Single, no family... Fits the profile."
Gillian closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, Brock saw them bright wet.
"Son of a bitch!" she snarled, clinging to her anger. She stood up roughly, avoiding eye contact with Brock, and went to the window, turning her back to him. "He worked with Ron for years! How could he...?" She trailed off, regretting her outburst. She just hoped Brock wouldn't go off script and come pat her shoulder.
But he didn't let her down. He kept quiet, respecting her choice to try to wall up her emotions. And feeling in his guts how the pieces clicked in place to fit the puzzle.
Tanya yanked the door open. "Reg! It's not the subject, but they're chasing him anyway!"
Brock stood up, blocking Tanya's view to give Gillian a moment. "Send them a picture of Franklin Wood. He's our subject," he said.
"Yessir!"
Tanya shut the door to run back to her desk as Brock grew more and more positive about it. They had identified the bomber. The profile was right, and Gillian had found the face to match it. He turned to her. She stood there very still, arms folded across her chest, trying to exhale her feelings with every breath. And it turned out to be plain reversed psychology working on him.
Gillian kept it all so to herself. She hid both her physical pain and her emotions to keep fighting on the front line. She'd turned to him to stay focused and in control, expecting him not only to do his job with his usual accuracy, but this time mostly to keep the distance. Because that was what she needed to keep functioning.
Brock realized all of this and how, for the very first time, he felt compelled to bridge the gap, even knowing she would hate him if he even tried before she put herself together. So he offered what little he had, and it was a promise:
"We'll get him."