In the coffee shop, Phil paced again, while Gillian tried to clean Cook's blood off her hands.
"They're not calling him, right?" grunted Phil out of the blue.
Gillian didn't quite understand why, but he'd taken her as a source of answers, and trusted her to a certain degree. She did understand that it was partly because she was plain and honest with him. So far, he could tell she hadn't lied to him. But also so far, she hadn't needed to say anything that could particularly upset him. And if she was to stay honest, that was about to change. So she kept a gentle and reasonable tone.
"Yes, they are, but they cannot send'im in unless they're positive it's safe for him."
"SAFE!" Phil's voice thundered across the place, scaring the hostages. "That son of a bitch doesn't deserve safe!"
Gillian didn't answer. Antagonizing could be dangerous, and she didn't know Phil's history with this Strafford. She could see the stress of the situation was slowly taking its toll on the young man, and she was still in complete darkness about his motivations and goals.
She knew she needed to find a way to isolate herself for a few minutes to actually think, and stop acting on pure instinct in such a delicate situation, with other lives at stake. Because she knew she could trust her gut, and it was actually helping her keep the crisis in some sort of fragile balance—she'd gotten Cook and the girl out, Phil wasn't shooting anybody and allowed himself to listen to her. But it would only work so far. She was in no position to actually solve that mess, but only stall. Dammit. If she could only talk to Russell, he would help her figure it out.
She felt her phone buzzing in her pocket and concealed a sigh. That was the cavalry. No doubt Russell and her team had come up with something.
"Phil, mind if I go to the ladies to wash my hands?" she said in the most casual way she could manage, and showed him her hands still stained with Cook's blood.
Phil paused his pacing to look at her straight in the eyes. "No tricks, ma'am."
"No tricks. I'll be right back."
"Go."
Gillian headed to the restroom, thinking about that 'no tricks' he kept saying. He tried to make it sound like a serious warning, but she couldn't help feeling it was actually a deeper request. As if he were begging her to play fair. How the hell did he come to...? Finding Aldana and Fred in the restroom interrupted her rambling. That was way better than a text, but there was no time to tell them how happy she was to see them. Gillian hurried to lock the door and opened the faucet, so they could speak in whispers without being heard.
"Lads! What're you doing here?"
Fred gave her the radio. "We need you to put this on, Reg."
"Help me out, I need to go back out with my hands clean. Who's with Connor?"
"Banks picked him up."
While she washed her hands, Aldana slid the radio beneath her clothes, hid the earphone under her hair and the microphone on the inside of her shirt chest. And as she did, Fred quickly filled Gillian in.
"Palmer's on a spree, Reg. He's killed six people over the last three days back in Lawrence. He's the serial Russ was chasing."
"Why is he here?"
"We still don't have the full picture, but Kurt and Brandon are ready to brief us on all they've found on him. Now you can listen too."
Gillian turned to them and Aldana frowned, noticing a wet spark in her eyes. But they heard footsteps approaching. Aldana gave her a quick hug. "We're right here with you, Reg," she whispered in Gillian's ear. Then she and Fred hurried out the window and vanished.
Gillian unlocked the door and opened it, still shaking the water off her hands. Phil was right outside and scanned the room behind her. She wore a cool smile to say something that was strictly true, not to lie to him. "No secret lovers in here, Phil, I promise."
Phil smiled back and waved for her to precede him back to the shop. He pushed the door closed, still looking in, suspicious.
The radio carried her words across the street, to deliver them straight into Brock's ear. And hearing her again came as some kind of surprise. It felt as if it'd been only a few days since he'd last heard that smartass tone, and it automatically annoyed him. Which was good, since he was about to push her hard. And he knew she would deliver, but it'd be easier if he wasn't distracted by that side of her he honestly respected. So he welcomed his own reaction at her words and wished she'd keep her act up.
He lowered his voice to talk to her. His words caught her making coffee for Phil and the hostages, and she knew she was lucky to have her back turned to the young man, or her face would've given away the radio in a heartbeat. Because Brock's voice took her completely by surprise. Which was utterly stupid. Russell was there, handling the situation, and Phil was the subject he and Brock had been chasing. So why would she be surprised to find out Brock was there as well? However, the idea of him across the street was suddenly unnerving.
She might like working with him, but having him away was also so... good. Not being forced to face his judging and disapproving scowl, not feeling that strong pull to follow his lead and accept whatever he might say or do. His manuals on her bookshelf was such a perfect deal for her.
And suddenly, without any previous warning, there he was, talking in her ear. Imposing all the weight and the meaning of his presence on her. The bitter distant man with his piercing look and his cold ways. The stupid bold caring man who always risked his life to cover her and even kick her ass back to life. The man she so needed far and away, because he turned Reg Daredevil Gillian into something worse than a fangirl—a stupid puppy. And read through and through all she tried to hide, and made her want to hug him when he got embarrassed at such a simple compliment from her like 'you're a good man', and broke his every canon to gift her with a joke and a smile.
All of it rained down on her in a split second, and then his own words came to the rescue and captured her attention. "Gillian, it's Brock. Try to find a way to be left alone for a few minutes, so you can hear what our techs found about Palmer."
And there she went. She could feel the puppy ears raising at his command and the puppy tail wagging. Gosh, she really hated the stupid bitter man for having that instant effect on her.
So she delivered lattes among the hostages and went back to Phil, to nod at one of the men standing before the window shop.
"Hey, Phil, look at that old man: his legs are shaking. Can I take his place for a while to let'im take a break?"
"What about Strafford?" grunted Phil.
How the hell would I know? "I'm sure they're looking for him. Agent Coleman will call as soon as they find'im."
Phil shook his head, upset. "That son of a bitch must be hiding under his bed."
"Don't worry, they'll find'im. They're good at it. So, can I?"
Phil nodded, absentminded, and started pacing again.