Gillian gathered the women and opened the door, hurrying them out. Her team was there to meet them, with uniforms and paramedics, and led them away toward the corner. When she was locking the door, she couldn't help a glance at Brock, right in time to see him take a call, as she heard him on the radio, "Agent Cooper?"
Gillian lingered behind the locked door, watching him step away from the tent as he spoke on the phone.
Brock scowled deeper and deeper as he listened to Cooper. Had they all gone crazy in this city? Looked like, and he could only hear Cooper's angry rant, agreeing with her.
"The Mayor hung up on me!" she said, and Brock had never heard her so mad at anything or anyone. "That...! Whatever. Right now Section Chief Cassidy is trying to talk some sense into him, but I don't think he's changing his mind again."
"So the Mayor's putting the locals back in charge?"
"I'm afraid so, Brockner."
Inside the coffee shop, Phil paced again and Gillian was no longer smiling. She didn't need to hear Cooper. Brock's only question was more than enough to get the picture.
For a change, her father had turned it all into a matter of reputation. This wasn't about the hostages or catching Phil anymore. King Gillian had a speck on his shoe and it was a fed called Declan Brockner, who had dared to make him stand down in front of half the department. No one did something like that to the King. King Gillian swept the specks away, and he didn't give a flying damn about what else got swept along. Even if it meant his only child's life...?
"They're not letting me see him!" Phil growled, more and more upset.
And Gillian was so lost, trying to digest her thoughts, that she answered without thinking. "'Of course not. They know you wanna kill'im."
"Sure I wanna kill'im! That son of a bitch ruined our lives! He deserves to die for what he did to my brother and me!"
She turned to him, annoyed. What her father might be doing out there had just washed away all of her empathy and patience, and even any healthy survival instinct.
She snapped, taking Phil aback. "And then what!? I bet his father used to beat him senseless every frigging day! So he beat you and your brother! So you kill'im! And in the process, you get us all killed! And then it's gonna be our children in foster care like you guys were! For some bastards to beat them and abuse them like you guys were! So what's the damned point!? Where the hell does this ever stop, huh!?"
Everybody at the tent stepped up, and Brock ended his call abruptly to join them. What the hell was going on? Why on earth was Gillian yelling at Palmer? Had she completely lost her mind?
"Calm down, Gillian," he breathed on the radio. "Get a grip on yourself."
But she ignored him. She was sick and tired of them, blind men with their guns and their prides and their sick need to hurt everybody around for whatever reason they argued. All of them expecting her to fix their mess, be nice and understanding and turn the other cheek.
Her voice oozed a bitterness that surprised Phil and the team, Brock included.
"Look, kiddo, right now my father's squeezing the Mayor's nuts to be in charge of this again. And whatcha think is gonna happen then, huh? D'you think our little ruse's gonna work twice? Are you really so damn naïve? Soon he's gonna be right out that door with his precious SWAT. And then you're gonna die! And I'm gonna die! And these poor guys are gonna die! And you know what's the worst thing about it? That right tonight, your father and mine will be having a drink together over our graves, congratulating themselves for being such tough asses!"
At the tent, all of them turned to Brock, and their faces stated crystal clear that if his next words weren't to order any action, they would act on their own. But before he could say a single word, King Gillian showed up with a cocky smirk.
"Thanks, Russell, son. Good job, but that'll be it. Boston PD is taking care of the situation from here," he said, deliberately ignoring Brock as he gloated on every single word.
Brock strode a few steps away to mutter on the radio, "They're going in, Gillian. Get as many as you can out through the window." He turned around to find King Gillian's mocking smirk, as if trying his best to win a blow in his arrogant face.
"And who are you talking to now, Agent? I think your SAC already informed you about the Mayor's decision, right?"
"I'm warning your daughter that you're about to kill her," snarled Brock, and brushed past him back to the tent. "To the backyard," he said.
Before he uttered the last letter, they were all running across the street, leaving him alone with Tanya.
"Bring her back safe, Agent Brockner," the girl said, dead serious.
Brock glanced at the SWAT agents already on the move and followed the others, knowing he could only hope they were still in time to save (her) the hostages.