Brock dropped everything on his bed. So they were going to be there a few more days, maybe the whole weekend. That reminded him of Viv, and that he still hadn't called her. The control freak was going to be over the top again, and he realized that he was not in the mood for an argument, with Viv of all people. So calling Viv fell off the to-do list for that night and was rescheduled for next morning.
He got undressed in no hurry, then took the time to hang his suit, take his clean shirts to a drawer to prevent them from creasing, and leave the reports on the table. When he was taking his toilet kit to the bathroom, he noticed there were no more voices coming from Russell's room. They'd called it a really early night. Good. Then he heard the steps on the hall. Russell and Gillian teasing each other goodnight.
"Hey, Ron, you're welcome if they kick you out," she said. Brock heard Ron's voice, but didn't understand what he replied.
Her steps sounded right out Brock's door, and she walked into the room exactly across the hall from his.
On to the next thing, Brockner. Hot shower. Only warm, actually, because it was summer even in New England. He let the water slide down his body, eyes closed, simply feeling its relaxing effect acting on him, not even bothering to fetch the soap yet.
His mind took a lazy turn back to the case. The profile was dead-on right; he could feel it in his guts. And it came from the subject's routine, just like Gillian thought.
It'd been so unlike her, the way she'd barricaded between the table and the minibar as soon as he stepped into the room. So odd, the way she kept silent, letting the others explain their—her—theory. After playing the smartass at the victim's house, she'd retreated to the last corner like that. And only because she couldn't leave the room. Even so, he'd noticed the way she'd listened to him. Like every time he spoke about profiling in her presence, with all of her attention, absorbing his every word.
He hated to admit it, but Russell was right. They couldn't let their personal issues come in the way of their work. Especially when it meant tripping such a sharp mind as hers. And come to think about it, what were those so-personal issues? An unexpected kiss goodbye? That he used to care about her? That maybe she had some kind of feeling for him? Jeez, what were they? Teens, to make such a fuss over that?
His hands came up to rub his face as he snorted, annoyed at himself. And his to-do list for next morning grew another line longer: clear the air with Gillian.
Then he recalled soap and stuff and got quickly done with it.
Back from the bathroom, he wore his black pajamas. And he couldn't tell why, but all of a sudden he found himself picturing Gillian across the hall. She would kick her boots off, get rid of her shirt, grab another beer—and wasn't that the muffled sound of a minibar closing? Then, while Aldana got in bed, she would drop herself on the bed with the case file, to go through it one last time before going to sleep.
Enough, Brockner. You have your own files to go through. He fetched the folders, his computer and sat with them on his bed.