Back to the inn, Gillian sent the whole team away to tie up any loose end and told Aldana to contact the pilots, to get the Falcon ready to take off at four p.m. Then she turned to Brock with a mild smile. "I'm getting some rest," she said.
He nodded, smiling back at the way she always changed her tone to address him. And maybe it was pushing it too far, but he could almost hear in her words what she'd only say to him in her dream—get some rest, Brock.
He lingered at the 101 after she left. It felt... indiscreet, following her so soon. So he wasn't surprised that there was no trace of her when he reached the second floor. He paused on top of the stairs, his eyes on her closed door. He could go knock, but would it be the right moment to talk? He'd told her they'd have a conversation after closing the case and he was sure that was the main reason why she was in such a hurry to go to sleep. So he was pretty sure that at that particular moment, she'd be as open and friendly as a Gatling.
He checked his watch. Nine a.m. They had five hours left before leaving, and he did need to get some sleep. He didn't want to be exhausted and distracted when they finally sat face to face. So he went to his room and set an alarm, fighting his urge to crash on the inviting bed until he'd neatly hung his suit.
The silence woke him a good while before the alarm buzzed. He'd kept the windows open behind the closed shutters and he lingered in bed, absorbing the cool stillness around him.
Not a sound reached his ears. Surely Gillian was out with Russell and the team. Well, if so, it meant it wasn't the right moment to talk yet.
His sarcasm stretched out lazily while pointing out what a lame excuse it was not to be a man and come clean with her.
Then he heard the soft splash from the garden. Somebody was taking a swim. He got up and strolled the three steps to the window.
He looked out.
And he smiled.