Gillian turned around and found Brock blocking her way, arms folded and a stormy scowl darkening his face. As if it would make her even flinch. She met his eyes, cold and firm.

"You better stay outta this, sir. I don't wanna get you in trouble."

"You should cool your head before making any more decisions," he replied, just as cold, an edge to his voice that took her aback.

But she was too angry to let it show. She snorted, annoyed, and nodded at the hall. They left the room, so nobody else would hear them. Outside the house, two of the SUVs drove away in the rain, while the third waited with the engine running.

Gillian headed straight to the living room. "Look, sir, I'm gonna act against Cassidy's direct orders. I ain't dragging you with me," she said, grabbing her rain jacket from a rack.

"You don't get to make that call for me, Gillian," he grunted, as he grabbed his rain jacket too.

His bitterness touched her, but she was unable to soften her tone. Stupid bitter man! What'd gotten into him?

"Please, sir! They banned you for years just over a dead serial! I won't bring you down again over this! They'll kick you out with us and that'll be all on me!"

Brock was about to retort when his phone buzzed. He ignored it and strode to the front door. He was surprised at the tug at his sleeve, stopping him.

"Pick up, sir. It's Cassidy. Try to figure out how much he knows. Buy us some time."

The phone kept buzzing. Gillian held his eyes, not the least bit intimidated by his scowl. He snorted and took the call. She was right, it was Cassidy.

"Sir..." he said, his stare fixed on Gillian.

But as soon as he picked up, she dodged him and hurried out the door.

"Shit!" Brock snarled, as he watched through the window how Gillian climbed in the SUV behind the wheel, geared in and hit the gas.

"Brockner, you better get a hold of your woman and make'er stand down, or we're all gonna be in deep shit," he heard Cassidy say as he stalked back to the 101.

"She's not my woman," he growled.

"Calm her down and make'er see the situation. She's about to go too far this time, and I ain't sticking out my neck for her stubborn ass."

Tanya saw him at the door and frowned. Brock covered the phone so Cassidy wouldn't hear him.

"I need a car asap," he whispered.

"I'm calling you a cab, sir," Tanya said, grabbing her phone.

"...she's gotta understand there's no messing with men like Graff and the Deputy Director..."

"Call Barnes."

"Yessir."

"...no judge will dare, and she's the one who's gonna end up charged and prosecuted. And you and me too, if we're not careful."

Tanya disconnected. "Five minutes, sir."

"...if she's kicked out of the Bureau, huh? Who's gonna hire her, even to wait a damn table?"

"Thanks," Brock mouthed, and headed out again.

"So you better make her come back to her senses and do as she's—"

Brock cut Cassidy off, sick and tired of his clumsy threats. "Just send the child's info, sir."

He disconnected and zipped up his jacket to walk out of the house. His phone buzzed again. He saw it was Cassidy and rejected the call. And he kept rejecting Cassidy's calls for a good while, until the man eventually gave up. By then, Brock was on the black car Barnes had sent him, on his way north down the Interstate.

The thunderstorm decided itwas no match for his dark scowl, so it packed up and hit the road to the east.However, it left behind some fat rain clouds as a farewell souvenir.