Brock's conversation with Cooper was actually the Iron Lady's angry monologue, more and more pissed at his lack of reaction. He let her vent out in silence, nodding now and then. Mostly because he found Cooper's words very informative, and he was too busy picking up Gillian's crumbs from them.

When Cooper ran out of breath and energy, Brock nodded for the last time, spun around and took his leave without a word.

He didn't mind if his GPS didn't take him the shortest way to the precinct. He needed any extra minute he could get to digest how the crumbs fit the puzzle out of pure inertia.

Everything was so clear now.

Gillian hadn't meant to scorn and defy him: she'd tried to trick him into some sort of challenge. She wanted him to give her a two-day head start on the case and then hand it over to him. To grant him two days to process what was going on and take the case with a clear head.

She'd taken on that attitude to trigger his pride, not his anger. She'd tried to push him to say, "Fine, let's see if you can do it without me." She knew how deep his wounds went, but she didn't count on her own attitude hurting him so much—actually, neither did he.

And when she failed to stall him, she focused on clearing his way and helping anyway she could, so he could solve the case as soon as possible. She'd put her team at his orders, convinced her best friend to play it cool, and kept working on her own, adding her expertise now and then, when they seemed to hit anything like a dead-end. So much that she'd identified Carson based on his profile—the way they always functioned together.

Brock recalled her argument on the phone with her father, when she went to the third floor the day before. A sigh escaped his lips. Of course it made sense now: she was arguing to defend his call to the press conference.

And even after such a personal taunt aimed at him, she'd somehow talked Cassidy into keeping him on the case for another twenty-four hours, despite how much it pissed Cooper. She'd done it right after holding the hand of someone she knew, shot and stabbed to death because of his famous press conference... And that was who she was on the phone with last night! It was Cassidy! She'd made up that silly comment about chefs to conceal she was actually talking about him!

And last but not least, she'd refused to be in charge of the case again. Which forced everybody, from Cooper up straight to the brass, to keep him there, in order to have it quickly closed and filed away—because they didn't want the negative press to go on for weeks, and they knew Gillian and him were the only ones in Boston capable of getting positive results within hours.

Brock pulled over in front of the precinct and leaned back in his seat with a deep breath. She'd been doing nothing but trying to protect him from the beginning. As simple as that. Gillian was protecting him. From himself and everybody else. And all the while she took his bullshit without a word to defend herself.

And he was able to see it only now, when the bastards toying with the Libra's MO had a face and a name, and the past could be kicked back to its right place.

He almost welcomed the ruthless whip of guilt. It was so much better than feeling betrayed by her.

He rubbed his face slowly. How could he ever think something like that was even possible? Was he so desperate for a reason to push her away, that he'd fallen this low?

She'd only been loyal to him from the beginning. And that meant when they'd first met, a lifetime ago. Following his teaching when he didn't even remember she existed. Turning him into such an important element in her life, that she was able to recognize him at first sight when they met again, seventeen years later. And from then on...

How could he doubt her even for a heartbeat? As if she hadn't given him enough proof of how far she was always willing to go for him!

How could he think she didn't care about him?

He let out a bitter scoff.

Care? Afraid of words now, Brockner?

What about love?