Ron joined Russell before the sliding door and looked out with him. "That's why you let Brockner go out alone," he said.

Russell nodded, his eyes across the garden on Brock and Gillian.

Ron watched them talk, while Gillian kept her trademark slow pacing. "Are they...?"

"Profiling the subject, yes."

"Reminds me of that case in Portland last summer, when Brockner made her do all the profiling like it was kinda test. And they looked like having a blast out of it."

Russell nodded with a mild smile.

Then Gillian halted and turned to Brock. They looked at each other without a word.

Ron arched his eyebrows. "Man. That looks like some weird foreplay."

"Hopefully."

Ron shot a sideways glance at Russell and scoffed. "C'mon! Profiling porn?"

"I got the convenience store feeds!" Tanya said behind them, from her computer.

"You bet," Russell muttered, his hand on the door to slide it open.

* * *

Gillian stopped sharp to gawk up at Brock, realization taking her over. So she was right? Did they just profile a poisoner? Good Lord, this man! She hoped her face didn't sell out the true dimension of her awe. Still looking into his eyes, she spotted the way his lips pursed, at the brink of a smile, and sensed the most awkward twitch inside. How could this feel sensual? Jeez, she was in urgent need of a shrink, but it did. Ten wild dreams of him wouldn't make her feel like she did now.

Her survival instinct pulled some stuttering words from her mouth. "I... I should..." She moved her hand toward the 101. "...tell them..."

Brock noticed her sudden uneasiness and frowned.

Gillian suffocated a desperate groan, because that combination of frown and smile threatened to turn her knees to jelly every time.

"Reg!"

Relief swelled upon her. God bless Russell! She turned to her friend, who circled the swimming pool toward them, his thumb pointing back over his shoulder.

"T's got the feeds from the convenience store."

"Coming!"

She tried not to run as she hurried away from Brock. On her way to the 101, she thought Russell whispered something like, "Easy, Scully," when she passed by him. Well, no time to argue. She'd get back at him later on, when she was able to come up with a fitting payback.

Brock watched her go with his hands in his pockets. He breathed deep and slow several times, refusing to listen to a single mock from his sarcasm. Profiling with her had always been so compelling, so fulfilling. The thrill of doing what he loved with the only person he'd met—ever since good old Jackson retired—able to keep up with him, and bring in a unique way of processing the information.

But now there was a whole new side to it. When she met his eyes at the exact moment he felt the puzzle pieces coming together... The spark of realization he knew and enjoyed every time, lightning up those gorgeous blue eyes to match his certainty... This time the pull had been more than metaphoric and became plain physical. For a heartbeat, he thought that when—not if—he intimated with her, that would be exactly how she'd look in her climax. Which pretty much made him forget about the case, his geographical location and some other minor details. He allowed his sarcasm to show up and point that Gillian would've said it all in a much shorter, blunter way. Good for her, he thought, locking back his sarcasm out of the way. He still needed some digesting to deal with the fact of being aroused by profiling with Gillian.

Russell got to his side and Brock realized he should say something to justify that his eyes still followed her as she walked into the 101. "She's such a natural..." he muttered, ignoring deliberately the way his sarcasm rolled around, laughing out loud enough to wake the dead.

Russell stopped himself from asking if Brock was kidding. Because he knew Brock wasn't. He was just trying to cope. Ever since they joined the team that morning, Russell had been tempted to punch Brock and slap Gillian. But they were both his friends and he was aware of how hard it had to be for them, acknowledging how they felt about each other. So he decided to play along a little longer.

"But she doesn't work so well with anyone else, Brock," he said, harboring the feeble hope that Brock would get what he meant. "I've seen her at it with many people over the years. And I can tell you're the only one she truly connects with." Did he need to be any more explicit?

Brock let his ego feed on Russell's words, failing to see any other meaning to them than the strictly intellectual one, and tried to kick himself back to character. "We've only confirmed her first suspicion was right. She would've done it by herself all the same." But having a part in it is suddenly worth a cold shower, right, Brockner?

"SON OF A BITCH!"

Tanya's cry startled them.

Ron showed out the door and waved at them. "You better come see this!"

Brock and Russell found the whole team squeezed together behind Tanya, as Gillian said to Fred, "Told you we needed a plasma."

The girl played a video on her computer. It was from the minimarket, and it showed a woman's back. Keeping her head low, her face shadowed by a baseball cap, she sneaked six soda cans from a fridge and replaced them with as many cans of the same brand from her backpack.

Gillian kissed Tanya's hair. "I so love you, T," she said. Then she spotted Brock a couple of steps away and met his eyes to gasp, "A woman...!"

"There!" said Aldana, who still leaned toward the computer.

Tanya stopped the video at the precise moment the woman spun around, to catch an acceptable picture of her face, even partially hidden under the baseball cap.

"So?" asked Kurt, back to his computers.

"Here's to narrow your list," Russell replied. "Woman, Caucasian, late thirties..."

Gillian reacted enough to correct him. "Mid-forties. She's lost a child over the last two years."

"That'll do," said Kurt, already typing.

Gillian couldn't keep her eyes from sliding over back to Brock, still lost in her private idaho of happy realization. And Brock smiled at her, which made it all way harder. Because it was such a rush that her profile turned out to be so accurate. And Brock looked so damn good when he smiled. And he was actually smiling at her.

"We need to deliver the profile," said Russell to Brock.

"I can fix it," Aldana replied, trying to prevent him from bursting the other two's bubble.

Brock's smile became his serious scowl to say to Gillian, "You should use it, too. Maybe somebody at your meeting knows her."

Gillian's bliss was roughly shaken by a sudden and completely unusual stage fright. "Me? Deliver a profile?"

Russell swallowed a groan when Aldana's elbow sank between his ribs, and managed to sound normal to say, "We can go with you and meet with the police later."

Gillian turned to Brock, begging for confirmation. And her face lit up again at his serious nod.

"Would you, sir?"

Like you're gonna say no to her. "Sure, if you think I can be of help." He had to set his jaw hard to keep his lips tight together. He couldn't help liking so much her eager nod, and her smile, and the way her eyes shone. He wanted to see her like that so many more times, because of him. So he wore his blank scowl to ask in his flattest tone, knowing she'd get the tease, "Suit or polo, ma'am?"

She looked just about to laugh and clap. "Suit, of course! And your scary scowl, please, sir?"

Brock had to scoff. She grinned and he prayed for something to break the moment. Else he would have to kiss her, right there and then.

Ask and you shall receive, Brockner.

"Hey, Reg, I just read the CDC report," Hank said from across the table. "They know even less than us. I'm sending them the patients' evolution charts the hospitals made for us. But there's no time for testing and watching, so they're sending people over."

Brock felt a twitch of frustrated relief when Gillian circled the table, back to business in a blink. "Then you're our ace up the hole, Doctor. Put up a short presentation for tonight."