Disclaimer: I don't own Crossing Jordan. Probably never will. But it's a nice thought…..

Chapter One

Nothing Like a Homicide to Bring You Together Again

He hadn't seen her in months. Seven months to be exact, if you were keeping count. Which he wasn't, of course. When he jerked his hand away from hers and told her to leave his hospital room that day…that he didn't want to see her again, he deliberately tried to lose track of her.

And so far, he had been successful. As the feeling slowly had returned to his legs and he began to walk again, he had at first been put on desk duty. Then his promotion finally came through. All it took was a near-death experience and suddenly he was chief of detectives. Which meant even more paperwork at his desk…but a huge increase in pay.

Life had been good to him since the sniper attack…although circumstances had altered him as a man. He was edgier…the dark side of the Boy Scout from Wisconsin had finally surfaced. He was now known to have a foul temper at times and an even fouler mouth. He used to mask those behind a dimpled-smile exterior, but since the shooting, he no longer tried.

After he had returned to the Boston police department, he had worked nearly exclusively with narcotics, as they sought to break up a large drug ring plaguing the city of Boston. But now, the murder of a Massachusetts senator brought him back to homicide. And just his luck, Jordan had answered the call from the detective in charge. And as chief of detectives, he was expected to personally handle this high profile case. That meant he had to go back to the morgue…back to autopsy…back to her. He groaned as he considered the prospect of seeing her again.

She had kept her word. When Woody had thrown her out of his room, he had told her not to contact him. She had nodded as she gave him one more backward glance, her eyes full of hurt.

Those eyes. Those whiskey-colored eyes that he had seen gleam honey-gold with mischief, nearly bronze with anger…or turn a smoky chocolate with passion. But that time, the last time he saw her, they had been filled with hurt as she looked at him for the final moment, letting her shoulders sag with rejection, as she walked from his room.

But she had not contacted him… by phone, e-mail, or fax. Indeed both of them had gone out of each other's way not to see each other as both of them recovered from the death of their budding relationship.

And Woody was sure she was dreading seeing him again just as much as he was dreading seeing her. However, with the circumstances that the murderer had dealt them, it was unavoidable. He kept telling himself it was bound to happen….and although he would deny it, a part of him had been waiting on the day…to see her….see if her eyes still reflected that hurt….because a part of him, the dark part that was now part of his psyche, desired to gloat over the fact that he had finally hurt her as much as she had him in the past.

Another part of him, the part that was still the Wisconsin Boy Scout, wanted to make sure she was doing okay. He had heard rumors that since Macy had been re-instated, the chief ME had begun to rely on Jordan more and more….to the point it was understood that while Garret handled the paperwork, Jordan literally was in charge of the morgue. He had also been privy to the rumors that she was so busy she had no life outside work. She didn't date…rarely went out.

Turned damned professional. He had nearly scoffed at the notion. Jordan? Professional? She had been known to bend the law to the point of nearly breaking it, but always pulled back just before she got into too much legal trouble. However, those were the rumors. She did things pretty much by the book now. No doubt a residual effect from working several months with Jack Slocum.

So as he got off the elevators to walk into the morgue, he wasn't prepared for what he would see. He anticipated seeing Jordan in her familiar low-riding scrubs with her hair pulled back.

Her hair was pulled back, but done up in a stylish up-do, not the familiar messy bun…and she had on a black and red print silky blouse and a bias-cut red skirt that hugged her in all the right places. She was thinner…he noted critically. Several pounds thinner than he remembered. He frowned. The last thing Jordan Cavanaugh needed to do was lose weight. But she was no longer his concern. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on her open door. "Jordan?"

She had known he was coming. Garret had warned her yesterday after she had answered the homicide call on the senator that Woody would have to be involved since it was a high profile case. She had tried to prepare herself, repeating over and over that this was just another homicide in Boston and he was just another detective. Seven months had passed. There was nothing between them any longer. She was a different person now. And she had heard he definitely was far removed from the sunny boy-wonder she once knew and loved. Santana had tipped her off to Woody's new behavior weeks ago. "Sometimes he's like the old Woody….and then something will happen he doesn't like, and BOOM! It's almost like a Dr. Jekyll Mr. Hyde transformation. He becomes a swearing, moody tyrant."

Jordan couldn't imagine the Woody she remembered acting like that…still Santana had no reason to lie about such a thing. So all morning she felt as if she had been walking on egg shells….wondering what to say…how to act…what to do. She decided the best thing to do was be completely professional. No idle chit-chat. Personal question were off limits to him and her. No badly how she wanted to know if he was truly well health-wise. He was no longer her concern. "Detective Hoyt…" she responded to his greeting.

Detective Hoyt…Damn…she called me Detective Hoyt…he remunerated all the way back to his office. She had never called him Detective Hoyt…even on the first call they had answered together…years ago at the First National Bank of Boston.

She had been professional…too professional for his peace of mind. She had gone over what she knew from trace evidence and the tox screen. The autopsy was planned for that afternoon. She would know more then. Ballistics were turned over for completion by Nigel…Bug was working on the rest of trace evidence…some fibers…gun powder residue…an unknown substance on the senator's shoes. As soon as she had the results on those, she'd fax them over to him.

Then she had pretty much summarily dismissed him from her office…saying she had to change into her scrubs to do the autopsy. He had taken the reports out of her hand and walked to her door, turning back around to look her over critically one more time. She didn't look back up at him.

She had moved on.

Setting his lips in a firm line, he had left. What else did he expect? Tears and another false profession of her love? She had given him no opportunity to gloat over any hurt he may have caused her.

And for some reason, that angered him more than her hasty pleadings for him not to leave her seven month ago after he had been shot.

He shook his head. Working with her again would be interesting on more than one level this time. He was determined to get some kind of response out of her before the case was solved….whether it was anger or hurt…he wanted a response.

Preferably hurt. He wanted to have the satisfaction that at least she had suffered as much as he had.