DISCLAIMER: You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney...oops, wrong disclaimer.
Anyway, I don't own any of Crossing Jordan, darn it. I just do this for fun and as a creative outlet. Now that you've been disclaimed, let me know how you like this new story. It's been hard to start and I'm not sure where it's going. Many thanks for the kind reviews on the other fanfics I've written ===============================================================
New York held a different kind of cold than Boston.
In Boston, sure it snowed. Snowed for weeks. And it would blanket the parks and streets and lawns. But it was almost a comforting kind of cold, if there were such a thing. The snow looked as if it was tucking in the city under a quilt for the winter. A cozy kind of cold, if such a thing existed.
New York City was different. The snow was considered just another inconvenience in getting from point A to point B, and was treated as such. As soon as it accumulated, snow plows and salt reduced the icy precipitation to slush and it was headed for the sewer system. Instead of the snow being a blanket over the city, it was a dirty, mushy eyesore.
Woody considered all of this, as he looked up at the New York skyline, snowflakes lightly touching his face and melting under the warmth of his skin. Boston. It seemed worlds, years, centuries away from where he was now. Pulling his coat around him a little tighter, he entered the FBI building and made his way to his office.
As a matter of fact, Boston hadn't crossed his mind in a while. For the longest time, it had seemed to be just a footnote on the page of his life. He had somewhat effectively put the place and the people behind him. And he was usually successful until he would see a wavy-haired, leggy, brown- eye brunette walking down the street. Sometimes that would still trigger memories of Boston, her, and what might have been.
What might have been, instead of what was. Instead of remaining with the Boston PD, Woody opted to make a career move. It hadn't been necessarily from dissatisfaction with his job, but with a general discontent with their relationship. It hadn't moved forward. She still held him at arm's length. Hell, the wall stayed up – even after all they had gone through with the Malden case. He had felt sure after that, she would trust him and they would have had a real relationship instead of just a few dances and drinks together every now and then. But, he had wanted something more than she was willing to give.
So, when a position at the FBI opened up, Woody applied and was accepted. After training in Quantico, he was transferred to New York City, where he had been for the better part of the last five years. He had put Boston, the people, and her, behind him. He left and didn't look back. And other than an occasional Christmas or birthday card with a short note from her, he didn't think much about the city. She was different. A woman in a sexy red dress, the smell of someone wearing her perfume, the Sox playing the Mets...all of those could trigger a memory. But he had reached the point where he could safely put those memories away almost as soon as they rose to his mind. His life had gone on....a new city, a new apartment, new friends, a new bar, new girls.
No, Boston was a long way from his thoughts. Until yesterday. The Bureau had been working for two years on dissolving what was left of the "old" mafia and curtailing any "new" activity. Until that time, the action was in New York City. But a murder in Boston brought the mob hits away from that city and into Northeast suburbs that were supposedly safe and relatively crime free. It seemed that a local mobster, Bob Scalanti, had gone to visit his mother in Boston. He was shot and killed outside her house. It was a classic mob hit, eliminating one of the top mob men and opening up a possible bloody jockeying of positions to fill the vacancy. The hit was thought to have had originated with a group in New York City. And all this was just pure speculation up to that point. The good news for the FBI was that one of the people on the scene arrived when Scalanti was alive and Scalanti had told that person valuable information about the crime before he died. The person that he told was a Boston ME. And according to the file that Woody was now carefully reading, the same ME did the autopsy. Unfortunately for the ME, it put that person in peril. The rival mob that committed the murder would be anxious to silence them. And unfortunately for Woody, that ME was Jordan.
His boss had singled him out.
"Hoyt, didn't you used to work in Boston – with the Boston PD?"
"Yes, sir."
"Still got friends on the force?"
Woody thought about how little contact he had with his old buddies. "Probably, sir, but it's been a long time."
"The Boston PD officer over this case – Eddie Winslow – know him?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. You're now in charge of our Boston connection and its witness."
"Witness?"
"Yeah. The ME's now our star witness in this case. That means..."
Woody groaned inwardly. He knew what that meant.
He was in charge of Jordan.
======================================================================
Jordan was pacing her apartment. She had been confined to her small rooms for three days now, in "protective custody." The walls were closing in on her and she was getting edgy. As much as she understood her predicament, and as nice as the police were being, it was all getting to her.
"You're going to wear a hole in your carpet if you don't sit down," Eddie said.
Jordan stopped. Looking out the window, she asked, "How long, Eddie? How long until all this is over?"
Eddie fully sympathized with Jordan and had been slightly amazed at her attitude about the whole situation. He had anticipated her being resistant to the idea of protective custody. Hell, he expected her to bolt and run. Instead she had been cooperative and understanding. But he also understood how hard it was for her to stay inside these two tiny rooms. "I don't know, sweetheart. I do know that the New York FBI unit has you in their sights and should be here soon to get you."
Jordan sighed. "How long do I have to stay in New York?"
"Well, that depends. On how well they have their case together, on how valuable your information is, how quickly this is going to trial." He did not add it would also depend if the FBI thought they could keep her safer in New York than in Boston. If that was so, she may be in New York for a while. "Are you packed and ready to go?"
"Yeah. I would really like to see Garrett and Nigel before I leave, though."
"Let me see what I can do."
Jordan sat back down on the couch, continuing to look out the window. She didn't like the thoughts of leaving home, despite the fact that she had no real roots any longer in Boston. Her father was gone, still chasing after whatever it was he was trying to find after the Malden case. She wasn't married. She had no children. Other than her "family" at the morgue, she had no one. But Boston was where she was raised and it did hold some good memories. And her mother. Her mother was still here.
She guessed it was the comfort of the familiar that kept her here. Same drive to work. Same drinks at the same bar. Same grocery store. Sameness. She didn't have to deal with the unfamiliar. She was at a point in her life where she couldn't deal with the stress of the unknowing and the unknown. It had ripped her life apart before. She wasn't going to let it again.
And that was what New York was – unfamiliar. It had the potential for unraveling all the stability that Jordan had worked so hard to forge in her life. It wasn't comforting. It was stressful. And now it had the potential to be deadly.
Eddie stuck his head in the living room. "Garrett and Nigel are on their way. But it will have to be quick. The FBI just arrived at Logan."
A few minutes later, Garrett and Nigel made their way into Jordan's living room. She hugged both of them. "Guess I'll be gone for a little while," she said.
"Don't worry about it. I'll cover with the boss man for you," Garrett joked, trying to talk over the lump in his throat. He was going to miss his resident "pain in the ass" and frankly, was worried about her in this situation.
"I'll keep everything straight while you're gone, love. And if you need me, call me. I'm sure I can get time off to come to New York and hold your hand – or anything else that needs holding," Nigel said, wagging his eyebrows at her.
"Well, hopefully, they'll just listen to what I have to say, read the autopsy report, and send me home," Jordan said.
Garrett nodded. What Jordan didn't know was that there were threats already being made on her life. It was important to get her safely and secretly out of Boston as soon as possible.
"Jo, they're here," Eddie said. "They're waiting for us in the hall. Better say your goodbyes quick."
Jordan hugged and kissed both Garrett and Nigel. "Take care of yourselves until I get back," she said. "I'm going to miss you."
Nigel hugged her back, hard, and looked down into her eyes. "Hey, you look after yourself. Don't worry about us. And I mean it. Call me." Jordan nodded.
Garrett looked at Jordan for a long moment before hugging her one more time. He drew back and gently kissed her on the forehead. "Jo, I'm going to miss you. Be careful....and I love you, okay?"
Jordan felt tears creeping up in her eyes. "Look, I'll be fine. I'll probably be home next week and we'll laugh over this."
"Jo..." Eddie said.
Garrett and Nigel got one more hug and left. The FBI agents, in typical dark suits and dark glasses were outside the door of Jordan's apartment.
"You ready?" asked Eddie.
"Yeah, let me get my suitcases." She handed the suit bag and suitcase to Eddie, but carried her overnight case herself. Eddie walked her to the door of her apartment.
"Okay Jo. This is where we part."
"You're not going with me to New York?" Jordan had taken his comforting presence for granted.
"No, baby. I've got to stay here and put this case together on the Boston end."
Jordan swallowed hard. She had just guessed that Eddie would be accompanying her.
"Look, you'll do fine and you're in the best hands in the world. I'll be talking with you soon."
With that, one of agents took possession of Jordan's luggage and another took possession of Jordan's arm. "Good afternoon, Dr. Cavanaugh." The voice was coming from the agent that held Jordan's arm – a voice that was vaguely familiar and still made chills run up her spine. She looked up. She couldn't see his eyes behind the dark glasses, but she knew the voice and the hair. It was Woody.