Got this idea while reading one of my science teacher journal magazines...seems like they think a number of the scientists/archaeologists who used to get sick on digs (most specifically the King Tut dig) did so because of the bacteria that would build up in the tombs while stuff decayed. Now most archaeolgists who go on sealed area digs are careful to wear masks. Open air digs are different (I know, I was on one this summer....) Anyway....this got me thinking and below is the result.

Of course, first you must be disclaimed....ah-hem.

I don't own a thing.

Not a character, not Tim Kring.

I don't own anything much of worth,

Of eartly riches, I am derth.

I have no real claim to fame

Now please read my story

You've been disclaimed.

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It was an angry, red spot against her white skin....not much bigger than a dime. There had been a sting of pain, then a chuckle, a kick to the ribs, and then nothing....nothing but an angry, red, whelp on her arm. What if he doesn't find me? She wondered. What was in the syringe? Her vision continued to grow fuzzy as she fumbled for her phone. Pushing the GPS emergency button, she closed her eyes and waited.....and thought about the past few days.

"You may step down, Dr. Cavanaugh," said the judge.

Jordan slipped down from the witness stand and sat down beside Woody in the court room. The lawyers had to give their closing arguments and then the jury would begin deliberations. If all went well, they would render a guilty verdict and one of the worst serial killers in Massachusetts's history would be behind bars for the rest of his life – or face the death penalty.

Woody squeezed Jordan's hand as she sat down from giving her testimony. "Good job," he whispered. She smiled at him. Woody was as relieved as Jordan was that this ordeal was at an end.

The beginning seemed like forever ago. One by one bodies began to turn up across the state, with the victims dying from a mysterious form of bacterial infection. Medical examiners began to culture the bacteria, only to find that there was no type of antibiotic that would kill the strain. They were helpless to find a cure. And what made it even worse, was that the bacteria quickly multiplied once it hit the blood system of a person. Even if a cure had been known, chances were that the victim would be dead before he or she ever reached the hospital. It killed in hours, not days.

The state agencies began to work together to try to get a profile on the perp. Jordan, Nigel, Bug, and Garrett had worked endless days and nights compiling their information with others, floating theories, comparing evidence. It was Jordan and Nigel who broke the case. Jordan discovered that the bacteria was a particular strain found in the Middle East. More specifically, found in ancient ruins and archaeological sites. It had to be reconstituted in a lab. Nigel traced the specific strain to a site along the Jordan River. Jordan then traced it to a particular archaeologist who lived in Washington, DC. From there, the Boston PD, working with police and FBI in DC, traced it to a lab technician that worked for the archaeologist. The lab tech was from Boston. When he left his work in DC, he took the bacteria home with him in sealed vials. He had hoped to be hired by one of the prestigious universities in Massachusetts to further his study on the bacteria. Instead, he was laughed at. So, revenge became his game. He took the vials out of storage and from these vials, he injected 22 people with the bacteria.

Jordan conducted seven of the 22 autopsies at the Boston morgue, more than any other ME in the state. She quickly found herself becoming an expert in exactly what an ancient bacteria could do to a twenty-first century immune system. She had told the jury in great detail what a painful death these victims suffered....and that even if they could have gotten to a hospital or doctor before dying, there would have been nothing anyone could do. What was worse, was if they bacteria had gotten airborne, it could have killed a great many more people, and possibly made even more of the population sick.

This is what made the perpetrator even more frightening. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew just how to reconstitute the bacteria without harming anyone except his intended victim. It was a controlled killing spree.

But now there was nothing to do but wait. The attorneys would begin their closing arguments after lunch and then the jury would begin deliberations.

Two Days Later

"Mr. Foreman, how do you find the defendant?" asked the judge.

"We find the defendant guilty, your honor."

And with that, Judge Turner banged his gavel and reprimanded the defendant into custody until sentencing. The former lab technician began to struggle with the bailiffs. Jordan, Woody, and Nigel had been sitting across the aisle from him. The bailiffs restrained the man before he could get over to Jordan, but everyone in the courtroom heard him as he yelled, "The next one will be you, Dr. Cavanaugh...the next one." Then he was hustled away to the county jail.

"Are you okay?" asked Woody. He had noticed a frightened look pass over Jordan's face.

"Yeah, sure," she said, maintaining a tight grip on the chair in front of her. "Let's get out of here."

Woody protectively placed one hand on the small of her back and helped steer her through the side doors of the courthouse. He knew the front would be a media zoo and he hoped they could get out with minimal problems.

This wasn't going to happen. The media was all over the place. Soon Jordan faced the camera lights and microphones stuck in her face.

"How do you feel, Dr. Cavanaugh? Helping put away one of Boston's worse killers?"

"We heard he threatened you? Are you taking it seriously? What are you going to do?"

Jordan's training had prepared her for many things, but not this. With a muffled, "No comment," she hid her face in Woody's outstretched arm and was hustled away in a police car. Once they had gotten a safe distance away from the courthouse, she turned to Woody. "God, I'm glad that's over."

Woody nodded. He was glad, too. But the threat worried him.

"Wood, you okay?"

Hiding his concern for her, he smiled. "Yeah. I'm glad it's over, too."

Back at the morgue, Garret, the DA, Nigel and the rest of the staff was ecstatic over the verdict and the fact that life could get back to normal. As they rehashed the trial, evidence, and verdict at staff meeting, Jordan put her head down on her arms.

"You okay, Jord?" Garrett asked, concerned over his ME.

"Yeah. I am. Just tired."

"Why don't you cut out early....plan to take a couple of days off....you deserve it."

"I don't know. I may take tomorrow off, since it's Friday. But I'll be back Monday."

"Does this guy's threat worry you?"

Jordan paused for a moment. He would know where she worked, but not where she lived. Mentally, she shook herself. He was in the county jail, under 24-hour surveillance, in solitary lock up. There was no way he could get to her. "No, not really," she replied.

Letting herself back into her apartment, Jordan relocked her doors, throwing on the deadbolt. She had always been safety conscious, but the trial had made her even more so. Assuring herself that her apartment was secured, she dropped her gym bag on the floor and her keys and purse on the counter.

She had worked out really hard tonight, as Woody had encouraged her to add more weight during her routine. Ruefully, she rubbed her arms and legs. A hot shower and some ibuprofen would help keep the soreness way....or she wouldn't be able to get out of bed tomorrow. Swallowing the pills, she headed for the shower. A few minutes later, a tired and sleepy Jordan climbed into her bed. For once, she was glad tomorrow was Monday. A normal routine would be great for a change. Wearily, she pulled her comforter up over her and wished for a split second Woody was there and not at work. But sleep soon overtook her and she was gone before she had a second thought about the detective.

The sound of breaking glass awakened her sometime later. Frightened, she sat up and reached for the baseball bat she kept beside the bed. "Wh...Who's there?" she asked, gripping the bat tightly and bringing it up along side her.

"An old friend," was all she heard and a cloth clamped down tightly over her mouth and nose. Before Jordan could focus on the face, she was unconscious.

When she came to, she discovered that she was in the back of a van....one of the big vans, not a mini van. And it appeared to be a work van. She was lying on the floor. There weren't any seats except for the driver's. Vainly, she looked around, trying to find something she could identify the van by. Nothing. It was too dark. The van turned a sharp corner. She slid into the side of it. Before she could stop herself, she moaned in pain. Her head was killing her.

"So you're awake, Dr. Cavanaugh? I was hoping you'd stay out the whole trip. But that's okay. We're almost there."

There where? Thought Jordan, still trying to focus. She must have been drugged at her apartment, remembering the last thing she saw – the cloth over her mouth and nose. She struggled to sit up, but found she was bound and gagged. The van came to an abrupt halt. She slid to the back of the van. She heard the man get out and come to the rear of the van, open the doors, and reach for her.

Afraid of what might happen, Jordan began to struggle. The man simply hoisted her up over his shoulder and carried her a short way and dropped her to the earth. He shone a flashlight in Jordan's eyes. She had to squint to see.

"Remember me?"

She did. All too well. It was the lab technician.

"You must be askin' yourself right about now how I escaped," he chuckled manically. "It was easy. The Boston PD's jail cells might be real secure, but they sure aren't too careful when they transfer you from place to place." He bent over, his face inches away from Jordan's. "Now I'm here to make good on a promise, Dr. C. You remember, don't you?" He pulled a hypodermic syringe from his pocket. "Seems like I told you you'd be next. I don't like to break promises. Especially to ladies. My mother always taught me that when you promise a lady something, you need to make sure you keep that promise."

He uncapped the syringe and untied Jordan's arms. She tried to crawl away, only to have him pin her to the earth with his leg. "Now this won't hurt but a minute," as he turned her arm over and plunged the needle into the soft underside of her forearm. "Sorry I don't have any alcohol to swab your arm with, but seein' as you're going to die anyways, that seemed kind of silly." He finished giving her the injection and stuck the empty syringe in her back pocket. Then he dragged her to the top of what appeared to be an embankment. Bending over once again, he whispered in her ear, "And just in case you're wondering, that wasn't the bacteria....." he laughed again and kicked her down the embankment.

Jordan rolled for what seemed like hours. About the time she thought she was going to stop, she would roll some more. Finally, coming to a halt in some scrub brush, she caught her breath. Not the bacteria? What in the hell could it be? She thought, as her head began to grow heavy and her eyes were becoming more and more unfocused. Her hands were still untied. She pulled the gag away from her mouth and began to grope through the pockets of her sleep pants. Hopefully, he didn't discover her phone tucked away in the inside pocket of her sweats. She had begun keeping it there at night during the trial. She would charge the phone during the day, at her desk. Thank God, there it is. Trying her best to focus before she passed out, she hit the emergency button on it. Now if the GPS is working right, maybe someone will find me before I die. She checked her back pocket before she collapsed. The syringe was still in there.

Woody tried Jordan's phone number for the third time in an hour. She wasn't answering. That wasn't like her. He had asked to call him when she got home from the gym and now it was three hours later and no phone call. She had always called him when she promised to...and now she wasn't answering. He grew uneasy. Maybe she's just really tired after that work out. She did add more weights. Still, he anxious about it. I'll ride over to Pearle Street, just to see if her SUV is there, he thought, throwing his car into gear.

Five minutes later, he was there, and there was her car – safe and sound. From what he could tell, all the lights were off in her apartment. She's sound asleep. Just wait until I see her tomorrow...she won't forget to call me again... he thought.

At that moment, his Nextel went off.

"Hoyt?" came a voice over the line. It was Eddie Winslow.

"Yeah?"

"What's your 20?"

"Pearle Street – and no, I'm not in Jordan's apartment. She just didn't call me when she got back from the gym and I was worried. So I made sure her car was in the parking lot."

"Well, seems you have good reason to worry. A 911 just came in from her cell phone and her GPS is telling us she's not on Pearle Street. She's at the back side of Latham Park. Think you're okay to drive it?"

Woody already had turned on his siren and pushed the accelerator to the floor.

There were lights, police cars, and ambulances all over the place on the embankment at the park. "She's down there somewhere," Eddie told Woody, briefly filling him in. "And I just found out that the lab tech escaped from jail this evening as they were transferring him from holding to solitary confinement."

Woody cursed under his breath, "And we're just finding out now?" He plunged down the hill, holding his flashlight, searching for Jordan.

"She's over here," yelled an officer. Woody followed the voice and found her.

She was curled up, still fighting unconsciousness. "Jordan," he said, gently running a hand over her forehead. "Can you hear me?"

"Woody?" she opened her eyes, trying to focus. His face swam before her eyes. "Woody?"

He grabbed her hand. "It's me. The paramedics are on their way down. Hang on..." his voice broke. If the perp had injected her with the bacteria....there would be nothing they could do but keep her comfortable until it happened.

"Woody," she was struggling for breath and to remain conscious. "It was him...."

"I know."

She held out her arm. Woody could see the injection site – the angry, red whelp against her white skin. "He got me...but he said it wasn't the bacteria...."

Woody heaved a sigh of relief. Not the bacteria. But damn, that opened another can of worms. "Did he say what it was, Jor?" She was fading out. He shook her. "Jordan! Did he say what it was?"

"My...my...back pocket. My..... back pocket," she got out before unconsciousness took over.

Woody rolled her slightly to the side and felt her back pocket. He pulled the syringe from it and dropped it in an evidence bag. Nigel was getting first swipe at this one. "Hang in there, honey," he said as the paramedics arrived and began to load her on the stretcher. She didn't let go of his hand, clinging to it the entire time they were getting her on the stretcher and up the hill.