Soulless
Chapter Three: The Heart of the Matter
Rating: PG-13 (I think)
Word Count: 2,015
Disclaimer: I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.
Summary: A serial killer takes a twisted interest in a certain detective.
Pairing: Woody/Jordan
Author's Note: While my previous fics were more humorous than dramatic or suspenseful, this isn't. It's a pretty big divergence from the others. And my life is unbearably busy, so I won't be able to update as often as I have in the past.

Okay, so working retail during the "holiday season" nearly killed me. I exaggerate, but only a little. I know I asked for a sounding board last chapter, didn't take anyone up on their offer, though. All mistakes still mine. Apologies for the delay... Oh, and I can't remember if I ever replied to the reviews for the last chapter... Good grief. Well, I do appreciate them and if I haven't replied, I'll correct that error after work tomorrow.

Oh...and I apologize for this chapter. I do. Read and see why.

The Heart of the Matter

"He hates me," Jordan whispered. "He hates me."

"Jordan, love," Nigel began, looking up from his research, "Woody doesn't hate you. He might when you get done putting him through this obstacle course of yours. But he still loves you."

Jordan moaned, putting her head in her hands. She hadn't meant for that to happen, hadn't meant to screw this up again. It was just this case. Woody was stressed. She was stressed. And irritated, angry that everyone was keeping her out of this case. She knew if she could help Woody finish it, solve the murders, then she could get them back. Woody, there is an 'us.'I promise.

"What are you working on?" she asked, trying to distract herself.

"Oh, no, love," Nigel said. "You can't have anything to do with this, remember? Woody, Dr. M, the DA, the mayor, even the governor have told you stay out of this."

"I could help. I don't like being pushed off a case that was mine to begin with because a defense attorney might try to get his scummy client off because Woody and I are..."

"Dating?" Nigel finished.

"We're not dating, exactly..."

"Jordan, please don't start this will-they-won't-they thing again. If you want to avoid misunderstandings about your relationship with Woody, give it well-defined terms. Hell, five years is long enough. Get married. That way neither of you has to worry about screwing up the dating process, which, by the way, you're both good at," Nigel said as he moved to find a test tube.

"So, you think I should just go up to him and say, 'Woody, I think we should get married?'"

Before Nigel could answer, Woody coughed. "Wow. Guess I fell asleep on my feet. Ow. No, I don't seem to be dreaming."

"Uh, Woody—"

"No, it's okay. I realized a long time ago that the pinch test isn't infallible. I just want my keys," he muttered dismissively.

"Woody, we really need to talk," Jordan began again.

"You're kind of far down that line, Jordan. The governor, the mayor, the DA, my captain, Dr. Macy, and Roberts from robbery all want to talk to me. The only person I'm willing to talk to right now is my pillow. And since my apartment is now a crime scene, that's not possible," Woody sighed, then straightened his shoulders and glared at her. "I want my keys."

She frowned. "What happened to your apartment?"

"Not sure. Don't care. Keys?"

"Woody, what the hell are you doing here?" Garret demanded from the doorway, causing all of them to jump. Nigel lowered his head behind his computer. Woody wobbled a bit, nearly losing his balance. Jordan tried to reach out to him, but he backed away. Garret came into the room. "I gave you two orders. Eat and sleep. So why are you here?"

"Someone broke into my apartment. I can't go home. Can't afford a hotel. Thought I'd sleep in my car, but Jordan has my keys," Woody explained. He stumbled and caught the counter just in time to keep himself upright.

"Damn it, Woody," Garret cursed and dragged Woody from the room, taking Nigel's lunch with him. Nigel opened his mouth to protest and closed it. Bug came into the room, carrying a box.

"For me?" Nigel asked, rising from his chair. "Buggles, you shouldn't have."

Bug glared at him, holding the box out of Nigel's reach. "Dr. M wants an analysis done on that. I've got a body in Autopsy 2. And keep her out of this."

Jordan held up her hands and backed away as Nigel went to work on what looked like a murdered box of chocolates. Her curiosity was peaked, but she knew Nigel wouldn't tell her anything. Not until she replaced his lunch at least. And she could check on Woody while she was at it.

"How is he?"

Garret looked up from the report on Donner McNeil, the Bleeding Heart Murderer's latest victim. The papers were impersonal. McNeil had been a well-liked, well-respected man, and Garret had just left his devastated widow in a state of severe denial, wishing that Lily could talk to her.

"You mean besides working himself into an early grave?" Garret asked rhetorically. He shrugged. "I got Woody to eat despite Nigel's unusual lunch habits, confiscated his cellphone because he got no less than five calls in three minutes, and left him to get some sleep on the couch in my office."

Jordan smiled a little. "Thanks, Garret. I'll take him to my place after my shift. I should have forced him to do this sooner."

Garret grunted. He wasn't about to assign blame. Too many people were involved, and Woody should have known better. Garret looked at Jordan, trying to say what he needed without giving too much away. She needed to know that Woody needed care and support, but shecouldn't know about the threats. It would just send her off on one of those crazy quests of hers. "This case is personal for him."

She nodded. "Yeah, but I don't really know why. Crimes against kids and cops really bother him, but... Maybe it's just the senselessness of it all. All of these men were doing what they could to make the world a better place. That's why they died. This killer hates men who care. Just like Woody."

Garret pretended to ignore her comment, hoping that Jordan herself wouldn't notice what she'd said and realize that Woody was being harassed by the killer. "Try and remind him that he can't help anyone unless he helps himself."

"Will do," Jordan promised. "Hey, any chance I might be able to get off early to put our favorite detective in a real bed after a real meal?"

Garret looked at her. "Have you checked the backlog lately?"

She grimaced, then shrugged. "Hey, it was worth a shot."

"Get to work, Jordan. Oh, and have the switchboard reroute my calls. I don't want anything waking him up until you do," Garret ordered. She gave him a thumbs up sign as she headed to the front. He shook his head and went into the lab. "What have you got, Nigel?"

"Other than proof that we're dealing with a complete psychopath, not much. No fingerprints, no fibers. A generic knife sold in packs of a dozen at all local discount stores. The chocolates are made by a local confectionery but they made over fifteen hundred of these for Valentine's Day alone. The twisted part, other than that our psychopath somehow knows Woody's favorite chocolates, is the knife stabbed through a cherry filled morsel so that it appears bloody," Nigel stretched next to his computer. "Sorry, Dr. M."

"Not your fault, Nigel. This guy is careful. Smart. Obsessed. And dangerous," Garret assured him. "But we'll get him. Wait a minute. You said the chocolates were Woody's favorites? How do you know that?"

Nigel shrugged. "Jordan."

"Never mind," Garret muttered. He really didn't want to know. "I'm guessing that these boxes don't come prepackaged to Woody's tastes. How many boxes would it take to make them like this?"

Nigel looked at the box again. "Give me a few minutes."

"All right. I'll check with Bug on the autopsy."

Maybe it was just that nothing would stay in his stomach, but two minutes after he finished the food. Dr. Macy gave him, just as he would have fallen asleep, he had to lose it all. Woody didn't figure it was worth trying to sleep again. He'd go check with Roberts again, see what they'd learned about his apartment. Woody would feel better if Nigel was looking over his apartment, but the morgue staff was tied up with the murders.

Jordan was in autopsy, or at least Woody hoped she was. He had to get past her and Garret while avoiding anyone else that might try to stop him. It was a good thing Lily wasn't there.

"Afternoon, Detective Hoyt," Emmy called cheerfully as she processed some paperwork. At least Dr. Macy hadn't made his bed rest order public knowledge. She didn't even realize that he hadn't answered as he went down to the parking garage.

Roberts should know something about the break-in, even if it was only to confirm Woody's suspicion. She was behind this. The Bleeding Heart Murderer.

He wasn't sure when he decided the killer was a woman. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the chocolates, but they could have been sent by a man. Woody couldn't explain it. His brain hadn't really been working in days.

He stopped at his car and cursed under his breath as he realized that Jordan still had his car keys. He knew he'd put a key in a box somewhere under the Charger, only he couldn't remember if it was on the driver or passenger side. He reached under the wheel well and got a grimy hand for his trouble.

Crossing around the back of the Charger, he reached under the other wheel. A swish of air rushed past him, and if he hadn't lost his balance, his head would have a hole the size of a tire iron. Instead, his car did.

The Charger was too low to crawl under, and he wasn't fast enough to avoid the tire iron again. His kidney took the blow, and he doubled over, writhing, before he summoned the will to back away. He heard Jordan's voice teasing him. Did you get beat up by a girl again?

He pushed himself back to his feet, finally seeing his attacker. Five-three, hundred ten pounds, she couldn't be the murderer. Her victims outweighed her by at least eighty pounds, some over a hundred. She was even wearing stiletto heels. The tire iron was unmistakable, but he couldn't believe she had done it to him. To any of them. "Detective Hoyt."

Her words were cold. Venomous. Like he would have expected. He wrapped an arm around his kidney. The car was between them now, a shield. "You...can't...be..."

"They tell me I have the strength of the devil," she told him. "But no one will believe it of you. No one. No jury would ever believe that I kidnapped and killed fifteen men. Sixteen, including you."

He shook his head and reached for his gun. It wasn't there. He swallowed hard, remembering taking the gun out of its holster during his misguided attempt at sleep. He was an idiot, thinking only of his comfort. And Garret had his cellphone. Woody couldn't have made this any easier for her. Dizzy from the pain and lack of food, he stumbled into another car. He heard her stilettos tapping towards him. He had to get up, to get out of here, but he couldn't seem to move.

"Usually the tire iron is enough," she told him, "but I knew you wouldn't come without a fight, which is why I put so much pressure on you. I called, like any concerned citizen, several times, to press for a resolution of this case. I know your type, Detective. You're not sleeping. You haven't eaten. And you're weak."

He tried to come up with some sort of reply to her words, but he couldn't find any. His head hurt as badly as his kidneys, and he was having trouble breathing. He wished he hadn't listened to Jordan when she insisted that he take the flu vaccination. Her logic said that cops needed the vaccine as much as children and the elderly, but with his luck, he'd been one of the few that caught the flu from the vaccine. He'd been getting over it when he was called to the Brown murder. Easy target.

He pulled himself up the Mazda by sheer force of will. She swung again, shattering the passenger window as he ducked, falling to the side. "I'm sure you'll be delightful company."

Her words taunted him as his hands futilely searched for purchase on the glass beneath him. Then the tire iron connected with his head, and he saw black.