This chapter has been re-posted because there was a major error in it and I can't believe no one called me on it!! Anyway, it's fixed now

Thank you so much to everyone for your kind reviews.

I apologize for the slow updates. Life is kind of getting in the way and my muse seems to have taken a holiday. Hopefully hearing all of your feedback will give me the kick in the pants I need to get this done!

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just trying to focus my frustration on creating a complete ending for our beloved characters.

Thanks for reading!

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Chapter Ten - Confessions

Renee entered her penthouse apartment just after 9pm. She kicked her shoes off and threw her keys on the foyer table without bothering to stop and put either item away. She was just too damned tired.

She waited half a heartbeat for the thumping of two year old feet and her son calling "Mama" before she remembered Michael was spending the week with his father. She'd phoned her ex when the news of the crash rescue broke and asked him to keep their son at his home until the terrorist business was dealt with. It was good timing; her ex had recently re-married and wanted to spend time with Michael, and Renee believed her son would be safer with his father until the authorities figured out who was behind the Venezia mystery.

In light of the Albanian mob connection, she was even more relieved her son was with his father; hopefully, he'd be safe there.

She wandered to the liquor cabinet and poured herself two fingers of scotch over ice. The burn of the liquid down her throat matched the ache in her heart as she thought back over the last two years of her life.

After Michael was born she had secretly held onto the hope that she and Garret stood a chance of reconciliation. But the new demands of motherhood soon took its toll. Her first priority, obviously, was Michael, and being a father himself, Garret respected her need to focus on her son. But the more time she spent at home working, the less time she spent in her office, which meant less time spent with Garret.

She'd worked the odd case with him since then, and each time she saw him, she felt the same tug on her heartstrings as her mind relived the feel of her naked body entwined with his.

She mentally shook herself out of her reverie and instead of reminiscing, tried to focus on the gorgeous view of the Boston Harbour, twenty six stories below her living room windows. As she stood watching the marine traffic, scotch in hand, she found she couldn't shut her mind off as easily as she'd hoped.

During the course of their nearly twelve hour vigil at the hospital, Jordan and Detective Hoyt had let her know of the newest Albanian mob threat. Renee was furious that Albie Samson was out of jail. But as the hours wore on, she found herself grateful to have something to do other than wait. The information Jordan provided had given Renee almost two hours of work to take care of, which in turn, gave her mind a two hour reprieve from worrying about Garret.

She grimaced to herself now, thinking two hours wasn't nearly enough to stop her from thinking of Garret Macy.

She glanced down at her glass of scotch, watching the amber liquid swirl over and around the ice cubes. How many times had she performed that same action, her hip perched on the edge of Garret's desk as they celebrated one more victory? How many times had she performed that same action, long after her son was tucked into bed, as she sat alone in the silence of her living room and recalled those victories? How many times had she wondered how different her life would be if Garret Macy knew she loved him?

"Fuck it," she swore aloud. She set her glass down on the kitchen counter so forcefully the liquid sloshed over the edge. She paid no attention, however; just slipped on her shoes, grabbed her keys from the foyer table and slammed the door behind her.

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They were silent on the drive back to her place; Kate lost in her thoughts and Nigel still preoccupied with the feeling of her lips on his.

He brushed the back of his hand self-consciously across his mouth, as if he could still feel the heat of her there. He could most certainly still taste her there.

She'd caught him completely by surprise at the hospital and before he'd had time to react, she'd broken the kiss and sauntered down the hall, leaving him wondering what the hell had just happened.

"Bloody hell," he'd whispered; then gotten the crap scared out of him by Bug, who was there to tell him Dr. M.'s surgeon was going to speaking to Jordan soon. He must have had one hell of a look on his face, because Bug had grabbed his good wrist and checked his pulse.

"Your heart is racing, Nige, and your face is pale. You need to get downstairs and have your arm checked out for infection."

He'd laughed, then; a crazy, high pitched laugh that almost had Bug convinced he needed a gurney to take Nigel to the E.R. on.

"I'm fine, mate." He'd told his friend, when he'd finally gotten his breathing under control. "Just had a little scare, that's all." He wrapped his good arm around Bug's shoulders and steered him down the hall towards the waiting area before Bug could come up with any more questions for him.

He smiled at that now, knowing Bug had hardly taken his eyes off of him for the rest of the evening. It had taken him and Kate to convince Bug that Nigel was fine to drive home after they'd seen Dr. M.

Now he was sitting in the car, grateful to have the task of driving to focus on. He pulled the car up to the curb in front of her townhouse and killed the engine. "Kate," he began.

"Thank you for the ride, Nigel. I know it's out of your way to bring me home. I'll see you at the hospital tomorrow?" She asked, knowing the answer would be yes.

He nodded, too confused to speak as she got out of the car, shut the door and walked up the front steps to her door. He watched her put the key in the lock, open the door, then turn and wave at him before closing the door firmly behind her.

He was still sitting there five minutes later when she peeked out her front curtains. She grinned to herself, knowing once again, she had won the round.

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She sighed, and Woody wasn't sure if it was because of the question he'd asked her, or because she knew he had witnessed everything that had happened between her and Drew Haley that morning.

He waited a few moments more before he allowed the familiar feelings of frustration to come to the surface of his mind. He opened his mouth to ask again and that's when he noticed it: the flickers of fear playing across her face combined with the closing of her eyes and tilting her head back that she only did when she was hurting. He knew the motions because usually he was the reason for her hurt.

He also knew if he wanted a chance with her, he needed to be more patient. And he was going to start with really listening to her.

"Jordan," he said softly. "I'm sorry I asked. If it's too much . . . we can do this another time."

She shook her head silently; opened her eyes and smiled softly at him. "No, it's okay. I, uh, just needed a minute, ya know?"

She had stayed standing when he'd led her to the couch and sat down, and now she began to pace; a sure sign this was going to take a while and it was not going to be easy for her.

She took a deep breath. "I met Drew Haley five and a half years ago when he blew into town and took over a case Lois Carver and I were working on." She smiled a little at the memory. "I was so pissed at him."

Woody grinned. "Who you? And all this time I thought you loved the guys in central casting!"

She shot him a look and he quickly closed he mouth. "The gunshot victim BPD pulled out of the harbour turned out not to be a gunshot victim after all. Turns out the 'gunshots' were embalming fluid holes; the guy had been dead and buried for a few months. That is, until a serial killer decided to heave him into the harbour and then recycle the casket for his next victim."

"Wait a minute, I heard about that. It was a couple of weeks before I arrived in Boston. I remember reading about it because the guys in Kewaunee were ribbing me about leaving behind the "exciting world of issuing parking tickets" to solve the 'Digger' case. They called the guy 'Digger' because he dug up caskets, tossed the body, and then replaced the casket with a new victim inside, right?"

Jordan nodded, and Woody didn't miss the raw fear that flashed in her eyes again. There was more to the story and he instinctively knew it wasn't going to be easy for Jordan to tell it. He sat back and waited for her to continue.

"Drew Haley was the profiler assigned to the case by the FBI. He'd been working the case for months, tracking the perp's movements, finding out everything he could about him. When Haley showed up at the morgue demanding everything we had, I of course, kept a few things and started an investigation of my own. When Haley found out I had withheld evidence, he freaked. I told him the only way I was giving up what I knew was if he let me in. So he did. In retrospect, I think he did it as a way to scare me off the case . . ."

"But he didn't know Jordan Cavanaugh." Woody grinned at her, trying to diffuse some of the tension he could see creeping its way into her back muscles.

She smiled shyly at him, knowing what he was trying to do. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and continued.

"The guy was an animal, Woody. He'd been making his way down the eastern seaboard for months killing two women each in Maine and New Hampshire. We traced the body in the harbour back to his grave site and found 'Digger's' first Boston victim, but we were too late. Then he grabbed another woman a couple of nights later. I happened to be at his travel trailer with, uh, an acquaintance, when we interrupted him coming back from his second kill."

She stopped pacing for a moment, her back to him, and Woody could see her struggling for composure. He longed to go to her, tell her everything would be okay, but he knew she needed to get the story out, and hopefully release some of the demons still haunting her, as well.

"He'd taped a walkie-talkie to her hand, Woody. He wanted to hear her begging and pleading for her life." Her voice broke and he watched in silence as she angrily brushed aside her tears. "I promised her we'd find her. I begged her to hang on." She paused, caught her breath. "We didn't make it in time. Her fingers . . . there was blood all over her hands . . . her name was Chloe, and she was 'Digger's' sixth victim."

Something clicked in Woody's brain, then; some far away memory he couldn't quite wrap his mind around. . .

"After that, he got scared; burned out his travel trailer and took off. Haley and I were able to gather some solid evidence from the wreckage of his trailer and started piecing together what these women meant to him and why he had to hear them begging for their lives."

She stopped, took another deep breath and continued. "During a late night, hashing through theories, Haley fell asleep and I decided to snoop through his stuff. I came across some things that led me to believe that he was 'Digger'." She shrugged her shoulders and her voice was so quiet Woody could barely hear her. "I ran. Haley came after me, cornered me at the morgue . . . he tried to tell me the truth . . . but he was there . . . he couldn't stop him . . ."

Her tears were coming faster and she was having trouble breathing.

Woody got up then, place his hands gently on her shaking shoulders. "You were the seventh victim, weren't you, Jordan?" His voice was so soft and tender she had a hard time controlling her tears. He turned her around gently, tilted her chin up with his finger. "Weren't you, Jordan?" He felt his heart break into a million tiny pieces when she closed her eyes and nodded.

She felt her knees give out at the same time she felt him sweep her up in his arms and carry her to the couch where he placed her gently in his lap and held her until her sobs quieted.

Her throat was raw with emotion when she finally lifted her head to ask him.

He caught the look in her eyes and placed a finger gently over her lips. "When I first got to Boston, Lieutenant Winslow made me read over some recent case files. He wanted me to get a sense of how the BPD conducted their investigations and also, I think, to show me what kind of things I could be dealing with here. I think he was really just testing me to see if I could take it."

She smiled slightly. "That sounds like Eddie."

"The 'Digger' case was one of those files, Jordan. I remember thinking how great it was to be reading the report, because I had taken such an interest in the case before I moved from Kewaunee. I also remember thinking how weird it was that a seventh victim was mentioned; however no names were filed in the report. Just her age, general physical description, tox screen, injuries and the fact that she'd survived. When I asked Winslow about it, he said the woman asked to remain anonymous and the detective in charge had honoured her wishes because 'Digger' was dead and there wouldn't be a trial.

She nodded. "I asked Lois to keep my name out of it. I knew my name and statement wouldn't be needed for future reference in a trial, because 'Digger' was dead. I just wanted to close the case and forget about it." She sat up and looked him in the eye. "But I'll never forget what we went through on that case, Woody. Drew Haley saved my life that night. For that reason alone, he has a special place in my heart. But he's also a good friend, and a good agent and I trust him with my life, no questions asked."

Woody tightened his arms around her; laid a soft kiss on her temple. "I'm sorry, Jordan. You were right; I should have trusted him simply because you do. It was just weird, you know? We've worked with the FBI before, and you've always hated every second of those cases. It was hard for me to believe that you had such a deep connection with Haley simply because you'd 'worked a case together'."

"I'm sorry, too. I should have explained right away instead of flying off the handle at you. Seeing Drew again really shook me up. It brought back every horrible memory from the 'Digger' case, but having him involved also made me realize this Venezia case could go way deeper that we thought. And it has." She turned in his arms, laid her hand against his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.

"What for?" He whispered back.

"For being here. For caring enough to listen. And for being you, Farm Boy."

He smiled softly at her. "I haven't done too well at the listening thing in the past. I want to listen to you, Jordan. Really listen. I want to be here for you when you need me, and not just as your friend."

She leaned over and brushed a soft kiss on his forehead. He closed his eyes, wrapped his fingers around her wrist, and laid his lips softly against her palm. He opened his eyes to find her lips inches from his. He flicked his gaze to her eyes, found them darkening to the colour of sweet chocolate. He wrapped his free hand around the back of her neck, capturing her, holding her to him. He held his breath for an instant before her lips crashed down on his, assaulting his senses and making every inch of him tingle with anticipation.

She nibbled at his bottom lip, biting just hard enough to make him gasp with pleasure without drawing blood.

He ran the tip of his tongue across her lips, seeking entrance. He was granted permission and spent a few leisurely moments exploring her and drawing tiny jolts of pleasure from her body.

She broke the kiss gently, softly pushing him down on the couch. She stretched her tired body overtop of his, resting her head on his chest. Her fingers drew soft circles over his heart while his tangled in her hair. She reached with her free hand to grasp his, bringing to her face to gently caress it with her lips.

He closed his eyes, content with the feeling of being in her arms and the knowledge that they were finally on the same page with their relationship.

"Jordan?" He murmured in her ear. He waited a heartbeat before he realized her breathing had evened out and she'd fallen asleep. "I love you, too." he whispered as he kissed the top of her head, inhaling her sweet scent, and drifted off to sleep.

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He awoke several hours later, the pain in his back reminding him he'd spent too much time sleeping on couches during the past twenty four hours. He gently removed his hand from Jordan's and glanced at his watch: 1:34a.m. He groaned and shifted his body slightly to try and relieve some pressure off of his lower back.

She felt him stir and pushed herself to a half-sitting position. "Hey," she whispered.

"Hey, yourself."

She ran her fingers over her tired eyes. "What time is it?"

"A little after 1:30." He struggled to push himself to a sitting position as well, and grinned at her when she grabbed his hand and tugged him up.

"Your back hurts, doesn't it?" She looked at him with a concerned eye.

"A little." He admitted. "Too much couch time today." He grinned to let her know he was fine, just a little stiff. "I should go; let you get some rest." He stood, bending backwards slightly to stretch his back muscles.

"You could stay." The words came out barely louder than a whisper.

He smiled, cupped her face in his strong hands. "I know. But no matter what you believe, Jordan, you do need to get some sleep. And something tells me if I stay, there won't be much sleeping going on." He kissed the tip of her nose and pretended to ignore the slight flush of colour that invaded her cheeks.

She grinned wickedly at him. "I seem to recall promising you a backrub . . ."

He groaned, caught between his desire to be with her and doing the best thing for them. He decided on the later.

She walked with him to the door, stood on her tip toes to brush her lips against his cheek. "Thank you, Woody. For everything."

He caught her lips with his on their way back from his cheek. It took everything he had to break the kiss and rest his forehead against hers. "Phone me if anything changes with Dr. Macy, and I'll come get you. If I don't hear from you, I'll pick you up at nine."

She nodded. "Okay."

"Goodnight, Jordan."

"Goodnight, Woody."

She closed the door gently behind him, leaned her back against it in an effort to catch her breath. She could still feel the warmth of him; taste the sweetness of his kiss. She groaned as she pushed herself away from the door. How on earth was she supposed to sleep when the smell of him lingered throughout her apartment?

She was startled by a soft knock on her door and smiled to herself as she swung the door open. "Change your mind about spending the night, Farm B-" She broke off and stared in disbelief at the man standing before her.

He smiled back at her, enjoying her obvious discomfort.

"Hello, Jordan."

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The ringing of the cell phone startled him, and he reached for his belt clip only to realize that ring wasn't his ring. He glanced over at the empty passenger seat and saw the illuminated display of Jordan's cell phone. It must have fallen from her pocket when I drove her home earlier he thought as he picked it up and flipped it open.

"Jordan Cavanaugh's phone," he answered, not bothering to check the call display.

"Hoyt?"

Woody groaned. "What do you want, Haley? It's almost 2a.m.!"

"Where's Jordan?"

"At home sleeping, hopefully. She left her cell phone in my car when I drove her home from the hospital earlier."

There was a pause and Woody thought Haley had hung up on him.

"Haley? As much as you enjoy giving me the silent treatment, I'm really not in the mood for your games. Why are you trying to get in touch with Jordan in the middle of the night?"

"We've got some information on Samson's whereabouts."

Woody just about drove off the road. He quickly pulled his car to a stop on the shoulder of the road. "And?"

"We've been tracking his organization's hotspots since this morning. A of couple agents finally found Samson himself late this evening."

"Okay. So what's this got to do with Jordan? Why aren't you moving on him?" Woody demanded. He was tired and sore and not in the mood for the profiler's mind games.

"We don't know enough about the Boston area to be sure if it's safe to move on him. Until dawn breaks, they're tailing him and when we've got some daylight to work with we'll take him down."

"You still haven't answered my question: what's this got to do with Jordan?" Woody rubbed his hand up and down the back of his neck. He was losing more patience by the second.

"He's been sitting for the past couple of hours. In his car. No phone calls, no visitors, just sitting. We ran a grid search of his hot spots, and where he is now doesn't match any of them. He's just sitting for no apparent reason."

Woody sat up straight in his seat, alarm bells going off in his head. "Uh, uh. Albie Samson doesn't just 'sit for no reason'. He's watching something, someone. I'd bet money on it, Haley. The question is, who?"

"That's what I was hoping Jordan could help me with. She's lived here all her life and could tell me what this particular area might mean to him."

"I've been here long enough, Haley, and I'm a cop. I know all the bad places there are to know in Boston. What have you got?" Despite his sore back and the late time, Woody was tingling in anticipation at being one step closer to Albie Samson.

"I don't have a neighbourhood name, just an address."

"Shoot."

"227 Pearl Street."

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