So, Bug figured it out. :) Jordan knows, and Garret is speculating. Looks like it's not a secret anymore.

I might not update for a few days :( Not because I don't want to, but because my dad is getting married and I have all this stuff I need to do to prepare. My soon-to-be-step-brothers won't be of much help, so it'll be my sister and my almost-step-sister doing a lot of the decorating and junk. At least I don't have to be a flower girl.

Chapter Thirty-Six: Peaches, Icecream, Haircuts and Phone Calls

"Hi, Emmy," said Jordan vaguely, passing the front desk. Emmy looked up and smiled.

"Dr. Cavanaugh! Detective Hoyt! Welcome back," she observed smiling at Woody. She turned to Jordan. "Detective Seely is waiting for you in Trace with your body, Lily is working on contacting next of kin, and Garret was wondering where you were."

Jordan smiled and half waved, walking toward Trace with Woody close behind. "Matt!" Jordan walked into Trace and spotted him, standing over Sergei's body.

He looked up and smiled. "Hoyt. Welcome back." Woody nodded toward the younger detective and took a good look a Sergei.

"Are we sure he worked for Albie?" he asked almost brusquely, and both Jordan and Matt nodded.

"Yeah, he was a confirmed con-artist working for him," said Matt, picking up Sergei's file, "Arrested for stalking, aggravated assault, petty theft, stalking, stalking, assault with a deadly weapon, evading arrest..." Matt stopped his list and looked up at Woody. "He wasn't very good at being discreet."

"Okay, I got it," said Woody, leaning in toward the body and taking a deep breath. "What's that smell?" He leaned in toward Matt and inhaled again. "Is that you?" Matt took a step sideways and looked almost offended.

"No, it's him alright," he said, sounding almost worried. "Smells like overripe peaches."

"Peaches?" asked Jordan, bending down and taking a deep breath also, "Huh. It does, too! You have a very good nose, Boss." Matt smiled and made a note in his file, whilst Woody looked a little weirded out.

"'Boss'? he asked, looking between the two. Matt grinned.

"I'm in charge of the investigation," he said proudly, "I am the first detective to tame Jordan Cavanaugh. She follows my directions." Woody raised an eyebrow and looked toward Jordan, who smiled weakly and shook her head the tiniest amount, as if to say 'yeah, right'.

"Speaking of," continued Matt, not noticing the looks between the couple, "When are you starting the autopsy? If we can figure out where's he's been, we might be able to track down Sampson."

"I'll autopsy him as soon as we're done trace," said Jordan, gritting her teeth. She wasn't liking this whole 'let Seely be in charge' thing as much as she thought she would, and she hadn't thought she would enjoy it.

"Great!" said Matt happily, "Call me when you find out what the peachy smell is all about." He turned on his heal and left Trace. Woody looked toward Jordan, looking sceptical.

"I thought it might come in handy to have him think he was in charge!" she justified quickly. "Seriously, did you really think that Seely could 'tame' me so easily?" Woody chuckled.

"No one can tame you."

She shook her head and started to examine Sergei's body. "Substance under the nails," she observed, turning back into her usual workaholic self. "Bruising on the wrists, torso, face, neck and legs." She began to collect samples, while Woody went to go get coffee. It was going to be a long day.

XXX

"You know, Lily, I've been thinking." Lily swallowed the icecream she already had in her mouth and put down her spoon almost dejectedly. When Bug said something like that, it was important.

"About what?"

"Everything. You, Maddie, Nigel, Kate..." Lily pushed her bowl off to the side.

"Why?"

"Nigel has been seeing Kate behind our backs." Lily looked taken aback momentarily, but settled back into her regular counsellor look.

"That's to be expected," she said, "We've seen how they look at each other."

"I hadn't."

"Why does it bother you?" She tried to catch his eyes but he avoided her.

"I don't like her."

"Is that all?" Bug looked up at her.

"He didn't tell me." Lily gave him an apologetic look.

"And that hurt you." He shook his head.

"At first I was angry. He's my best friend. He's supposed to tell me this kind of stuff. But he didn't." He sighed. "Now it just seems... pathetic."

"Him not telling you?" Again, he shook his head.

"No, me being angry at him for not telling me. I shouldn't have been. He's allowed to keep secrets." Lily reached across their table and took his hand.

"But you don't want him to?" Bug put his hand on top of hers.

"Not from me. I thought we told each other everything." He sighed. "Why am I telling you this? It's stupid." He pulled his hands away, folding them in his lap. "I'm sorry."

"No, Bug! No. You have to open up to someone," said Lily, standing up and walking around the table to him. "You always bottle up your emotions— and that's sad, because you are the most compassionate person I know. It's not good for your psyche to keep things inside all the time." She kneeled down beside him, taking his hands again. "I love you, Bug, and all I want to do is listen." Bug looked at her and gave her a small smile.

"I don't like talking."

"Then I guess I'll have to listen to your silence." Bug chuckled.

"I love you, you know that?" Lily smiled.

"Yes," she said, "I do."

XXX

Cal took the scissors and stared at them for a minute, then brought them up to his fringe carefully and snipped a lock off. It wouldn't be perfect, but it would allow him to see again. He took a good look in the mirror, then did another snip, trying to even it out. It looked awful. Terrible. But what did he care?

He snipped again. Now it looked half-decent, at least. Still wild and unapproachable, but manageable now. He put down the scissors on the counter and examined his new haircut closely. He didn't even look like himself anymore; the sad eyes with bags under them from lack of sleep, the moustache he had grown, his way-more-than-five-o'clock-shadow, his thin, dimple-less cheeks. That was what he hated most. The dimples. They were gone.

He smiled half-heartedly, but they didn't appear. No matter how hard he tried, his normal happy-go-lucky dimples that he adored and relied on just weren't there anymore. How could he loose his dimples? Weren't they, like, permanent?

He turned on the tap and splashed some water on his face, then looked up and turned to face the window of his hotel room. He glared across the street at the hotel his brother had been staying at. He could see the maid in the room beside Woody's old one, making up the beds and cleaning up. So the Russian's have followed him, thought Cal, sighing. He reached for his prepaid cell phone and started to dial his brother's number. He needed to know about this.

XXX

"Hoyt," Woody answered his phone as he watched Jordan look through Sergei's stomach contents. He found the whole thins rather disgusting, so he looked away and used the call as an excuse not to pay attention.

"Are you alone?"

Woody glanced at Jordan. "No."

"Then my name is John until further notice."

"Okay, John," said Woody, biting his lip. "What's wrong?"

"They've followed you. They could be watching you at any time, so watch your back, and Jordan's."

"Geez," he breathed. He hadn't fully believed his brother when he explained that he was being followed, but when Jordan's safety was called it... it made the threat all too real.

"I'd advise you to give her a gun for protection, but she'd want to know why. You might want to have someone tail her when you can't," said Cal, pausing. Then, "And I'm going to come to Boston."

"No!"

Jordan jumped and looked at him, confused. "Sorry," mumbled Woody, and she turned back to her work with a shake of her head, her dark curly hair flying everywhere.

"No," he said, much quieter, "Don't. You. Dare." There was a hollow laugh on the other end which made Woody's blood run cold. That laugh didn't belong to the little brother he knew and loved.

"Like you can stop me," said Cal bitterly, "The only reason I haven't given up yet is to protect Jordan, and I want to do my part in keeping her in harm's way." Woody didn't like this new version of his brother very much, but if he was trying to protect Jordan, then the real him was buried in his, somewhere. That gave Woody hope.

"You already are," said Woody, "You don't need to—" The dial tone made him stop talking. Cal had hung up the phone.

"Dammit!" Jordan looked up at him again.

"Something wrong? Who was that?" she sounded worried.

"John. Uh, never mind. It's nothing. I have... overdue paperwork," lied Woody quickly, and hating himself for it. Lying to Jordan always made his heart heavy.

"Ouch," she said, then grinned. "Guess what."

"What?" asked Woody, flashing her the 'famous Hoyt dimples'.

"Another connection to Albie Sampson," she said proudly, holding up the jar of peachy-smelling half digested food and stomach acid. "He ate a 'Peach Plate' just before he died."

"I'll pretend to know what that means."

"A 'Peach Plate'. Peaches, vanilla icecream, chopped walnuts and caramel sauce in a pie crust with more peaches on top. Only served at Albie's bar. Don't you remember seeing the sign when we last went there?"

Woody flipped open his phone to call Matt. It wasn't a major connection, but if they could find more, they could burry Albie under the evidence so there would be no chance at him going free. "Seely? It's Hoyt. I've got news."