Orchids

by Tracy

Peter Caine enlists the help of a local call girl to solve a series of murders in Chinatown.

                                    Orchids

                                 by Tracy LeCates

The frigid, pre-dawn wind cut through the hooker's fake fur jacket, her uncovered lower extremities already numb.  One shaking, ungloved hand lifted the receiver of the payphone, the other hand fumbled for change in her pocket, and the crumpled business card.  The card had been slipped into the coat pocket weeks ago by a young detective, from the precinct in Chinatown; the one cop who had ever reached out to her, treated her as something more than what she appeared to be.

Fear was something Jenny lived with every day of her life, but this was a new kind.  Her numb fingers stabbed out the phone number, and she fought the urge to hang up and run when a voice answered, "One Hundred First, Broderick."

"P- Peter Caine, please."

"I'm sorry, Detective Caine isn't here yet.  Do you want to leave a message or call back in a few minutes?"

Jenny's eyes flooded with tears of frustration as her ears picked up the quiet sound of footsteps somewhere behind her.  "Tell him… tell him to come to the alley between Lucas's Sporting Goods and the pharmacy. Someone is… is dead," she stammered before hanging up and walking swiftly down the street towards the cemetery, her shortcut home.

The harsh winter wind picked up an errant newspaper, blowing it down the alley, where it came to rest beside the dead body of the young woman.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Jody and Peter climbed out of the Jeep and into the frosty morning air, both silent as they headed towards the alley.  Two patrol cars partially blocked traffic in the street, and the officers attempted to dispatch the small crowd gathering.  The yellow tape was raised for the two detectives and they slipped beneath it, entering the alley.

"What have you got, Nicky?" Peter asked in quiet greeting to the M.E., who stood shivering over a white-sheeted object.

"Single victim, female, twenty-five to thirty years old.  No visible signs of struggle or obvious cause of death.  I'll know more once I do a thorough exam.  The scene's been secured and I'm ready to get her out of here."

Peter lifted the sheet. The blonde woman lay on her back, her eyes wide open and staring into oblivion, her countenance frozen in a perpetual look of surprise.  One blue contact had been slightly dislodged, revealing the soft brown of her eyes.  "Working girl?"  he asked, moving aside to afford Jody a better look.

"Might have been," she answered, staring critically for a moment, then shaking her head.  "Might not.  The neighborhood is right, but those clothes are a little expensive for a trades-girl working these streets.  She have any ID on her?"

The uniformed officer behind them cleared his throat.  "Nothing. No purse, nothing in her pockets besides a handful of condoms and some lipstick." 

Peter shoved his hands back into the relative warmth of his jacket pockets.  "We'll run her prints, see if we get a hit.  Any witnesses?"

"Nada," the officer replied.  "Nobody around here saw anything, but what's new with that?  An anonymous call came in, some half hysterical woman saying there was a dead body in the alley."

"You get a trace on the number?" Jody asked.

The officer nodded.  "Call came from a pay phone around the corner.  Who knows how many people used that phone.  If you want to waste the time lifting prints then that's your dime.  My shift was over an hour ago," he said, turning over control of the scene to the detectives and walking back towards the street.

"Great..." Peter muttered.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Jordan took the Polaroid between her fingers and studied the image carefully as she leaned back in her chair.  She shook her head and her blonde curls bounced slightly with the action.  "Sorry, babe. I never saw her before." 

Peter sat perched on the edge of his lover's desk, a disappointed look on his face.  "We didn't get a hit off her prints, and she doesn't match anything from Missing Persons.  If we knew who she was it would give us someplace to start. Right now we've got no ID, and no witnesses have come forward."

"How was she killed?" she asked, adjusting her vision to see the man sitting a few inches away as a professional colleague instead of a bed-partner.  It was a daily adjustment now, and they both seemed to be more comfortable with the duality of their relationship as time passed.    

"She was drugged first, looks like Rohyphnol, then administered a large dose of insulin, which caused a massive seizure.  Nickie thinks she died somewhere else, then she was dumped in the alley."

"Sexually assaulted?" She handed the photo back to him, ignoring the noise from the hall as a couple of uniformed officers brought in two men who were loudly and drunkenly protesting.

"She'd had intercourse that night, yes.  With multiple partners, but there were no signs of struggle, no bruising, and no semen. Nick found a couple different specimens of pubic hair.."

"Condoms," Jordan ventured with an understanding nod.

"Yeah, and a pocket full of little silver wrappers.  That's why we're thinking working girl."

She stood and reached for her jacket.  "Gimme the photo back.  I'll go out and make a few discreet, unofficial inquiries." She glanced at the clock on the wall.  "It's getting late.  Want to meet me at Delancy's in about two hours?"

Peter nodded and flashed her his most charming smile.  "Thanks."

Jordan returned the smile, reaching out to pat his cheek.  "You can thank me tonight."

                                    ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Peter stretched in his chair, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"You and me both," Jody remarked as she rolled her chair closer to his desk.  "Have you heard anything back from Jordan?"

He shook his head, stifling the yawn he felt pulling on his jaw.  "Not yet.  I'm meeting her at Delancy's in a few and she promised to fill me in then.  You want to join us?"

"Three on a date?  Is that your new style?" she asked with a sarcastic smile.

            A look of exaggerated innocence plastered on his face, he replied, "Gee, I didn't think either of you went that way, but my birthday is coming up..."

"You are a pig from Hell," Jody laughed.  "Keep dreaming."

"I will," he assured her with a comical leer as he stood and slipped on his leather jacket.  "I'll see you at Delancy's."

"See you there."

He got as far as the door.

"Detective Caine?" a soft, nervous voice called out to him, and he turned.

The young blonde woman dressed in a miniskirt on a night that promised snow got up from the bench and approached him.

Peter greeted her with a questioning smile.  "Jenny, what are you doing here?"

"I haven't been arrested if that's what you're asking," she said softly.  Her eyes glanced nervously about the room.  "Can we talk?"

His gaze involuntarily shifted to the clock on the wall, a quick thought to how pissed Jordan was going to get if he was late, again.  He nodded, taking her arm to guide her back towards his desk.  "Sure. What's up?"

"Not here," she pleaded, gently disengaging from his grasp. "Please. A quick cup of coffee down the street?"

Sorry, Jordy,  he apologized silently.  He turned back towards the exit with a friendly but curious smile on his face.  He ignored the stares of a few coworkers as he escorted the hooker out the front door.

The coffee shop was too close to bother with the car, though Peter would have willingly taken it to give the woman a few minutes respite more from the bitterly cold night air.  He watched her walk beside him; her eyes, much like his, always alert and aware, taking in everything around her. She shivered in her short fake fur jacket, and sniffled softly.

Jenny's was a familiar face to Peter Caine.  He'd seen her on the streets for the last two years, though where she'd been before that he'd no idea.  Occasionally she'd get rousted with the rest of the girls, but she'd never been in any other trouble, at least not that he knew of.  They'd spoken briefly on a number of occasions, and it always seemed to him that she was out of place in the lifestyle.  There was still something bright and shining in her that hadn't been tarnished by a life working on the street.  The last time he'd seen her had been several weeks earlier, when he'd walked her home through the cemetery... and melted down at my father, he reminded himself guiltily.

            Peter welcomed the warmth of the coffee shop as he held the door open for his companion and followed her in.  She walked to the back and slipped into the last booth, her eyes on the door.  She shrugged off her jacket after a moment and ordered a cup of coffee when the waitress approached.

"Hungry?" Peter asked, eyeing the small menu propped up on the table.  "My treat," he added casually. 

Jenny shook her head.  "No, thanks. I don't really have much of an appetite."

Peter waited as she began to fidget, tearing small pieces off the corners of the paper napkin in front of her.  He waited with a patience he'd seen in his father, but had himself, never before possessed. Things had been changing for him over the last several months.  The visions had been the only change he hadn't embraced willingly.

"I called you this morning," she blurted out, almost apologetically. "But, you weren't in yet.  I wasn't sure what time you started work..."

His interest picked up, though he kept his energy calm and neutral. "You called me at the precinct?"

She nodded.  "I didn't know who else to call.  I found her. In the alley."

Understanding began to dawn.  "Why didn't you leave your name, so I could get in touch with you?"

"I don't know.  I guess I panicked when they said you weren't in.  I found her, and I knew that she was dead, but I just couldn't leave her lying out there."  Her eyes darted from her hands on the table to Peter's face and back down again quickly as she tried to keep herself from rambling on.

Peter reached across the small table and laid his hands atop hers. His eyes sought and held hers.  "Jenny, slow down. Start from the beginning, okay?"  He gave her hands a gentle squeeze of reassurance. 

Taking a deep breath, she tried to stop her hands from shaking.  "I was out late last night," she said, looking at the man across from her with an almost shy expression on her face.  "I was walking back to my apartment, and I always just kind of glance down alleys as I go by.  See, at that hour of the night, morning actually, it's not always safe to be out walking around.  I've been mugged a couple of times walking home because there were people in the alleys I didn't see, so now I always look."

            Peter nodded in understanding, his heart saddened by the fact that this woman had been mugged and was afraid to report it.  She was a human being, with the same rights as any other, yet she hadn't felt that she deserved justice or help.

"So, I glanced down this one alley, and I saw someone laying there. Not that seeing someone passed out in an alley is unusual, but… this was a woman, and she wasn't dressed like a street person, and that is unusual."  Her voice trembled slightly, and Peter could see her blue eyes begin to glisten with unshed tears.  "So, I figured maybe she was sick or had maybe gotten attacked or something, and I went down there… and, it was Linda. And, she was dead."

            Tamping down on his excitement over having a lead, the detective trained his sympathetic gaze on the woman across from him.  "Linda? You knew her? She was a friend of yours?"

Jenny glanced up as the waitress delivered their coffee, waiting until the woman was back behind the counter before continuing.  "I knew her," she confirmed.  "She and I used to... to run into each other almost every night.  She worked the blocks around where I found her this morning, up until about six months ago."

"What happened six months ago?" Peter asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"She went to work for someone else."

"Another pimp?" he asked, keeping his voice down.

Jenny shook her head.  "No. She went to work for one of those escort agencies.  One of the other girls we used to hang around with got a job with them, and after a couple of months she came back and told us that they were looking to hire a few more girls.  Linda jumped at the chance.  The money is better, and it's supposed to be safer.  She wanted to buy a car, and maybe move to a better neighborhood."

Peter's mind raced as more pieces of the puzzle were put on the table.  "Do you know who she went to work for?"

"I don't remember," she admitted, frustration in her expression turning to sadness again.  "That was months ago."  Her gaze drifted to the window at the side of the booth, and to the dark, cold night beyond it.  "I know that we don't really count for much in the grand scheme of things," she said softly.  "And, I know that one more dead whore doesn't make a whole lot of difference to most people."

            "Makes a difference to me," Peter assured her.  "We'll find out who did this, Jenny. I promise.  But, we're going to need your help."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Jordan checked her watch once more, and glanced back at the door.

The motions weren't lost on Jody Powell, who had told Jordan that Peter was right behind her, almost an hour ago.  "Something shiny must have grabbed his attention," she joked.

"His father is even worse," Mary Margaret added with a chuckle.

Jordan pulled her attention away from the door, back to her coworkers.  "What do you mean?"

Skalany looked at Jody in amusement for a moment before answering.  "It's a Caine thing. Runs in the family.  They get distracted or derailed easily.  One minute they're here, and the next minute... gone," she said, snapping her fingers.

"Peter's father hasn't been around much the last week or two," Jordan said, brushing an errant curl of hair from her eyes. 

"He comes and goes," Skalany offered with a shrug, though unable to conceal just the slightest bit of frustration from her voice.  "Speak of the devil.  Junior, that is."  She turned a smiling face towards her partner as she spotted him making his way towards them.

"Sorry I'm late," he apologized, coming to stand beside Jordan.  One hand came to rest on her shoulder as he planted a kiss on the top of her head.

Her hand came up to cover his, warming the cold flesh.  "No problem.  I had good company.  Did you run into trouble?"

More than a little surprised at her immediate forgiveness for his tardy arrival, Peter shed his jacket and glanced around the bar for an empty table or booth.  Spotting one towards the back, he tugged on her sleeve.  "C'mon, let's grab that table. I didn't run into a problem, but I may have run into part of a solution."

Jody and Skalany followed the couple through the crowded bar to the recently vacated table.  Peter ordered himself a beer, and a refill on the drinks for his friends before starting to fill them in on the reason he'd been detained.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Peter smiled at the sight of Jordan's compact easing into the parking space beside his in the garage as he turned off the headlights and ignition.  Climbing out of the Stealth, he waited for her to join him before heading inside his apartment building.  As the elevator doors closed, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind, pulling her against him as he rested his chin atop her head.  "There's a league hockey game this weekend," he commented off-handedly.  "Want to come watch?"

"I could do that," she replied, just as casually.  "Want me to bring along the camcorder to capture any historic moments?"

A wicked grin formed on his face.  "Yeah, and then bring it with you when we come back to my place after.  To record any historic moments."

She laughed softly. "Animal."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The city lights were still visible from the small outlying neighborhoods.  Not quite city, not quite suburb; small houses crowded together along short streets, giving home to residents who disliked city life, yet couldn't quite afford the step to home ownership in the quiet towns that bordered the city. 

The porch lights outside the small house at the end of Wilton Lane lit up early in expectation of company.  A dark blue Lincoln Continental sat behind the red Fiero in the short driveway, but soon there would be nowhere to park in front of the house.  The heart of winter was fast approaching, and darkness came earlier each night.

            The constant traffic each night, the coming and going of men and women, and the loud fighting from the little white house had aroused the curiosity of more than one neighbor.  However, that curiosity was not acted upon by anyone who had met the homeowner - Jim Ginty.  The thirty-eight-year-old man stood an imposing six foot four inches tall, and, weighed in at just over 250 pounds, all of which appeared to be muscle. None of the neighbors had the courage to question his activities.

The neighbor closest to the Ginty house pulled his window closed, against the chill of the night air, and the angry words, which were swelling to a shout next door.

Ginty's temper flared, brilliant as fireworks in July.  His green eyes narrowed to slits as he stared across the room at his live-in girlfriend.  "You got a fuckin' problem with me going out tonight?" he snarled.

"Yeah, I do," she retorted.  "You're always out. You take off and leave me to run this fuckin' business by myself every night, and I hate it!"

            Jim snatched his cigarettes and lighter from the dresser, overturning the brimming ashtray.  "Yeah, you work so fuckin' hard answering the phone.  Cry me a fuckin' river.  Now, get your ugly ass out there to the living room, and shut the fuck up."

            Shoving Amy ahead of him, he followed her down the hall to the living room and pushed her down onto the couch.  "I might not be home tonight, so don't wait up," he warned as he grabbed his jacket from the coat rack by the door.  "Put the money in the jar at the end of the night and I'll go to the bank tomorrow."  Without a glance backwards, confident that his instructions would be followed to the letter, he walked out the door, leaving only his anger behind.

                                                ^^^^^^^^^^^^  

The last of the sunlight faded from the evening sky and the first of the cars pulled up in front of the house on Wilton Lane.  The occupants walked into the dwelling without knocking, both having breathed tentative sighs of relief at the absence of Ginty's car outside. 

            The tall, lanky blonde who entered first threw down her purse beside the coffee table and kicked off her stilletto heels.  Her movements were mirrored almost exactly by the redhead who followed.  The blonde cast a smile at Amy, and yawned.  "Anything lined up yet for me tonight?"

Amy shook her head, beginning to relax a little.  "Not yet, Rachel, but it's not even nine o'clock. You two are early." 

"Who's driving tonight?" the redhead named Tanya asked.  

"Don and Mike should be here soon, and Alan is available if we need him."

The question hung unasked between the three of them for a long while as Rachel picked up the remote and began to channel surf.  

"Jim's out for the night," Amy finally volunteered tonelessly.

The remaining tension on the faces of the women seated in the living room drained away.  "Thank God," Tanya muttered, taking out a cigarette. 

A few minutes later the phone rang, and Amy answered, lowering her voice to a sensuous purr,  "Orchids... This is Amy, can I help you?.... I see.... What kind of girl were you looking for?"

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The cold wind began to howl past the seventh floor windows of Peter's apartment, and he shivered despite the warmth of the bed, and the warmth of his companion.

"...'w's wrong...?" the sleepy voice beside him whispered.

"Nothing," he whispered back, planting a kiss on her forehead.  "Go to sleep, we've got a busy day ahead tomorrow."

Blonde curls tickled his bare chest as she nodded and shifted into a more comfortable sleeping position.  One leg wedged itself between his, and arms snaked around his waist.  Jordan's breathing evened out, and slowed, as she slipped into sleep.

For Peter, slumber was a little more elusive.  The sound of the bitter wind outside chilled his body in sympathy for those who had no warm bed to retreat to, for those like Jenny, who he knew would be outside at this hour, on the street, without the layers of clothing to protect them against the elements.  A Shaolin's place is among the lowly, among the homeless... His father's words echoed in his mind once again, words which were beginning to lose their cryptic quality to him. 

The apartment.  It wasn't lavish, but it more than provided protection from harsh weather, and a sense of security many lived without. There was also more than enough room for a single person to live in comparative comfort. To the person with nowhere to call home, his apartment might be considered a palace. 

Unconsciously he pulled the sleeping body of his companion closer, letting her provide a little comfort.  Letting her stave off a little of the loneliness, which crept in in the night sometimes.  Hoping she would keep the nightmares at bay, his eyes closed tightly as he summoned sleep.

The strident cry of the phone startled the sleeping cops from unconsciousness well before dawn. 

"Caine," Peter answered, clearing his throat and attempting to focus bleary eyes on the glowing numerals of the clock.

"Detective? I'm sorry to bother you at home, at this hour..."

Forcing the fog from his brain, Peter recognized the woman's voice, and sat up. "Jenny?"

            Jordan's eyes opened, pinning her lover with a questioning stare.

            "I found out where Linda was working," Jenny continued. "I asked around all night, and I found another friend of hers and she remembered the name of the agency."

"Where are you, Jenny?" Peter asked.

"On 7th Street, near the corner of Walnut," she answered.

Peter could almost hear her teeth chattering over the phone.  He mentally ran the neighborhood she was in through his head, searching for reference points.  "There's a diner about two blocks from where you are. I'll be there as soon as I can.  I'll buy you breakfast and you can fill me in."

            "I know it."  Jenny's weary voice came back to him over the line.  "Thank you, Detective."

Peter replaced the phone in its cradle and shot Jordan an apologetic glance.  "I gotta go. I'll see you at the station.  If I'm a little late, can you let the Captain know that I'm working on something?" he asked as he fumbled through the dark room for a pair of pants.

Jordan sat up in the bed, pulling the sheets around her.  "I could come with you," she offered, running a hand through her already tousled hair.

With a slight smile Peter returned to her side for a quick kiss. "Thanks, babe.  I appreciate the offer, but I think I should go alone.  She's comfortable with me.  I don't know how open she's gonna be with someone who works Vice sitting across the table."

"Then, I'll just stay right here," she said with a sleepy smile as she sank back down into the bed.

Peter spotted Jenny immediately, sitting in a booth at the rear of the nearly empty diner.  Only a few others sat at the counter, sipping coffee and killing time as the graveyard shifts ended.

Jenny cast the detective a tired smile as she looked up, and pushed the hair back from her face.  Her eyes had a look of weariness that went straight to the soul.  "I'm sorry to get you out of bed, Detective. I should have waited until morning."

"No, no. It's fine, really," he said, waving off the apology as he sat across from her and signaled to the waitress for coffee and a menu.  "You can call me anytime, day or night, if you ever need anything."  He glanced across the table at her as his coffee and their menus were placed before them.  He couldn't fathom how the woman lived, placing her life in the hands of strangers every night, and he didn't know how to help her. Maybe that's part of the problem, he admitted to himself.  I've never walked a mile in the shoes of the people I'm trying to help.

An uncertain smile appeared on her face as she seemed to sense the sincerity in his offer. "Thank you, Detective."

"Peter," he responded.  "I never liked titles much."  He could hear his father's voice in his mind.  Titles create barriers between people.

"Peter," she repeated with a nod.  "Peter, is your offer of breakfast still good?"

            "Whatever you want," he affirmed, opening his own menu and letting the good feeling of progress settle in.  "Hmmmmm, a short stack of pancakes and sausage sounds good to me."

Once Peter got a few forkfuls of food and two cups of coffee into himself he began to feel a little more awake and alert.  "So, you said you got the name of that agency?" he asked, taking a small pad of paper and a pen from his pocket.

Jenny nodded, swallowing the mouthful of bacon and cheese omelet.  "Yes, I did.  They go by the name Orchids.  The couple running it are named Jim and Amy, and they operate out of their house somewhere just on the edge of the city."  She pulled out a local entertainment paper and turned to the back page.  She folded it over and pushed it across the table to Peter, pointing at the Dating Service ad she'd circled.

            "Orchids - Something for Everyone - Escort and Massage Services in the Privacy of Your Home..." Peter read, shaking his head in disbelief. "They advertise in the papers?"

            "Sure, lots of them do.  There's ten or twelve just in this week's edition.  So... does this help?" she asked hopefully.

            "It helps a lot, Jenny.  Thank you.  I'll take this to work with me and show it to my Captain.  We'll figure out where to go from here.  If we need your help...?"

            "You know where to find me," she offered, stifling a yawn.  "Past my bedtime," she joked.

Peter downed the last of his coffee and pushed his plate aside.  "Let me give you a lift home."

Peter waited in the Stealth until he saw Jenny disappear safely into her apartment building before pulling back into traffic and turning in the direction of the Hundred and First.  The sun was rising on a clear, but bitterly cold day. Glancing at the dashboard clock he realized he'd be on time for work for once, but knew he'd pay for the mostly sleepless night later.

Something new gnawed at the fringes of his mind, whispering for attention.  Everywhere he looked as he made the drive to work looked familiar and brand new at once.  People and places he'd seen hundreds of times looked different, changed.  The world isn't changing, Pete. You are.  The thought both thrilled and terrified him.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Peter, Jody and Jordan sat in Karen Simms office, the entertainment newspaper in the center of her desk.

"You think this job got her killed?  That she was perhaps murdered by a 'client'?" Simms asked.

"It's a possibility," Peter answered.  "I think it's worth checking out."

"We can't just go in there, flash our badges and expect any kind of cooperation," Jody pointed out.

Jordan cleared her throat.  "What if I go in?  I mean, to work there?"

Peter opened his mouth, then quickly closed it as he felt his foot heading towards the opening orifice.

"How are you going to get in?" Simms asked, entertaining the idea.

"Peter's hooker knows people.  She was even approached about working there herself," Jordan offered, sensing her Captain was about to buy into the idea.

He bristled slightly at the phrase 'Peter's hooker' and the casual manner the words were conveyed with, as though talking about some inanimate object, but pushed aside the comment for the time being.

Simms turned a curious eye to him.  "Could she arrange some sort of introduction?"

"I don't know. I'll have to talk to her.  She said she'd be willing to help if she could, but I'm not sure I want to get her too involved."

"Why not?" Jordan shot back, sensing an obstacle being placed in her path.   

"Because she's a civilian, and I don't want to endanger her unnecessarily," he explained.  Damn, and people called me gung-ho.

"Would she be in any more danger helping us than she is every night out on the streets?" Jordan asked.  "It's not like we're asking her to act as bait or anything, just for an introduction."

"All right, all right," Captain Simms interrupted, holding up her hands.  "I understand both your points.  There's no harm in asking her," she said, directing her gaze in Peter's direction. "As long as we've got Officer McGuire on loan from Vice for this case we may as well use her to our best advantage."

Further arguing was cut short by the appearance of Frank Strenlich, who opened the door with a quick rap of his knuckles.  "Excuse me, Captain.  I thought you might like to know that we've got another one."

                        ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Peter stood outside the apartment for a long moment before rapping lightly on the door.  It was mid-afternoon, and the day had been long already.  With only a few hours sleep under his belt from the night before, and a plan he was less than enthusiastic about, he almost hoped that his knock would go unanswered. 

The door opened a few inches, stopped by the chain, and Jenny peered out into the hall.

"Sorry to bother you, it's just me," Peter apologized, hoping he hadn't awakened her.

"Peter, just a second."  The door closed and the chain was hastily removed before he was offered admittance.  "Come on in."

Peter could see the nervous look in the woman's eyes as she stood back to let him in.  Clearly she was unused to visitors. Her blonde hair hung damp on her shoulders from a recent shower, and she was dressed in a pair of faded jeans, and a warm but worn coral sweater.  Without a trace of makeup on, she looked younger than her years, and undeniably more innocent.  "I'm sorry to bother you," he began.

"No, it's fine.  I'm the one who woke you up in the middle of the night and dragged you out of your bed.  Can I get you a cup of coffee or something?" she offered, moving towards the kitchen.

"Only if you've got it made."

"I do," she assured him with a smile.  She disappeared into the kitchen.

Peter slipped off his leather jacket and sat down on the old sofa. The apartment was small, and the walls badly in need of paint, but it was clean and well kept.   A few Monet posters hung on the walls in the living room.  The soft blues and pinks of "Houses of Parliament" captured and held his eyes, instilling a sense of peace.

Jenny came back out of the kitchen with two mismatched mugs of hot coffee in her hands.  She held one out as an offering before sitting down on the far end of the sofa.

"I like your taste in art," he commented.

"Thank you.  I've always been partial to the impressionists.  The realists just painted what they saw."

Peter took a sip of his coffee.  "You know much about art?"

"Girls like me aren't supposed to know about art?" she asked with a wry smile.

"I'm sorry," he stammered.  "I didn't mean it like that."

"Didn't you?"

After a moment of thought he replied honestly,  "I guess maybe I did.  I should know better by this point in my life not to operate from stereotypes and preconceived notions, but… I slip sometimes.  I hope you won't hold it against me."

"I won't," she assured him.  "But, I don't think you came here to discuss the finer points of art.  Not that it wouldn't be nice."

"And someday maybe I will come over to do that, but… you're right. I didn't.  I came to ask for your help."  He took another sip of coffee, and got down to business.  "There was another murder last night.  Down by the diner where we had breakfast.  At least, that was where the body was found."

Jenny curled up on her end of the sofa, drawing her bare feet up under her.  "Another prostitute?"

"Yes.  We got an ID off her prints.  Her name was Tanya Williams. Does the name mean anything to you?" he asked, reluctant to show her the Polaroid he carried in his pocket.

"I don't think so," she said, shaking her head.  "But, that doesn't mean much.  We don't go by our real names out there."

"You don't?"

"Most of us don't, no.  I mean, there's no training manual, or official book of codes or anything, but it's pretty common.  Going by our real names is too much like making it personal.  And it's not personal. It's business."

Peter nodded.  "I have a picture."

Jenny braced herself, having seen too much death in the last forty-eight hours, and held out her hand.  "Let me see." Sad recognition dawned on her features as she took the photo from his hand. 

"You know her?"

            She sighed, and handed the picture back with a slight nod of her head.  "Sort of. I used to see her around, and I know I saw her with Linda more than once.  She may have been working for the same people."

"That's what we thought.  Her clothing was similar to Linda's, somewhat more expensive than…"

"Than anything you'd see a regular streetwalker wearing.  It's okay, Peter.  It's a different clientele, and they'd be expected to invest a little more in their wardrobe.  How was she killed?"

"Same as Linda.  She was drugged, probably through something she drank, or ate, then injected with a good quantity of insulin."

Jenny nodded sadly.  "You said you wanted my help.  I'm assuming that means more than just looking at a picture."  She set aside her empty coffee mug and waited for him to continue.

"Yes, it does.  Jenny, we want to send someone undercover into this agency, but we need a way for her to get in.  We need someone to arrange an introduction.  I talked to my Captain, and we can arrange to get you some money in exchange for your cooperation."

"Because I'd be missing work?" she asked, unable to keep just a small measure of amusement out of her voice.

"Something like that.  I promise that we'll try to keep your involvement to a minimum, but I can't lie to you and tell you that it isn't without the possibility of some kind of risk."

Jenny sat quietly, her eyes downcast.  "All right, Peter.  I'll call them and see if they're looking to hire.  I know a few names to drop that they would know, but they're pretty picky about who they hire.  No offense, in case she's who you had in mind or in case she's a friend of yours, but… if you're planning on sending that Morgan woman, forget it.  She's got a horse-face and everyone knows her."

Peter burst out laughing before he could stop himself.  "No, not Morgan.  Jordan McGuire.  She hasn't been in town long, and she doesn't have a horse-face."

                        ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Amy Wilkes lit up another cigarette and let the smoke fill her lungs. Her eyes strayed from the phone to the face of her lover and business partner, sitting on the other end of the couch.  "I'm telling you, Jim, we have to close down for awhile.  Two girls in two nights is too much to be a coincidence!"

"Oh, just shut your big yap," Ginty snapped.  "They were off duty when it happened.  Both of them.  They'd both finished their shifts and got knocked off on their own time.  Greedy bitches were probably still working the street corners, selling their crusty holes for twenty bucks a pop in their spare fucking time.  That's where they got hit, in their old neighborhoods.  Nothin' gonna lead nobody back to us."

"But, Jim…"

"NO!" he thundered, his fist crashing down on the coffee table for emphasis.  "We are not closing down for one goddamn night!  We don't even need to slow down.  I'll see that girl who called, and her friend, and if they're good merchandise then we could be fully staffed again by tomorrow night.  These girls are a dime a dozen, we won't even miss the other two."

                                    ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Jenny sat in the interrogation room with Peter, Kermit, and Jordan McGuire, staring at the other woman in appraisal.  "They'll like her," she said, nodding in approval.  "They can sell her."

"Gee, thanks," Jordan responded, unable to keep the sarcasm from leaking out.

Peter leaned in towards his lover.  "I think she meant that as a compliment, babe."

Jordan moved away from Peter, attempting to keep a professional appearance and distance.  "All right, are you ready?" she asked, pushing the phone across the table to the other woman.

Jenny picked up the receiver, glanced at the phone number circled on the sheet of paper next to it, and dialed.  After more than a few rings a man's voice answered on the other end.

"Hi. My, ummm, my name is Jenny," she began nervously, taking a deep breath.

"We're not open yet," the man on the other end said flatly.  "Call back after eight o'clock."

"No, no!" she said quickly.  "I'm… I'm looking for a job.  Actually, my friend and I are both looking for jobs."

A short silence ensued.  "Do you have experience?"

"Yes.  Yes, we do.  Massage, escort, domination, you name it.  We saw your ad in the paper and were hoping maybe you were hiring."

"As a matter of fact, we are.  Can you come in for an interview tomorrow around three o'clock?" he asked, a forced congeniality to his voice.

"Three o'clock tomorrow?" Jenny repeated for the benefit of her companions, looking for the nod from Peter.  "Yes, we can do that."

"Good.  Come to one-oh-three Wilton Lane tomorrow, and don't wear anything complicated.  If I like what I see I'll want you to start work tomorrow night."

"Thank you.  We'll be there. Who should we ask for?"

"I'm Jim.  Don't be late," he warned, breaking the connection.

"So, we're all set to go tomorrow?"  Jordan asked Jenny as she hung up.

"I just need to find something nice to wear."

"Jordan will take you shopping tomorrow morning," Kermit interjected.  "The Captain has authorized a limited expense account for clothes and incidentals. Now, for the good part," he said with a grin as he stood.  "Figuring out where to put these wires."

"Wires?" Jenny laughed.

"Wires.  We're going to need to hear what's going on, especially if either of you runs into trouble.  The bra is usually a pretty good place…"

"Not a good idea, at least not for the interview," Jenny objected quickly.  "I'm expecting that the man who runs the agency will want to see what he's getting."

Jordan's head snapped up.  "Excuse me?  You mean he's going to expect us to take our clothes off?"

"Yes, he might or might not expect one or both of us to get naked," she said, casting an almost shy glance at the men in the room.  "Jewelry would work," Jenny suggested.  "An earring, or a locket if you could make something that small."

Kermit nodded in agreement, casting a glance at Peter.  "Maybe she wants to come work on our side," he offered with a slight smile.

                                    ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"I don't like it."  The words hung between them in the darkness of the bedroom.

Jordan propped herself up on one elbow to face her lover.  She'd been waiting all night for him to start voicing the objections she'd seen written on his face earlier.  "No offense, Peter, but I didn't ask you to like it."

He turned his head on the pillow to look at her, her expression visible in the moonlit room.  "You're really going to go through with this? You're going to walk in there tomorrow afternoon and strip for this guy?"

            "Peter!" she groaned in exasperation.  "Jenny didn't say it was definitely going to happen, just that it might.  And, yes, if it comes to that, then I'll do it. I don't see what the big deal is."

            "And what if he wants to do more than inspect the merchandise? What if he wants a trial run to test it?" the detective asked.

Jordan's gaze didn't waver, as she looked him in the eye.  "Then I'll tell him I've got my period or something.  I'm perfectly capable of thinking my way out of a situation like that."

"I still don't like it," he repeated, dropping his eyes from hers.

"Peter, if you can't do this, if you can't separate our professional life from our personal life, then we're going to have to make some changes." There was no threat to her words, only a calm statement of fact.

"Jordy, I'll deal with it," he said in quiet resignation as he reached out to pull her into his arms again.  "I just wanted you to know how I felt. That's all. You're important to me and I'm going to worry about you."  He felt her warm body in his arms, relaxed and compliant.  Absent was the remaining tension and distance he'd been used to with Kelly whenever their points of view had differed.  "Truce?" he asked softly.

"Truce,"  she agreed, chuckling as she yanked the blankets over their heads.

                                    ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

            Holiday shoppers crowded the department store.  Christmas music drifted through the air, muted by the multitude of voices.  Jordan McGuire squeezed through the crowd, searching for the young prostitute she'd been sent shopping with.  Kind of gives a new meaning to 'Ho-Ho-Ho,' she chuckled to herself.

            She found the other blonde woman holding two garments, picking a third off the rack.

            "Are you about done?" Jordan asked, eager to be gone.

"These should be fine," Jenny said quietly, holding up three short dresses.  "Not too revealing, not too conservative."

            The vice cop nodded approval of her selection.  "The petty cash the Captain gave me will cover all this.  Do you need shoes, or anything else?" she asked, draping her own purchases over her arm.

            "No, I have shoes," she answered, shaking her head.  "The dresses and the lingerie should be enough.  Hopefully this will all be over in a few days."

            Jordan raised a questioning eyebrow.  "You sound like you're not looking forward to this.  It should be a nice change for you, especially considering how cold it is outside at night now."

            Jenny offered her a weak smile.  "Sure. A regular vacation," she said softly.  Turning away from the other woman, she made her way to the registers.

            "We'll make a quick trip back to the station and 'suit up', then head over for the interview," Jordan began, making polite conversation as they stood in line.  "Kermit is getting us a car to use.  He'll coordinate with Peter on surveillance for this afternoon, and whatever happens after that."

            Jenny nodded, glancing about the store at the other shoppers.

            "Nervous?" Jordan asked.  "Because, you don't have to be.  Really. Everything will be fine. We've got the best backup on the force," she assured her, finally reaching the registers.

            "No, I'm not nervous," Jenny said, shaking her head slightly.  "I trust Peter…. Detective Caine," she corrected herself uncomfortably.

            Jordan dug into her purse for the petty cash she'd been issued, and accepted the receipt from the clerk as their purchases were folded and bagged.  "I didn't realize the two of you were on such familiar terms," she commented quietly.  "Then again, you'd have to be if you had his home phone number."

            Jenny took the bag from the clerk and preceded Jordan from the shop, back into the mainstream of the mall.  "We know each other a little," she admitted as the other woman caught up with her.

            "Is that why you're doing this?" Jordan asked curiously. 

            "I owe him a favor," she answered simply, glancing back at Jordan

                                    ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

            Jenny paced the small interrogation room, her high heels clicking on the hard floor.  Now I know what a fish out of water really feels like, she mused uncomfortably.  Attempting to make herself as invisible as possible as the three cops in the room conversed amongst themselves, she stopped at the window and hiked herself up onto the ledge to sit quietly.  What am I doing here? she asked herself, not for the first time that day.

            Glimpsing the warm smile Peter cast in her direction, she fought the impulse to glance about to make sure she was truly the recipient.  He's one of the good ones. They both are, she amended, catching Griffin's profile as he turned and approached her.

            Kermit held a delicate charm bracelet in his palm.  "Jenny, this is for you," he said, reaching for her wrist.  "One of these lovely little baubles is a transmitter.  We'll be able to track you wherever you are. We'll also be able to hear every word your say, so if you're going to talk about us, make it flattering," he added with a good-natured smile.

            "I'll keep that in mind," she promised, almost wary of the simple kindness in his voice.

            Jordan put the finishing touches on her makeup and slipped her compact back into her shoulderbag.  "What have you got for me, Kermit?" she asked, an eager gleam in her eyes.

"For you," Kermit continued, we have a pair of rather heavy earrings. I hope you've got strong lobes," he apologized, handing her the jewelry.

            "They're not exactly my style," she snickered.  "But, when in Rome…"

            "Gee, and Blake was thinking about giving up his day job to become a jewelry designer," Griffin sighed.  "They've passed Blake's rigorous testing, and Big Brother will be listening."

            Jewelry in place, Jenny checked her watch again.  "Are we ready to go?" she asked, eager to get to get the afternoon underway, and the evening over with.         

            Digging a set of keys out of his pocket, Peter tossed them to Jordan.  "There's an old blue Camaro in the garage downstairs that's seen its better days.  Should be perfect for the occasion."

            Jingling the keys in her hand, Jordan snatched her purse from the table and cast her partners an almost predatory grin.  "Ready to roll," she announced.

            Sliding down from her perch, Jenny reached for her coat and pulled it on.  Her hands trembled slightly as she fastened the buttons.  A pair of warm hands landed gently on either of her shoulders and she glanced back to meet the confident gaze of Peter Caine. 

"Nervous?" he asked softly.

            "Sort of," she confessed.

            "Don't be.  Jordan knows what she's doing.  And, Kermit and I will be close by, I promise.  Trust me?"

            Jenny found herself nodding an affirmative answer, much to her own surprise.  "Let's get this over with."

                        ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

            The bright sunshine of the afternoon belied the bitter cold temperatures.  The old Camaro cranked and fired, the big, old engine rumbling loudly in the garage.  "Reminds me of my first car," Jordan laughed.  "It wasn't much to look at, but it always started, always got me where I had to go."

            Jenny nodded with a polite smile in return, at a loss for words.

            Jordan shifted the topic back to the case at hand as she pulled the old car out into traffic.  "So, we'll just play it by ear when we get there. I'll follow your lead with regards to protocol.  Just play it cool, and let us take care of business."

                                                ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

            The smell of old smoke hung in the air, tickling Jordan's nose. The man who had greeted them bore the same smell.  A cruel gleam shone in his brown eyes, though he wore a smile on his face.

            "Nice," Jim grunted appreciatively as he circled the two women. "Very nice. You could pass as much younger, and some clients like that," he commented, pointing at Jordan, who smiled.

            "Thank you, I've been told that I - "

            "HEY!" the man bellowed suddenly.  His countenance fell to an angry glower.  "The rule is; you don't open your mouth unless I tell you to."

            Blinking in surprise, Jordan and Jenny both nodded in unison.

            Placated, Jim continued his visual inspection.  "We offer three services here; massage, escort, and domination.  If you don't do one, you're required to perform the other two.  Understood?"

            Unwilling to risk another outburst, each girl nodded her answer.

            Jim stalked back to the sofa and sank down onto it, getting comfortable.  "All right. Good. I think we understand each other.  Now, let me see a little more of the merchandise."

            Jordan hesitated only a moment as she saw her counterpart casually beginning to disrobe, revealing the skimpy red camisole she wore beneath the black cocktail dress, which was soon in a silken puddle at her feet.  Taking a deep breath, Jordan met the man's eyes and slipped out of her own garment.  The black teddy she wore concealed little, and she saw the approval in their new employer's eyes as he stopped circling, and came in for a closer look.

            "Very nice. No scars, no tattoos, no stretch marks," he observed, running his fingers lightly over the vice cop's hip.

            Jordan choked down her revulsion, and her impulse to force-feed the man her fist before he moved on to his inspection of Jenny.  She watched the blank mask fall over the hooker's face as large, rough hands came up to cup her breasts.  "Nothing sagging here either," Jim declared in satisfaction.  "Get dressed, both of you."

            Silently, both blondes pulled their clothing back into place, awaiting further instruction.

Ginty moved back to the sofa, lighting up the last cigarette in the crumpled pack, and pushed two new beepers across the coffee table at them.  "You're both hired. Take the beepers, and be back here at 8:00 tonight, ready to start. If I beep you, I expect a call back within five minutes, or we're gonna have trouble.  And, trust me, you don't want that. 

Amy'll give you the rates and fees, and give you your assignments.  Piss me off just once and you're gone."

            Jordan felt the small hairs at the back of her neck bristle.

                                                ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Jordan slipped the cell phone back into her purse, and looked across the booth at her companion as two cups of coffee were placed before them.  "We've got some time to kill before we have to be back there tonight.  Peter and Kermit should be here in about fifteen minutes.  One of us can take you back to your apartment, unless you'd rather come back to the precinct to wait," she offered.

"Actually, I'd like to go home for a few hours and catch a nap," Jenny answered.

"Hell, I'd like to take a shower.  I can still feel his hands on me.  How do you do it?" Jordan asked, shaking her head.  She made no attempt to conceal the look of blatant distaste.

Jenny shrugged, letting her gaze wander out the window.  "You do what you have to do.  That's all."

"Yeah, but... how do you stand it?" 

"It's a job, Officer McGuire," she explained quietly.  "It's not personal. It's business."  She glanced over at her companion, and didn't see satisfaction with her answer.  Stirring another packet of sweetener into her coffee, she cleared her throat, and continued.  "The first time... that was the worst.  I thought I was going to be sick.  I stood in the shower afterwards for about an hour.  And, I cried.  The second time was just as bad.  And, the third."

Jordan sat back in her seat, sipping her coffee.  Though she'd been working Vice for a while, she was beginning to realize that she'd never actually spoken to any of her collars.  She'd read them their rights, and taken them into custody with a certain sense of smug satisfaction.  She'd never stopped to consider that any of them had feelings, or a story.  "So, why didn't you stop?"

"Did you ever smoke?" Jenny asked.

Jordan nodded.  "Sure, when I was in college.  I gave it up after I graduated."

"Did you get sick the first couple times?"

The blonde cop laughed.  "I seem to recall puking once or twice."

"Okay, but it didn't stop you from doing it again, did it?"

The laughter faded to a slight smile as she shook her head.  "No, I just figured I'd get used to it, eventually."

"Exactly.  I figured I'd get used to feeling sick.  I needed the money to survive."

"And, have you? Gotten used to it?"

Jenny was silent for a long moment.  "After a while I sort of developed an, OFF switch," she admitted.  "Everything just sort of goes numb for me now.  My body is there, but it's like it's someone else.  I just operate on autopilot or something.  My brain shuts down; my body and I don't actually feel anything."

            "But…" Jordan began, her question cut short by the entrance of her partners. 

                                                ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

            "You're sure about going back tonight?" Peter asked again as they drove towards Jenny's apartment.  "No hard feelings if you want to back out."

            "No, it'll be fine, really," she answered, mustering a little enthusiasm.  "I just wanted to catch an hour or two of sleep before Officer McGuire picks me up."

            "All right.  You know, I've gotta admit, I'm pretty much in the dark about these agencies.  I suppose it's a good idea to have drivers for the girls, sort of bodyguards.  I mean, it cuts into the profit I guess, but the safety factor goes up.  If you can find out who was driving the nights the other girls were killed it would really help."

            "I'll see what I can find out," she promised.

A long silence followed as Peter tried not to ask the next question. "Jenny, if these agencies are supposed to be so much safer, and the money is better, and you don't actually have to have intercourse with the customers…"

"Why haven't I gone to work for one?" she finished for him.

Peter cast a curious glance at his companion.  "Well… yeah."

The young woman looked away for a moment before offering her quiet non-answer.  "Lots of reasons."

            Peter kept his further questions unvoiced, listening for the answer in her silence.

"When I'm… working the way that I work," she began hesitantly,  "I can pick my own customers."  Each word stumbled slowly from her lips, the regret and embarrassment she kept carefully concealed leaking out. "No one tells me who to do business with.  So… in a way, my body still belongs to me."

The detective nodded as her words rang true in his mind.  "There's more," he prompted softly.

Jenny nodded.  "I guess working for one of those agencies would make me a real professional. Working… freelance… I suppose I can still kid myself that I'm only doing this temporarily."

Peter's heart ached at the hopelessness in the voice of his companion.  So much promise, he mused sadly.  "You could get off these streets, Jenny.  You could do something else."

She shook her head slowly.  "I don't have any skills.  I don't have any education.  Slinging burgers doesn't pay the rent in even the lousiest neighborhood in town.  I've lived out here on these streets, Peter.  I've slept in cars, slept in alleys, all so that I could go to sleep with a clean conscience at night, and I would be dead by now if I hadn't… started working.  It's too late now, anyway.  I've got a criminal record.  No one is going to want to hire me once they see that."

            He shook his head in denial.  "That's not true, Jenny.  There are a lot of good people in this city, who would be glad to give you a second chance."

            Silence fell again between the two as they turned down the street Jenny lived on, and pulled to a stop in front of her apartment building.

            "Give it some thought, Jenny.  Give it some thought, and when you're ready, I'd like to help you."

            She reached for the door handle, casting him a glance.  "It sounds like you know something about second chances."

            Peter nodded, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as the face of Paul Blaisdell swam up in his mind.  "I do."

            "I'll give it some thought," she promised quietly as she opened the door to the bitter wind and slipped out of the car. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Jordan parked the Camaro at the curb, and killed the ignition.  The old engine rumbled and coughed its protest for several seconds after the key was in her pocket.  "Easy, Bessy," Jordan chuckled, patting the dashboard.

            Shivering in the night air, Jenny and Jordan made their way up the walk, carefully avoiding the icy patches in their high heels as they approached the door.  A young woman, wearing a touch too much makeup answered their knock.  "No need to be formal," she said in greeting.  "The door is always open during business hours."  She stood back to allow them entry.  "You must be the two newbies.  Come on in."

            Amy sat curled up on the couch in her sweatsuit, sporting a fresh bruise on her left cheek.  Her eyes held little or no interest in the conversations going on around her.  Four other working girls lounged on the large sectional and in the overstuffed chairs about the room, passing the time as they waited for the phone calls that would send them back out into the night. 

Their coats deposited on the rack behind the door, Jenny and Jordan casually settled onto the sofa.  The door opened once again, letting in a brief, icy blast of air, and the seventh employee let herself in, shivering dramatically as she called out a greeting to her coworkers.

            Jenny smiled in recognition as the new arrival shed her jacket, and claimed a seat across from her. 

            "So, you finally decided to come in out of the cold?" the brunette laughed.

            Jenny nodded.  "Seemed like it was time.  Nell, this is my friend, Carly," she said, nodding towards Jordan who greeted the other woman with a cheerful smile. 

            "New in town?" Nell asked the Vice cop.

            "Yes, I am," she confirmed.  "Just moved here from the big, bad city of angels."

            "So," Jenny interrupted, drawing the conversation away from Jordan's cover, "what are the clients like?"

            Nell chuckled, nudging the girl next to her.  "Well, they're different."

            Donna, the redhead beside her, nodded in agreement.  "Different is a good enough word for it.  Seriously, most of them are nice.  Lots of them just want company.  Some of them are only passing through town, business men, mostly.  Some of them are locals, who just can't seem to get their wives to go along with some of their little fantasies."

            "And, who could blame them?" Nell interjected with a laugh.  "Some of them are pretty bent.  If Batman calls tonight we'll let you have him."

            The ringing of the phone immediately stifled the laughter of the girls as Amy picked up the phone.  "Orchids, this is Amy, can I help you?… I see… What kind of girl were you looking for?" she asked, eyeing the girls on the sofa.  "We have three blondes, all young…. Massage, escort, or domination?… All right, just give me your address and I'll send someone right over." Snatching a pen, she scribbled the address down on a pad.  "The driver will need to see a photo ID when they arrive," she warned gently.  "That's three hundred dollars, cash…. Very good, you'll be seeing her in about thirty minutes.  Thank you for calling."  Amy replaced the receiver and tore the top sheet off the pad, leaving the carbon copy behind.  She quickly picked up the handset again and stabbed out a beeper number.

            Damn, she's got records of names and addresses, Jordan realized happily, eyeing the pad from where she sat, already trying to work out a way to get the pad into her hands.

            "Okay," Amy announced, "we've got a whip-me-beat-me call down at the Lexington Hotel.  Jenny, I'll let you have this one.  Alan should be here in ten minutes to get you.  He'll take you there, check your date's ID, and wait outside for you.  The customer pays for up to one hour, no more unless it's cleared.  Understand?  If you're up there for sixty-one minutes, Alan comes and breaks the door in, so don't hang around.  You don't have to stay the whole sixty minutes, either.  He comes and you go.  Got it?"

            "Got it," Jenny agreed. 

            "Nell, take Jenny into the other room and get her outfitted," Amy directed.

            The tall brunette got up and headed for the back hall.  "C'mon, Jen, we'll get you something out of the toychest for your call."

            Toychest?  Jenny shuddered almost imperceptibly as she rose from the couch to follow the other woman into one of the back bedrooms.

            Alone again with the other escorts, Jordan attempted to continue the conversation the call had interrupted.  "So, most of these guys are a little bent, but harmless?" she asked casually.

            "Yeah, pretty much," Donna agreed, taking a bottle of nail polish from her purse with a disinterested shrug.  "They're not really paying you to come over, they're paying you to leave.  Lots of these guys just don't want the complications of having a steady partner."

            "As if some of them have a choice there," the previously silent blonde sprawled on the loveseat snorted.  "Would you date Minute Man?" she asked, peering humorously at Donna, who shook her head emphatically, erupting into laughter.

            The front door opened, silencing the girls immediately as all eyes flew to door in fear. 

            "Just me," the burly blonde man called as he walked into the room.

            "Jesus, Alan," Donna sighed in relief, relaxing once again.  "Announce yourself a little sooner, would you?  I thought maybe you were Jim."

            "Sorry," he apologized.  "What have you got for me?" he asked, taking the offered slip of paper from Amy's hand.  "The Lexington," he read, nodding.  "Who's coming?"

            "Jenny.  She's getting suited for a whip-me-beat-me," Amy said, calling down the hall.  "Alan's here and time is money!"

            Jenny reappeared a second later, straightening the jet-black leather miniskirt she now wore.  Just inches below the skirt, the thigh high leather boots ended, and Jordan stifled a laugh at the expression on the other woman's face as she tried to maneuver, her every movement announced by the creaking of leather.  From the large shoulder bag protruded the handle of a leather bullwhip, which Nell tucked further down out of sight for her.  "I'm ready to go."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

            Jenny followed Alan through the lobby of the Lexington Hotel, her borrowed trench coat buttoned securely down the front to conceal her apparel.  Arriving on the third floor, her driver knocked loudly on the door to room 335.  Jenny carefully concealed her look of relief when the door was opened by Kermit Griffin.

            "John Herring?" Alan asked.

            "That's me," Kermit confirmed, handing over his driver's license for inspection. 

            Satisfied with the ID, Alan handed him back the card and glanced at his watch before turning to leave.  "I'll be back in one hour," he reminded Jenny.

            "Thanks, Alan," she murmured, slipping into the hotel room.  She relaxed once the door was closed behind her.  "I wasn't sure if it was one of you or a real call," she admitted to Griffin.

            "I told you we'd take care of you," he said with a reassuring smile.  "If one of the clients is a killer, then we're certainly not going to let you take any real calls.  We've got enough detectives to keep you busy while Jordan does her job.  Anything interesting going on there?" he asked as he moved back to the bed and sat down.

            "Not really.  There's one girl working there tonight who I kind of know, so everything looks on the level."  Removing a duffel bag from one of the chairs, she took a seat to wait out the hour.

            Kermit cast her a curious look.  "You know, you can take your coat off.  I don't bite."

            "Biting is extra," she chuckled, reluctantly taking off the trench coat.

            Unable to suppress the sharp bark of laughter, Kermit had to apologize.  "Sorry, Jenny, it's just… that's quite an outfit."

            The door to the adjoining room swung open and Peter slipped into the room.  "Hey, did I hear…" His sentence hung in the air, unfinished as his eyes opened in a comical stare, directed at Jenny.  "…mercy…" he groaned.

            Roses bloomed in her cheeks as she turned to catch the stare and laughed despite herself.  "Is it me?" she asked, modeling the leather attire.

            Peter whimpered dramatically.  "Hurt me."

            Jenny burst into laughter, full and loud, breaking the remaining tension in the room.  "Mind if I take these boots off?" she asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.  "They're killing my feet!"

            "Make sure you wipe Peter's drool off them before returning them," Kermit advised, leaning back against the pillows on the bed.

            Jenny unzipped and slipped out of the tight black boots, sitting on the edge of the bed to massage her aching toes.  "I got into a little conversation with some of the girls tonight," she offered, recapturing the attention of the two detectives.  "They seem a little jumpy, but not when they're talking about the clients.  So far as I can tell they're pretty comfortable with the clientele.  The regulars, at least.  I think the one they're really jumpy about is Jim."

            "Was there any mention of the two girls who turned up dead?" Peter asked, dividing his attention between the woman in front of him, and the woman whose voice he heard, coming through the small receiver in his left ear.

            "No, I didn't want to bring them up the first night in, and not in front of Amy."

            "Good thinking," Kermit agreed.  "See if you can get a conversation going with them when you're alone.  For now just put your feet up and relax.  You've got another forty minutes to kill."  Digging into his wallet, he produced three, crisp one hundred dollar bills, and handed them to her across the bed. 

            Taking the bills with an almost guilty expression on her face, she stuffed them into her purse.  "I have to pay the driver twenty-five of this, and the agency gets another hundred.  I'll give you back the rest," she promised.

            Peter shook his head.  "The rest is yours.  I told you we'd make sure you got compensation for… lost wages."

            Jenny laughed softly.  "Maybe I'll give up my regular job and come to work for you guys full time.  The pay is better.  So is the company."

            Peter held up his hand, bringing the conversation to a halt for the moment as he listened intently to a conversation only he could hear. Moving quickly to the small desk, he snatched up a pen and a pad, scribbling out a name and address.  "Jordan's going out on a call."  He grabbed his jacket and keys from the adjoining room.  "I'll be back as soon as she's done.  Jenny, don't worry about anything.  They'll be sending you out on a call to Detective Blake's house at eleven o'clock, he already called and made the appointment.  That means you'll have about forty-five minutes to chat up the other girls before you head out.  Okay?" He stood in the doorway, waiting for her answering nod before hurrying out.

                                                ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

            Peter eased the Stealth to the curb in front of the small house, and killed the engine.  Slumping down into the seat, he checked his watch, still listening to the sparse conversation coming through to him through the miniature receiver.  Jordan chatted amiably with the driver, who was a local college student on a football scholarship. 

            She does love her job, he mused.  God, she reminds me of me.  I must have driven Blaisdell nuts.  Some cops give it up after a few years, move on to something else.  But, Jordy… she's got the makings of a career-cop.  

            The shining reflection of headlights in his rear-view mirror alerted him to their arrival, and he dropped lower into his seat, out of their vision as the old Volvo passed him, and pulled into the driveway.  Peering over the dashboard, Peter watched as his lover and the broad-shouldered driver made their way up the walkway to the front door, and awaited admittance.

            "Collin Patterson?" the driver asked.

            "Yes," the man at the door answered, handing the football player his ID. 

            "Carly, I expect you back in the car at 10:45," the driver reminded Jordan, who nodded in assent, and disappeared into the house. 

            Peter watched the driver return to the car in the cold night air to sit vigil.

                                                ^^^^^^^^^^^^

            Jordan stepped into the warmth of the small dwelling, and slipped out of her coat.  The middle-aged man who took the garment from her gave her a slightly predatory smile.  "I'll hang this up for you," he offered, moving to the coat closet.

            "You have a nice home," Jordan commented casually, taking a visual survey from the front hallway. She cast her gaze into what she could see of the living room, and then the kitchen, alert for any telltale signs that they were not alone in the house.

            "Thank you.  You can call me Collin," he offered, taking her by the elbow to guide her.  "The bedroom is upstairs."

            As they reached the second floor, and the master bedroom, Jordan glanced out the window to the driveway below.  The Volvo she'd arrived in still sat in the driveway, the driver's form visible in the shadows.  If all the girls use drivers, and they all wait right outside, then how the hell did one of them get whacked by a client without the driver knowing? she wondered silently.  Unless one of the drivers did it.  Shit.  More people to watch.

            She turned as Collin closed the bedroom door and approached her, a strange smile on his face.  "Mind if I use your bathroom?" she asked, pointing to the other door off the bedroom.

            The smile on his face faltered for only an instant.  "Go right ahead."

            "Thank you."  She moved towards the bathroom, casting him a suggestive look over her shoulder.  "Why don't you… get comfortable… I'll get ready for you and be out in just a minute, doll."

            The smile returned to his face, his eyes roaming her figure hungrily before she closed the bathroom door behind her.

            Giving the client a few minutes, Jordan took the opportunity to peer into the medicine chest, and drawers in the vanity.  No makeup, no ladies' shavers, one toothbrush.  Single, probably lives alone.  Vitamins, antacid, aspirin, cold capsules, laxatives… no drugs.  After checking her watch once more, she opened the bathroom door, and stepped back out into the bedroom.

            Collin lay stretched out on the bed, his discarded clothing neatly folded on the dresser, with a small stack of twenty-dollar bills on top.  "Are these for me?" she asked with a smile, reaching for them.

            "Yes.  And that's not all I've got for you," he answered suggestively.

            Jordan took the money and slipped it into her purse, retrieving her shield in the same motion.  "I have something for you, too, Collin," she announced, flashing her badge at the naked man.  "Police."

            Peter listened closely, his grin spreading wider as he heard the stammered protestations from Jordan's client.  Softly, he began to snicker as he listened to Jordan order the man to get dressed, and started her questioning.  He listened closely, taking his own notes in the dim interior of the car; noting the man's alleged whereabouts on the nights of the murders.

            Jordan opened her bag and dropped her small notepad and pen back in.  "I'm obligated to tell you that you can and will be arrested, not only for soliciting, but for obstruction of justice if you call or speak to anyone at the agency about this," she informed him.  "This is a homicide investigation, we'll be checking your statements, and your alibis for the nights in question.  Detective Caine is in a car outside, and once I leave, he'll come in to take your fingerprints and ask his own questions," she promised the red-faced man. 

            "10:35," she sighed, checking her watch.  "Sorry you didn't get the whole hour, Collin," she apologized.  "I'll see myself out."

                                    ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Peter stretched out on his bed and reached for the phone, dialing in the predawn light. 

"Hello," the sleep deprived woman answered. 

"That was a good night's work, Officer McGuire," Peter congratulated her tiredly.  He heard the yawn come back to him along with the sound of her car stereo playing loudly in the background.

"Got our cover established.  Got a couple of suspects to run.  Yeah, I'd say it was a decent night's work."

"Put Jenny on the line for a sec?" he requested.

"Sorry, babe.  You just missed her.  I dropped her off about three minutes ago."

"Damn.  All right.  Was she okay with all this?" he asked.  "Is she up for joining us again tomorrow night?"

"She's fine," Jordan sighed.  "Stop worrying, Mother Hen.  I'm picking her up at seven-thirty tomorrow night.  I think she's got a crush on you," she teased.

"Oh, she does not," Peter objected softly.

"Does too," Jordan insisted merrily.  "I saw the way she looked at you this afternoon."

"Jordan, she doesn't have a crush on me.  Maybe she looks at me that way because I'm nice to her, because I treat her like a human being – which she is.  And, if she did have a crush on me, I'd be flattered."

"Flattered," Jordan laughed, turning down her stereo a notch.

"Flattered," he repeated wearily.  "She's pretty, she's bright, she's got a good heart.  Yeah, I'd be flattered."

"Hey, I'm at the corner of Bleeker and First  Ave., I can be at your place in about ten minutes," she suggested, still chuckling softly.

Peter yawned, rubbing a hand over his eyes.  "Jordy, I'm beat.  Really.  It's been a long, long day.  I'm just gonna put the phone down and fall asleep.  I'll catch up with you tomorrow.  Okay?" 

"Okay," she agreed easily.  "I'm more than a little pooped myself.  I'll see you tomorrow."

Laying the receiver back in its cradle, Peter pulled a blanket over himself, and closed his eyes.                              

                        ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"So, how was the night?" Jim asked, tossing his jacket onto the arm of the nearest chair.

"Where the hell were you all night?" Amy snapped, pinning him with an angry glare from the sofa.

"None of your fucking business," he replied pleasantly.  Walking to the bookcase, he snatched the blue vase from the top shelf and shook the cash out onto the coffee table.  "Decent take.  Looks like we had a good night."

Amy reached for a cigarette, crumpling the pack after removing the last one.  "Yeah, sure, if you call spending the night with a bunch of whores a good night," she grumbled.  "When can we take a night off, Jim?" she complained loudly to his retreating back as he headed down the hall to the bathroom.

"When you start shittin' cash," he called back, slamming the door behind him.

                        ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^     

Jenny climbed the stairs and made her way past the booking desk at the precinct, doing her best to ignore the inquisitive stares on her way through.  Spotting Peter at his desk, she allowed herself a short sigh of relief. 

Glancing up from the report he was typing, Peter offered her a smile.  "Hey, you didn't have to walk all the way over here.  I would have picked you up."  He stood and led her into an empty interrogation room.  "Kermit and Jordan should be here in a few minutes.  Can I get you a cup of coffee to warm you up?"  he asked as he poured a cup of stale brew into a styrofoam cup.

            Wrinkling her nose at the smell as she took the cup into her hands, she shook her head.  "I'll use it to warm my hands, but I think I'd be taking my life in my hands by drinking it," she joked.

"Smart girl," Peter laughed, pouring another cup for himself.  "I, on the other hand, have developed an immunity to Blake's Brew.

Listen, Jenny, I didn't get a chance to say it last night, but, thank you for doing this.  This afternoon Kermit played back some of the tapes he recorded last night off your wire, and you handled yourself really well. The other girls seemed to open up around you."

"I know one of them," she admitted, settling into one of the chairs at the table.  "She and I used to work the same neighborhood.  In fact, she used to live in my building when she first came to town." 

            "When did you come to town, Jenny?" he asked, pulling a chair up to the table to join her.

            "Me?"

            "Yeah, where are you from? Do you have any family?"

            She shrugged casually.  "I've been here a few years. Two, almost three."

            Peter took another sip of the burnt coffee.  "And what about before that?"

            "Before that," she sighed.  "Before that I was in Springfield, which is where I'm from."

            "Your family still there?"

            "No," she said softly.  "My mother died of cancer when I was fourteen.  My stepfather and I… didn't get along, so I left."

            Peter nodded in understanding.  "You ran away."

            "Yeah.  I didn't go far.  I stayed with friends from school for a couple of weeks at a time, or in the local shelter sometimes when I couldn't find anywhere else to sleep."

            "Did you finish school?" he asked, her story not an unusual one.

            "Last year. I… got my G.E.D. through the mail," she confessed with a shy smile.

            "Good for you," Peter congratulated her.  "That's a big step."

            Jenny cast him a curious glance.  "Towards?"

            "Getting back on your path," he replied with a warm smile as Jordan and Kermit entered together.

            "Take a look at this," Kermit said, tossing a folder down onto the table in front of Peter.  "Jim Ginty's record is longer than my arm.  Arrests for possession, arrests for assault and battery, possession of a concealed weapon… he's done time."

            "And he's got a real temper," Jordan interjected.  "He's the only one the girls seem to be afraid of.  I thought about it a lot last night on my way home, and I think we're looking in the wrong direction."

            "You're saying Ginty is killing off his own people?" Peter asked, looking up from the file.  "Why?"

            "I don't know," Jordan answered, starting to pace as she thought.  "Maybe they were trying to get more money from him and he wouldn't give.  Maybe he wanted services rendered and they wouldn't give.  With a temper like his…"

            "But neither of these girls was beaten to death.  They weren't killed in a violent, heat of the moment way," Kermit pointed out.  "These were calculated."

            "I still think we need to look closer at Ginty," Jordan said.  "But… we'll go another round with the clients tonight, and we'll try to chat up the other girls about the two who wound up dead.  Jenny, you ready to roll?"

            ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

            The stable was nearly full by the time Jordan and Jenny arrived at the house on Wilton Lane, though there was silence in the living room.  The four nervous looking women sat quietly on the sectional, worried eyes looking up at the new arrivals.  Jordan's greeting stopped short of being voiced as the shout from a bedroom down the hall erupted.

            "Goddamnit, Amy! Stop bitching at me and get out there!" Jim thundered.

            "No!" the woman's voice snapped back at him.  "I'm sick and tired of doing this! I have no life, no privacy, I hardly get more than three hours sleep a night! We can't keep this up. I swear to God I'll leave you!"
            The sound of flesh hitting flesh rang out sharply.  "You just try it," Jim growled loudly enough to be heard in the living room.  "You remember what happened the last time you tried that shit!  Now get your ass out there!"

            Jordan felt Jenny's restraining hand on her arm as instinct almost took over, stopping the cop short of charging down the hall.  "Don't," the young prostitute whispered to her companion.

            The bedroom door opened and slammed again as Amy stormed down the hall to the living room, rubbing her reddened cheek as she sat down hard on the sofa in front of the phone. 

            Sorry, Peter, Jordan apologized silently.  I know this wasn't in the plans, but I have a hunch, and you know what happens when I have a hunch.  Without removing her coat, she moved over to the couch and sank down beside Amy.  "Amy," she said softly. "I came to drop Jenny off, but I can't work tonight.  It's that time of the month and I feel like shit.  I can come back later and pick her up, okay?"

            Amy turned bloodshot brown eyes on her, a strained smile on her face.  "That's okay, Carly.  Go on home, and don't worry about a thing.  I'll see that Jenny gets home tonight.  Someone can give her a lift, no problem."

            The bedroom door down the hall opened again and heavy footsteps reverberated through the house as Jim made his entrance into the living room.  "Put all the money in the jar and I'll go to the bank tomorrow," he instructed his lover as he grabbed his jacket from the rack.  "I'll be back in the morning."  Without a second glance backwards he slammed out the front door.

            Jordan jumped to her feet, her car keys already in hand.  "Thanks, Amy, I appreciate this."  She shot an apologetic look at Jenny as she quickly left, heading down the walkway to the car.  Let's see what you're really up to, Jim.

                                    ^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Damnit, Jordy," Kermit growled, stalking through the door into the adjoining hotel room.  "Well, your girlfriend is reminding me more and more of you every damn day," he grumbled.

Peter sat up on the bed, diverting his attention from the receiver in his ear.  "I know, I know.  I just heard her leave.  She's gone off after Jim."

"That's not the way we agreed to play this tonight.  One of you at the hundred-and-first is bad enough.  Now, I've got two hot-shots running off on their hunches without consulting the rest of the team."

"All right," Peter sighed.  "That's enough.  I haven't done anything like that in a long time.  I'm not exactly happy with her at the moment either, but you have to admit that sometimes hunches break the case.  You're still able to track her, aren't you?"

"Sure," he said, coming further into the room to deposit himself in one of the armchairs.  "I just hope that if she runs into trouble we can get someone to her in time.  Blake should be calling to arrange another appointment with Jenny in a few minutes," he added with a good-natured smirk.  "She beat him at cards last night and he wants a chance to get even."

Peter burst out laughing.  "I like her more and more."

"So do I," Kermit admitted.  "Which is why it's gonna be a shame when someday it's her we find beaten to death by some asshole out there. That life is gonna use her up and spit her out."

Peter sobered at his friend's words.  "You know as well as anyone that you can't make a person change.  All you can do is encourage them, and help once they make up their own minds that it's time.  She's had a tough life, been on her own since she was a teenager.  Circumstances," he said with a helpless shrug.  "Hell, if it hadn't been for Paul and Annie, I'm not so sure what side of the law I'd be on today, myself."

Kermit nodded after a moment, half listening to his friend's ponderings, and half listening to the sparse narratives coming to him from Jordan McGuire as she followed Jim Ginty, and her own hunch.

                                    ^^^^^^^^^^^

The night dragged on.  Peter brewed another pot of coffee in the hotel room, rubbing his bloodshot eyes.  He listened as Jenny chatted with the other girls at the agency between calls, and marveled silently at the differences he could hear between Jenny and the others.  You don't belong there, Jenny.  The thought came to him again and again over the course of the evening.  You don't belong in that life, but I don't know how to help you.  I certainly can't do you much good as a cop. 

A quick glance at his watch brought a soft groan from the tired man.  "Three a.m.  Damn, come on…"  He could hear the calls still coming in at the agency, and the growing irritation in the voice of the woman answering the phone.  Amy had sounded like she wanted to call it a night for hours.  Finally, Peter heard her announce that enough was enough.   

                                    ^^^^^^^^^^^^

"That's it," Amy yawned, glancing at the two remaining escorts.  "Head home.  I'm not taking any more calls tonight," she said, directing her gaze at Nell.  "When Jenny gets back from her last call, I'll have Alan take her home."

"Thanks, Amy," Donna said sleepily, pulling herself up off of the couch to follow her friend out the door.  "We'll see you tomorrow night."

Alone again in the house, Amy wandered down the hall, muttering soft curses under her breath.  "With any luck, you won't be coming back here tomorrow night."  She turned the light on in the bathroom and opened the medicine chest, withdrawing several small bottles, and a syringe, which she carried with her back into the kitchen.  "All right, Jenny.  Hurry up and get back here.  Three dead whores have gotta be enough to convince Jim to shut this stupid agency down."  The cold look in her eyes hardened as she opened a drawer and tossed the syringe in, exchanging it for one of the butcher's knives.  "Damnit, I can't waste all my insulin on these tramps.  It's time for a change," she sighed, walking out to the living room to slip the blade into her coat.

The Late, Late Movie's credits rolled up the screen as the door opened and Jenny let herself back into the house.  "All the other girls are gone?" she asked Amy as she walked into the living room and took off her coat.  "All their cars are gone."

"Yes, I shut down a little early tonight," the other woman said with a yawn as she got up and headed toward the kitchen.  "Don't worry, you're not stuck here.  I'll take you home.  But first, I need a little drink to unwind my nerves.  Join me?"  

"Thanks, but I don't drink," Jenny responded tiredly.

"Well, I hate to drink alone," Amy called back from the kitchen. "Tell you what, I'll make yours a Diet Coke and you'll let me pretend, okay?"

"All right," Jenny answered, sighing under her breath as she looked at her watch again.  I hope she drinks fast.  I just want to go home.

Amy reappeared a few moments later, two tumblers in hand. Sinking back onto the sofa, she slid the glass of amber liquid to the younger woman, keeping the gin and tonic for herself.  "Drink up," she urged, taking a sip from her glass.  "Then I'll give you that lift home."

"Thank you," Jenny replied, politely reaching for the glass from the table, and took a large swallow, wanting to finish quickly.  Swallowing, she registered an aftertaste left in her mouth.  A cold knot formed in the pit of her stomach as she glanced over the glass at the woman on the other end of the sofa, whose brown eyes seemed to study her.

Raising the glass to her lips again, Jenny pretended to take another small sip, then began to cough violently, letting the glass drop from her hand, spilling the contents on the hardwood floor.  "Went down the wrong pipe.  I'm sorry," she sputtered.  "I'll clean it up."  Jumping to her feet, she started for the kitchen, Amy right behind her.

Shit, oh, shit, she repeated to herself, fighting to keep panic at bay.  What the hell did she put in that drink?  Halfway to the kitchen, her feet changed course, hurrying down the hall instead for the bathroom as her mind began to cloud.  Gotta throw up, gotta get whatever it is out of my stomach before it's too late.  Give me two damned seconds alone to let Peter know there's something wrong

She heard the footsteps still behind her, and knew it was already too late.  "Feeling all right, Jenny?" Amy asked.

"No," she said loudly.  "I - I don't feel so well," she answered, putting up a hand against the doorjamb to steady herself.

"Don't collapse on me yet," Amy ordered, getting an arm around her waist.  She steered the now stumbling prostitute back down the hall.  "Let's get your coat on, and we'll go for a ride.  You've turned your last trick."

Neither woman noticed the soft clink of Jenny's charm bracelet hitting the carpeted floor as Amy pulled the hooker's arms through the sleeves of her coat.

                        ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"She's still following him," Kermit reported as he poked his head into the adjoining motel room.  "So far he's visited a couple of bars, and after-hours clubs, but he hasn't come anywhere near the house, or the other girls.  I was hoping Jordan was right about him, and we could wrap this thing up quick, but…"

"But?" Peter asked, his attention divided between his friend, and the earpiece he monitored Jenny through.

"But my alarms aren't ringing on him.  Granted, he's an asshole, but I don't know if he's a killer."

The younger man nodded his halfhearted agreement.  "I'll bet Jordan's pissed about spending the night tailing him in this weather."

Kermit's grin answered loud and clear.  "My ears have been taking a chewing," he admitted.  "How's Jenny doing?"

"Fine, I guess.  Amy's going to give her a ride home."  He pulled back sharply a moment later.  "Easy, Jenny," he chuckled.  "That's my ear you're coughing into."

"She's a good sport," Kermit offered.

"She's a good person," Peter corrected gently, listening to the voices transmitted directly to his ear.  A moment later he was on his feet.

                        ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The sensations of motion continued long after Jenny was at rest again.  Lifting her eyelids to half-mast took every ounce of energy she had.  The lights of the city blurred before her eyes as Amy drove back towards the heart of the city, to the District.  Back to the streets Jenny made her living on.  Back to the streets where her two colleagues had met their deaths.

Her words of protest died within her throat.  Her half-numb brain screamed orders to her unanswering limbs as she lost the battle to even keep her eyes open.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

            "It's not Jim; it's Amy!" Peter yelled as he slipped into his jacket, already on the run.  "She's got Jenny, and it sounds like they're on the move."

            "Damnit!"  The curse thundered down the hall as Kermit jogged to catch up with his partner. "Where's she headed?"

            "Damned if I know.  Jenny's gone silent and Amy's not broadcasting directions."

            "Gone silent?" Griffin repeated, a terrible finality in his tone.

            Guilt, sharp and cold, stabbed at the younger man's heart.  She did this for you, Pete.  As a favor.  You knew you were putting her in danger.

            Skidding on the icy pavement as they hit the parking lot, Peter headed for the Stealth, motioning Kermit to his own car.  "The other bodies were found in the same neighborhood, in a ten block area.  You start down on the west end, I'll start on the east, and we'll find them," he called, his voice carrying on the bitter wind.

                                    ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

            "Damn, damn, damn."  The chanted oaths flowed from Peter's lips as he drove back towards the main drag.  His eyes roamed the city streets, praying to catch a glimpse of the red Fiero before it was too late.

            It might already be too late, the small voice in the back of his mind pointed out.

            "No," he answered aloud.  "It's not too late."

            How do you know? She could be dead already.

            "I know because I can still sense her," he responded in frustration. As the words left his lips and met his ears his eyes shot wide.  Making a hard right, Peter turned down an alley, threw the Stealth into Park and killed the ignition.  "I can still sense her," he repeated.  Leaping from the car, he hurried towards the busy street, following nothing more than his own instinct, and headed west.

            "C'mon, Jenny, I know you're here somewhere," he said softly, making his way down the nearly deserted sidewalk.  Breath pluming white before him as he jogged, the sense of urgency grew, quickening his steps.

            The sense grew to a screaming howl as his booted feet skidded to a halt at the entrance to an alley. Hazel eyes, which seemed to require less and less light with which to see turned desperately to peer into the darkened passage.  Two figures captured his attention, and he prayed he wasn't an instant too late as his feet took flight once more.

Running down the alley, slipping and sliding on the debris in his way, Peter never stopped as he saw Amy holding a knife over Jenny's still form.  No time to do anything else, Peter dove in between the knife and Jenny's body.  The knife continued its downward motion, plunging itself into Peter's right shoulder, trailing fire as it ripped muscle and shredded tendons.

With a sharp intake of breath, Peter tried to clamp down the pain that was threatening to overwhelm him.  Reacting on an instinctual level, his foot shot out, catching Amy behind the ankle and tumbling her to the ground.  Hand still clenched firmly around the handle of the knife, Amy yanked it abruptly from Peter's shoulder as she fell away from him.  The blood began to gush to gush from the wound.  Peter could feel the warm, thick liquid oozing down his back.

Launching himself at the murderer, Peter straddled her body, grabbing her wrist in his left hand.  Twisting it sharply, the bloody knife fell to the ground, clattering as it hit the pavement.  Amy struggled beneath him, wriggling and thrashing, unwilling to surrender.

"Give it up, Lady.  You're not going anywhere.  You're under arrest," Peter growled.  His right arm hung limply at his side.

"That's what you think," Amy hissed through clenched teeth.  Balling her left hand into a fist, she swung it upwards, driving it into his right shoulder.

With a gasp of pain, Peter's left hand flew to his shoulder, grabbing it in reaction to the renewed explosions of fire that were traveling across his body.  He allowed the full weight of his body to come into contact with her stomach as he sat down more firmly, preventing her from escape.    Gritting his teeth, he backhanded her across the face with everything he had, nodding in grim satisfaction when she lost consciousness.

"That's… what I know…" he panted.  The sickening pain in his shoulder throbbed relentlessly, and the world spun around him.  He barely felt the warmth of his own blood as it coated his arm, leaving him lightheaded and dizzy.  He threw out his good arm to halt his descent as he began to slump over the unconscious form beneath him.

"Peter?"

The soft voice behind him almost went unnoticed, blending into the hum and rush of noises filling his ears like the snow from an old television. Forcefully maintaining his slipping grasp on wakefulness, he turned his head slowly in the direction of the voice.  "Jenny," he heard himself mumble as he tried to move.  Relief filled his soul at the realization that she was still alive.

"I'm okay," she assured him groggily as she crawled to his side. "You're hurt."

Beneath him, his captive groaned, bringing his attention back to her.  "Cuffs, in my pocket. Get my cuffs," he said with quiet urgency as he fought for balance, trapping Amy's hands with his left hand.

The young blonde moved closer, carefully fumbling through his coat pockets, and came up empty, before moving to the injured man's rear pockets, where she encountered one bracelet hanging loose.  "I hope you don't think I'm taking liberties," she joked weakly.

"Not gonna kiss me first?" he retorted as he felt her fingers withdraw the handcuffs.

"Later," she promised.  Moving as quickly as she could, she crawled forward, and snapped the cuffs around Amy's wrists.  "Can you move?" she shakily asked her rescuer.

Peter nodded slightly, biting back the scream of pain as he slowly moved off of his prisoner.  Shivering violently in the cold of the night, he felt shock beginning to settle in.  The blood continued to flow freely from his shoulder.  Collapsing to the concrete, he could hear his own teeth chattering, and turned plaintive eyes to his companion.  "Call for help," he prodded, as calmly as possible. "I can't…"

Jenny's hands returned to his jacket pocket, and retrieved his cell phone.  Trembling fingers pressed three digits.  As she relayed their location and situation as coherently as she could, she shed her coat and lay it over the shivering man.  She tore the sleeve from her dress and apologized to the detective as she slipped the cloth into his open jacket to press down against the wound.

Peter's eyes shot wide open, his face contorted in a stifled scream of agony.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Jenny repeated, her hand maintaining the pressure, holding him in place.  "I know it hurts, but I have to do this." Leaving her hand on his shoulder, she gently shifted his head off the cold ground, onto her lap.  "Help's coming."  A biting wind howled through the narrow alley, bringing tears to Jenny's eyes as she tried to keep her injured friend conscious and warm. "Hold on, Peter," she urged softly as she heard the wail of a siren.

            Peter gritted his teeth, groaning softly as his eyes moved downward.  "Damn. I really loved this jacket."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Peter heard the door to the hospital room swing quietly open, and soft, tentative footsteps enter the room.  Great, the bloodsucking nurses are trying to sneak up on me now.   "Away with you, foul creature of the night!" he muttered, waving his good arm in a weakly defensive gesture as his eyes came open and a blush stole across his cheeks. 

"Do you greet all your visitors that way?" Jenny asked with an amused smile.

"No," he chuckled, reaching for the control to bring the head of his bed higher.  "How are you?" he asked, eyeing the large package she carried with curiosity.

"Me?  I'm fine.  I'm not the one in the hospital bed," she reminded him. Coming all the way into the room, she set the box down on the floor, and drew the chair closer to the bed.  "Are you up for a short visit?"

"I'm up for a long visit."  His hand came up to make a halfhearted attempt to straighten his sleep-chaotic hair.  "Just so long as you don't poke, prod, or stick me with a needle."

Jenny crossed her heart in promise as she sat down.  "You look like you're feeling better."

"I am," Peter assured her, flashing her a disarming smile.  "A few stitches behind me, a short eternity of physical therapy ahead of me, and a nifty new scar to show off at parties, I couldn't be better.  How are you doing, really?"

"Oh, I'll be fine," she said with a slight wave of her hand.  "I slept almost all day today, which is something I wouldn't have been alive to do if it hadn't been for you.  You saved me."

"You're worth saving," he said with a meaningful glance. 

A shy smile appeared on her face as she met his eyes.  "I brought you something," she offered, leaning down to retrieve the large box from the floor, and laying it across his legs.

"You didn't have to get me anything."  He grinned, quickly removing the lid.  His eyes twinkled with amusement as he reached inside and removed the brown leather jacket.  "Jenny?  Is this…?"

"Your jacket," she answered with a soft laugh, pointing to the surgical sutures and stitches, which neatly sealed the puncture Amy's knife had rendered. 

Joyous laughter erupted from Peter's lips as he examined the handiwork.  "Who did the needlework?"

"One of the foul creatures of the night," Jenny answered, joining him in the laughter.  "You're really very popular around here."

Peter rolled his eyes.  "They love me.  Thank you for this."

"You're welcome."  The young woman returned to her seat next to the bed, watching her injured rescuer with gratitude.  "Thank you for everything you've done for me."

Peter carefully folded the jacket back into the box with one hand.  "Jenny, I never should have asked you to put yourself in that kind of danger.  I should have known better."

"No, I knew there was a risk when I agreed to do it," she said firmly.  "It was my choice.  You've always been kind to me, and I owed you at least that much."

"Life is not a progression of meaningless debts and repayments," he quoted, understanding the words of his father more and more. 

Silence fell between the two for a long moment before Jenny took a deep breath.  "Peter, I've been thinking a lot about what you said the other night.  About second chances."

"I'm glad to hear that," Peter filled in as she lapsed into silence again, struggling with her thoughts.

"Do you really think that I could… have a second chance?" she asked hesitantly.

His reply was immediate, and sure as he reached for her hand.  "I know so.  Jenny, you've got a lot going for you.  You're young, you're bright, you're motivated, and you've got friends who will do whatever they can to help."

The tears she blinked back spoke volumes about the road she'd tread alone for many miles.  "It's a little scary," she confessed.  "We're talking about changing my whole life, not just my… job.  It's a whole life change.  I'm not sure how many of the people from the old life will make the transition with me into the new.  I suppose I'll find out who my real friends are."

"They'll be the ones who stand by you.  The ones who accept you for who you are at heart."

"I guess I've been clinging to the devil I know."

Her spoken words and unspoken sentiment went straight to Peter's soul, settling into its very foundation.  "You just wandered off your path in the dark," he said softly, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze.  "We all do that sometimes.  I wish there was more I could do to help you."  Hazel eyes sought hers out and held the contact, feeling the confusion within both of them as they each stood at their own crossroads.  "Go to Chinatown, and ask for Caine," he urged gently.  "He's my father, and he will help you."

            A look of amused bewilderment clouded Jenny's eyes for a moment.  "I've heard people say that before," she said softly.  "I just assumed that they meant the precinct in Chinatown, and that you were 'Caine'."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Another blonde appeared in the doorway a few minutes after Jenny's departure, and Peter smiled in welcome.  "I was wondering where you were."

Jordan approached the bed and hiked herself up onto the edge, planting a kiss on his lips.  "Miss me?"

"Miss you, miss my own bed, miss real food, miss you in my own bed," he listed with a gleam of mild amusement in his eyes.

"You'll be back in the real world soon enough," she assured him. "As soon as they spring you I'll pick you up, take you home, tuck you in, and serve you take-out in bed," she promised, kissing his nose.  "I thought I saw Jenny leaving as I was coming in.  Was she here to see you?"

Peter nodded.  "She gave me a gift."

Jordan's eyes turned to the large box on the chair, and she slid off the bed to remove the lid.  "Your jacket?" she asked.

"That, too."

Fin