Woody took Jordan to a hotel across the street from the FBI offices. After entering through the back, they took a freight elevator up to the tenth floor. Woody walked her down the hall to the end room.

"It's a secured suite, Jordan," he explained. "It has two bedrooms and two baths. It also has secured phone lines and cable. That means you can use the phones to call Garrett or whoever, as well as use the internet on your laptop. An agent will have to be with you at night," he continued. "And we will be with you throughout the day as long as you're in New York."

Jordan swung around to face him. "You don't mean you're staying with me at night?" she asked.

"Ummm, no. Actually, that is Agent Phillips," he said, pushing the door to the suite open.

"Agent Phillips, this is Dr. Cavanaugh," Woody said, introducing Jordan to the woman who was waiting in the living area of the suite.

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Cavanaugh," Agent Phillips said.

"Please, call me Jordan." Jordan thought Agent Phillips looked more like a female drill sergeant than an agent – tall and solidly built with short hair.

"And please, call me Gail."

Jordan smiled. Maybe this was going to be easier than she thought. At least Gail smiled. Woody and the other agents hadn't cracked a smile all day. All day. From Boston to New York. Suddenly, Jordan was very tired. She wanted a hot shower and bed.

From his stand point, Woody noticed Jordan's shoulders slump. Looking at her face, he could see the stress of the day was catching up with her. She looked tired. And a little frightened, although she was doing her best to cover it up.

"Could you excuse us, Agent Phillips?" Woody asked.

"Sure thing. I'm going into the kitchen to make some tea. Would you like a cup, Jordan?"

Jordan nodded. Woody gently took her by the arm and walked her to the door. For a moment he paused and looked into her eyes. Raking his fingers through his hair, he began. "Jo, I know this isn't the most convenient thing for you to do...."

Jordan shot him a look.

"But we really do appreciate it," he continued. "You've unknowingly put yourself in a tight spot, but you're safe here. So get some rest." He dug down into his pocket for a card. "This has my apartment number and my cell number on it. If anything happens – you get spooked by anything, something weird happens, or you just are scared, call me." He dropped the card into her hand, and pushed a wayward curl behind her ear. "Now go to bed. I'll see you in the morning." And he left.

Jordan turned away from the closed door and saw Gail standing behind her, two steaming cups in her hands.

"Here," Gail said. "It's not tea, it's hot chocolate. Starbucks hot chocolate. I find that chocolate goes a long way in dealing with vices," she chuckled as she sat down on the couch. "Now," she continued, motioning for Jordan to sit down beside her, "Come and tell me how you know Agent Hoyt so well." Gail wagged her eyebrows at her. She evidently had figured out that Woody had known Jordan from his time with the Boston PD.

Jordan grinned. She like Gail already. At least maybe her evenings would be bearable.

================================================================

Woody sighed as he got out of the shower. God, what a day. New York to Boston, Boston back to New York. The pressure of the case. He dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist, walking over to the sink to brush his teeth.

What really was the kicker was seeing Jordan again. He had been so sure that Boston and everything that it held, was behind him now. That they all were just distant memories, so much smoke through his fingers now. But the minute his plane landed, he knew he had been lying to himself. The minute he had heard Garrett's voice, he thought himself back with the Boston PD. And the minute he saw her, he was lost again. Lost in those eyes, lost in remembering what she felt like against him, lost in remembering the sweetness in her kiss.

He walked into his bedroom, threw the towel on the floor and got into bed, completely nude and completely unashamed of it. He lay on his back, hands behind his head, and re-thought his decision to join the FBI. Sure, it was better money. Sure, there were better benefits. Sure, it offered a better chance for promotion and advancement. But mainly, it had gotten him away from her.

Sternly reminding himself that their relationship, or rather lack of it, was the real reason he left Boston, Woody tried to sleep. But he couldn't. He kept seeing her. Something was different about her. A new softness, maybe? She seemed more settled, more peaceful. Woody rolled over. A thought filtered through his mind. Had she taken down the emotional walls she had so carefully erected over the years? Just as quickly, he dismissed it. No. Not Jordan. She didn't really trust anyone.

=============================================

The next morning Woody arrived at Jordan's room a little early. Tentatively, he knocked at the door. Gail answered. "Hey, Woody. Jordan's up, she's still getting ready. I'm going to go and head home, if that's okay."

Woody nodded and Gail left. A few minutes later, Jordan came out of her bedroom. She had on a denim skirt with a slit up the front and a red sweater. Her hair was loose and wavy. Woody swallowed. He had rarely seen her in a skirt while he was in Boston. Damn, she looked good.

"Good morning," Jordan greeted him.

"Good morning," he returned, noticing the dark circles under eyes were gone.

"Want some coffee?"

"Ummm, no. Are you about ready to go?"

Jordan took a sip of her coffee. "What's going to happen to me today, Woody?"

"You'll have to tell your story to a few more people, show your report, and let us examine the pictures. Believe it or not, that's going to take up most of the day."

Jordan sighed and took her cup back to the kitchen sink. "Then can I go home?"

Woody stifled a groan. He had not worked up the courage to tell Jordan that it was going to be a couple of weeks before she would be able to fly back to Boston.

"Ummm....I don't know, Jor. I'm not in charge of those decisions."

"But you know, don't you?"

"Honestly, not for sure."

"But what do you think?" Jordan came back into the living room. "What is your educated guess, Agent Hoyt?"

Woody looked at his shoes and didn't reply.

"That's what I thought," Jordan said. She knew then that it may be more than just a few days she would spend in Agent Winstead's "lovely city" and more than just a few days she would have to spend dealing with her re- emerging feelings for Woody.

===========================================

Jordan did spend most of the day talking with other agents. Yes, she was sure what Bob Scalanti had said about Pete Gavanotitch. Yes, she was sure about the wounds. And yes, she was sure about the type of ammunition. She felt like she was being chased around the playground by a bunch of bullies. Finally, she had taken enough questions for what she had felt was an unreasonable amount of time. Boldly looking the agents in the eye, she said, "Look. I've told you all I know nine different times to nine different sets of questions. I've been here since 8 a.m. It's now one o'clock. I need lunch, another cup of coffee, and a break. Any chance I can get that?"

Woody had to chuckle to himself. Leave it to Jordan to take control of the FBI.

"Sure," said Agent Winstead. "What would you like?"

"I'd like to get out of this damn office for a couple of hours."

Winstead nodded to Woody. "Take her across the street. Get her room service." And as they got ready to leave, Winstead lowered his voice to Woody "....and calm her down."

"I'll do my best, sir."

Woody and some of the other agents took Jordan back downstairs, through the parking garage. They were about to cross the street to enter the back way of the hotel, when a car rounded the corner and shots rang out. What happened from there was a blur to Jordan. She felt Woody push her to the ground and cover her with his body. Shots were returned and her ears roared. Faintly above the roar, she could hear Woody barking orders about a license tag and who the hell had cleared the area. When the danger had passed, Woody gingerly picked Jordan up.

"Are you all right?" he asked, looking her over and brushing her off.

Jordan was still trying to regain her breath. Some what shakily she replied, "I think so." She tried to take a step or two away from Woody, to try to regain her composure, but ended up stumbling into him instead. Immediately, his arms went around her.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He looked her over. He knew what shock looked like, and it was all over her face. She wasn't okay.

Shouting to the other agents to run a make on the tag and to tell Winstead what happened, he hustled Jordan across the street and up to her room. Whether she liked it or not, whether the FBI liked it or not, she wasn't leaving there again today. After pushing her into the room, slamming the door and fastening both locks, he took her into the living area where there was better light. He carefully examined her. A few scrapes on her hands and arms from being pushed to the sidewalk. Her knee was skinned, too. But the shock in her eyes startled him. Gently, he pushed her to the couch and went in search of a first aid kit.

Finding one in the kitchen, he took it over to her and began to dress her scrapes and bruises. "You'd probably do this better than I do," he began "You being a doctor and all."

Jordan didn't reply. She just continued to look at him with fear in her eyes.

He carefully cleaned the scrapes on her hands and arms. Then he started on the one above her knee. The touch of his hand on her thigh brought her back to reality. "I can do that, Woody," she said faintly.

"That's okay, Jor. I've about got it." Woody was struggling to keep his touch professional and clinical. She would never know what an effort it was costing him. "There. Feel better?"

Jordan nodded. Shock was still in her eyes. Woody gently took her by the arms. "Jordan, you're okay."

"Are you all right, Woody?"

"I'm fine."

Hearing his reply she crumpled against him, not really crying, but trying to regain some of her composure, some of her inner fortitude. Woody simply held her. Finally, she raised her head off his chest.

"I never really thought it was that serious," she began. "I figured I'd come to New York, tell you what I knew, and be back home by supper time. I never thought that what I knew was really that important."

Woody looked at her, his expression grave. "It is, Jo. It is very important. And dangerous. What you've told us links Scalanti's death directly to his rival mob and their main hit man. We've known Pete Gavanotitch was a killer, but have never been able to have enough evidence to directly link him to any assassinations. You gave us that. And they don't like it. And they want you to go away. Jor, you're going to have to be very careful and do everything we say, okay?"

Jordan nodded.

"Feel like eating something?" Woody asked. He knew he needed to get food in her.

"Not really."

"If I order you something, will you at least try to eat some lunch?"

"Yes..."

Woody picked up the phone and called room service. Then he picked up his cell phone and dialed Winstead. Briefly, he told the agent that Jordan was fine, and that it was probably best for her if she stayed in the rest of the day. She'd feel like answering more questions tomorrow. Winstead agreed.

Woody looked over at Jordan, who had taken off her shoes and curled up on the couch. She was turned away from him, so he couldn't see her face. Hopefully, she was resting, or at least trying to. He left her alone until room service brought the sandwiches and soup. Jordan heard the door and sat up.

"Lunch is here," Woody said.

Jordan tried to eat some of what came from the restaurant. Her stomach was still knots. She managed to get the soup down, but the sandwich felt as if it was choking her. Gamely, she said, "I'm going to put that in the 'fridge for later."

Satisfied that she had at least gotten something substantial in her, Woody nodded. "Why don't you try to take a nap, Jor? It would probably do you good."

Jordan agreed. She went into her bedroom to take a shower. She carefully examined herself in the mirror. Just a few minor bumps and bruises. On the outside at least. Inside was a different story. She was still shaken from the attempt on her life. And she was still feeling the after effects of Woody's hands on her thigh. She thought she was over that feeling and over him. Grimly, she laughed to herself. Not a chance. Not as long as she and he were thrown together in this Scalanti thing. Not as long as he still had those incredible eyes. And not as long as the mere touch of his hand caused her knees to buckle.