"Say what?" Woody asked in confusion, looking to Jordan, who just shrugged her shoulders and picked at a fingernail.

"I haven't seen him since he was seventeen, he had done the commercial when he was ten and had the bank account, when he was seventeen.... He split, no need for him to stay. He sent his mother a postcard once a month, last week we got a postcard from L.A. telling us he was safe, that's the last time we heard from him."

Jordan glanced at the woman standing in the doorway, her face white as snow, looking from Woody, to Jordan, to her husband. "My boy, Tommy, is he dead?" she asked a solitary tear falling down her face.

"I'm afraid so Mrs. Coleman, I'm terribly sorry for you loss." Jordan was always surprised by Woody's depth of caring for the families of his victims, a caring Detective Cruz or Seeley just didn't have.

Her lip trembled, but she kept her composure, her hands shook. She looked as if she would shatter if anyone touched her. Slowly, with painstaking care she turned, holding a hand to her mouth, she jogged to her bedroom and slammed the door, her gut wrenching sobs could be heard from where the three figures stood.

Woody stared at the door for a long while, thoughts running threw his head, he wished he could do more for the family, he wished he could reverse the damage that had been done, somehow turn back the hands of time and prevent that woman's pain.

Jordan saw that bruised look enter his eyes, she often saw that look when he was looking down at the corpse of a battered human life, or simply staring down at a file with a name on it. To most detectives it was just a name to Woody it was a life, with hopes and dreams... people with soccer practice and piano lessons, people with failures and accomplishments and that was what made him a good detective, he cared when it seemed no one else did; that's the one thing Jordan and Woody had in common.

"Detective Hoyt, is it possible that you could come back tomorrow, to my office, I will be happy to talk more there." The man asked in a soft voice. Woody looked back to the door, his eyes lingering on the gleaming brass door handle.

"It's like a domestic prison." Lily stated, scanning the perfect two stories all alike in paint and style, all landscapes were perfect, she laughed and shook her head. Nigel skimmed the crowd of people, Bug and Tyler we're talking, sitting Indian style on the bed of the truck. Peter, Lily and himself we're sitting on the sidewalk facing the door of the house. Making sure that Bug and Tyler were immersed enough into conversation that she wouldn't hear what they were saying, he turned to stand in front of his co-workers.

"Alright, something has to be done." He stated, pushing his hair out of his face.

"About what?" Peter asked, looking at Nigel skeptically.

"Jordan and Woodrow...." He said soberly, nodding his head towards the door,

"Like what?" Lily asked, raising her eyebrow.

"I've been waiting for you to ask love!" he said, his grin widening.

"You have?"

"I have the perfect plan."

"You do?" she asked, her eyes widening.

"With Woodrow's eager to please attitude and Jordan's type A persona, together they can't loose a bet now can they?" he asked raising an eyebrow, he smirk broadening once again.

"What are you talking about?!" Peter exclaimed in agitation.

"Well we'll make a little wager with are dear Jordan and Woody that they can't refuse." Nigel explained helpfully.

"What about Tyler?" Lily whispered.

"Let me take care of that Love." Nigel quipped.

"I don't know about this Nige." Peter said shaking his head solemnly.

"And why not?" Nigel snapped defensively

"Have you ever seen Woody and Jordan fight?" Peter declared "Its like the first twenty minutes of Saving Private Ryan."

"I know." Nigel said matter-of-factly, "and we always get caught in the middle... so just leave it to me mate." He slapped Peter on the shoulder and leaned against the car with a self satisfied smile.

"I have a bad feeling about this." Peter whispered to Lily as they stared at the smirk plastered to Nigel's thin face.