Woody felt as if not only his patience was being tried with this lab technician, but also his very soul, his inner most being. The road blocks and extra security at rest stops, bus terminals, and airports had done nothing to capture this guy, despite the fact that a police net had been spread across the entire city. It frustrated him to no end that this guy seemed not only unstoppable, but invisible as well. No more deaths by injections with the bacteria had been reported, so everyone was concerned that the perp was set on coming back to Boston and settling his final score with Jordan.

And Woody knew that Jordan realized that. She was a cop's daughter and had worked with police all of her professional life. She knew how things went. But her current physical condition made her even more vulnerable to a physical attack. Not to mention what this was doing to her emotionally.

She had never complained, not once...not once about the physical discomfort she endured or the mental torture this guy was putting her through. She never mentioned it. But every evening when Woody would come to the morgue to take her home, her eyes would wordlessly ask the question. Woody would have to look away from her and shake his head no. They hadn't caught him. They weren't even sure where he was at. He felt he was failing her in a way that he had no control over. Still, Jordan remained optimistic. "Maybe tomorrow," she always said.

However, the evenings always underscored the seriousness of the situation for Jordan. Woody had always been careful to lock his service revolver away at night...in the lockbox in the closet. It was his habit. He'd come home, take the suit off, throw the shirt in the laundry hamper, hang up the pants and coat, put the gun in the box....much the same way that her father had done when she was a child. Now, he placed the revolver by his side of the bed, on the night stand—within close reach if he should need it. This made Jordan nervous, but she understood.

The police were reasonably sure that the guy would eventually find his way back to Boston. Jordan was no longer at her apartment on Pearle Street. The question was would the technician be able to find out where she was now? And the answer to the question would only be a matter of time. The police staked out her apartment, watching it day and night, hoping the guy would show up there. The morgue was also under close surveillance, as well as the house. No luck. As the days turned into weeks, there was no sighting of him. Woody began to wonder if maybe the guy had made a run to Canada...to escape being caught and taken back to jail.

Jordan continued to go to the morgue during the day, alternately working a light case load, mainly in trace; or doing paperwork at her desk. She did her exercises in the police department's gym. On the days her legs were particularly bothersome, she would camp out in Garrett's office, lying on his couch and talking with him. To her complete surprise, Rene Walcott became her frequent visitor...worrying about her if she was in pain...fussing over her, even. "See, I told you she wasn't so bad," was Garrett's comment to Jordan's amazement. "She really isn't....she just has to be a hard ass sometimes to get the job done. You have to realize that."

But Jordan's world was not returning to normal. The lab technician continued to hold her present and future, hostage. She couldn't return to her apartment. She couldn't go any further than from her house to the morgue. And she still couldn't trust her legs. They weren't really getting any better, and in some ways, were getting worse. The pain was becoming excruciating at times, despite the pain medication she was on. In spite of Dr. Barker's reassurances that things were getting better, Jordan wondered if he was just trying to candy-coat a bad situation. After her last round of tests came back, she questioned her doctor closely.

"How does it look? Are the nerve sheathes reconstructing themselves?" she had inquired.

"Yes. A little at the time. Whatever he gave you is still having an adverse effect on your nervous system. The riacin was very strong....and it takes the sheathes longer to grow back in an adult. If we had the exact concentration he gave you, we would be able to counteract it better...faster...but until he's caught, we can just do all we can the best way we know how."

"What if they don't grow back?"

"Jordan, we'll cross that bridge when and if we get there. We're not there yet."

Jordan understood where the doctor was coming from, but it did nothing to ease her worry, or her pain. For the first time, she felt totally hopeless about her situation, but was careful to hide it from Woody. As they were getting in the bed that night, she rolled over and propped herself up on his chest, looking deep into his blue eyes.

"What?" he asked.

"I love you, Woody."

Looking slightly bemused, he replied, "I love you, too. What brought that up?"

"Can't I just tell you I love you?"

"Sure...but something's up. I can tell by your eyes. What gives?"

Jordan sighed. There was no use trying to keep the truth from him. "Dr. Barker said my nerve sheathes weren't growing back as quickly as he'd like...this whole process is taking too damn long."

This was the closest Woody had heard Jordan come to complaining during the entire ordeal. "Hey. It's just time...we've got plenty of it. Maybe we need to see a specialist..."

"Dr. Barker is a specialist."

"I mean another one..."

"I'll think about it." She laid her head down on his chest. "I miss you, Woody."

"I'm right here...."

She looked back up at him. "That's not what I mean and you know it." She felt his arms go around her. He was so patient...but for how long?

"Aw, honey, it won't be forever." He felt her tears against his chest and for the first time realized just how desperate Jordan was. "Please, Jo. Don't cry. It will all be all right. I promise. We'll catch him...and he'll tell us everything."

"I know. I'm sorry...it's just been six months...I'm ready to get my life back to normal."

"I understand." He lifted her chin to look in her eyes. "I'm ready to get you back to normal, too. We have six months to make up for." He wagged his eyebrows at her. "And don't think we won't make up for lost time...you won't see the outside world for a week...at least...I promise. I'm going to take you away somewhere to a hotel...far away from the morgue and police department...and for a week I'm going to have my wicked ways with you." He gave Jordan such a comical leer that she had to laugh.

"Promises, promises," she said, chuckling at him. Then turning serious on him, she continued, "I don't want to lose you."

"You're not. I love you."

"And I love you, too." She sighed and settled back down on his chest. Woody pulled the covers back up over both of them and held her snugly in his arms. Lose him? Where on earth would he go? He drifted off to sleep.

Some hours later, Jordan woke up to sharp pains in her legs. Biting her lip to keep from crying out, she carefully slid out of the bed and went to the bathroom to take some more pain medication. Suddenly, she heard a thump. Not a thump like Woody turning over in bed. A thump like someone coming in from downstairs. She froze. Then she heard it...someone on the stairs, stealthily climbing them, easing their way into their bedroom. She hardly dared to breathe, scared the intruder would hear it. She knew who it was...it was him. Quickly, she turned off the light in the bathroom and cracked the door just enough to see what was going on. He walked over to the bed where Woody was sound asleep. He bent over Woody's sleeping form.

"Woody!" Jordan shouted from the bathroom.

The technician went for Woody at the same time Woody lunged up off the bed for him. Through the darkness, Jordan couldn't see what was going on as the two wrestled on the floor. She edged out of the bathroom and around the sidled around the wall of the room to the nightstand to get to her cell phone...to hit the GPS and summon the police. Just as she reached for the phone, the technician swung hard at Woody. Jordan heard the distinctive sound of bone hitting bone and saw Woody go down. She saw the man reach in pocket and pull out a syringe.

Instead of reaching for her cell phone, Jordan reached for Woody's gun. One shot rang out. That was all it took.