Chapter Two

Woody went back to the bar and ordered another beer. Eight years, three months, and fifteen days, he thought, and she still spins my head whenever she walks in a room. Damn. That's not fair. I should be far beyond this by now...

He thought he was. He had left Boston under the seclusion of night, eight years, three months and fifteen days ago. Right after he had spent most of the night making love to her. A coward's way off on her like that, but it was the only way he could do it. Hell, after the Malden case, he was lucky that she hadn't thrown him out of Boston.

It wasn't supposed to have happened that way. Not the Malden case. Not James committing suicide. Not Max leaving Boston. But it did. It all seemed to dissolve away into nothing, like a child's sandcastle being washed out to sea. And when the tide had gone completely out, he realized there was nothing left on the shore for him. He laughed bitterly to himself and ordered another beer.

Nothing. Not a thing. Not a friend in sight and no girl either. Jordan had been barely speaking to him. So what did he do? The macho thing of course. Submitted his resignation before he was asked or was fired. Requested that it be kept quiet. Packed up his things. Called Cal up in Wisconsin, flew him to Boston, and then had him drive the U-haul with his belongings back to Kewuanne. He would fly home as soon as he had worked his notice.

His last night in Boston...he had gone to the Pogue to find her. He figured he at least owed her a good-bye. She wasn't there. She was at home...feeling under the weather, the bartender said. He made his way to Pearle Street and reluctantly climbed the stairs to the second floor. She had answered his knock and was surprised to see him there. She asked him to come in.

He had meant to tell her goodbye and leave. But he had downed a few at the Pogue. She had already had a few beers that evening at home. He had told her how sorry he was about everything. And she had told him it wasn't his fault...not really. Who could have predicted Malden? One thing led to another and to this day, he wasn't sure who reached for whom first. Honestly, he hadn't cared. She was in his arms and soon clothes were scattered all over her neat apartment. He had carried her to bed and made love to her like a man possessed for the better part of the night, never letting her catch her breath...loving her until she could only gasp and whisper his name on her lips.

Then, before the sun had come up, he had left her. Naked, in the middle of the tangled sheets, sound asleep, not knowing he wouldn't be back. He wasn't proud of the fact. He had done it to survive. He had quietly gotten dressed, and walked back over to her sleeping form. He had gently pushed her hair off her face and ran a loving finger down her cheek. Then he had left, just as quietly, shutting her door, and effectively her, out of his life.

He had flown to Kewuanne and tried to regain his old life there as a sheriff. That had been a joke. He soon found out he wasn't really wanted there and was vastly over qualified for the job. He had been bored to tears. Then a friend had introduced him to Sandra. A tight smile crossed his face. Sandra. Poor girl didn't know what hit her.

She was tiny...blonde...green eyes. A second grade school teacher with no emotional baggage. The exact opposite of Jordan. That was the main attraction. He quickly wooed and won her, despite Cal's warning... "It's a rebound relationship, Wood. They're no good. Sandra's a great girl. You're going to end up hurting her and yourself. You're not over Jordan. In my opinion, for whatever it's worth to you, you never will be. If you want to destroy yourself, go ahead. Just leave Sandra out of it."

But he had been hard-headed. And Cal had been right. Within six months he had married the school teacher and within six days after the wedding, he knew he had made a mistake. That's when he began making inquiries about coming back to Boston. He had been soundly turned down. So instead he sent an application in to Quantico. To his amazement, Rene Walcott had given him a sterling recommendation and he was accepted. He broke the news to Sandra on their one year anniversary. He had hoped, for whatever reason, she would be happy and come with him. Instead she had broke down and cried. "No," she had said. "I want to stay in Kewuanne....start a family."

Woody had shook his head. "No. I want this for me...for the future. There's no future here for me in Kewuanne, Sandy. And I don't want kids right now...I'm not sure if I ever do." She had cried and so had he, but by the end of the evening, they knew it was over. Them. The marriage. Their future. So they had quickly and quietly divorced. Sandra had been great. No demands. Didn't even want alimony. He had given her his part of their house anyway...just because she deserved it. She had driven him to the airport in Milwaukee. Kissed him good bye and wished him luck. "You deserve it, Woody," she had said. "You're a great guy. Maybe you will get over her someday," she concluded, referring to Jordan.

Made him feel like a damn heel. He ordered another beer. It wasn't enough he could ruin his own life, he had hurt her. He had kissed the top of her blonde head and told her, "I'm not a great guy. I hope you find someone that really loves you, Sandy. Gives you the family you want...that you deserve. If you ever need me...to talk to ....whatever, I'm here for you." He had given her one more hug and turned to leave.

And he hadn't been back to Kewuanne or Wisconsin since. That had been seven years ago. From what Cal had told him, Sandra remarried...to a principal of a local high school. She had two kids. She was happy, but did ask about him to Cal from time to time. She had never called.

He had worked his ass off at Quantico and quickly rose through the ranks of the FBI. His superiors asked him if he was out to set a speed record. He wasn't. He was just very, very focused and had no outside distractions. No wife. No kids. No real family – his mom and dad were very angry at him over the way he did Sandy. They weren't exactly on speaking terms anymore. When the President's office called and asked the FBI for an agent to liaison between the executive office and informants from terrorists groups, Woody got the job. That was five years ago.

The job had taken him all over the world. London. Hong Kong. Baghdad. Iraq. Iran....and places that weren't on the map and were nearly impossible to pronounce. He had never looked back, but worked hard at his job. He was well paid and well thought of.

And lonely. Incredibly, indescribably, lonely. But he had never realized how much until tonight. Until he saw her again...and looked into her eyes. Then it had hit him like a tidal wave, sucking him under and spitting him out back on that shore...that Boston shoreline he thought he had left and forgotten so many years ago. Back at that child's sandcastle that had crumbled through his fingers. The one that he couldn't rebuild....

He sighed and finished off his beer. If Jordan had resented that night they spent together...resented his walking out on her that way, she didn't show it. Maybe the lady no longer held grudges. Maybe he had taken her too much by surprise. Or maybe she was over him and didn't care anymore.