Chapter 4

Woody pulled into his parking space at the FBI headquarters in DC. He had gotten back from Chicago the night before. Other than seeing Jordan in the bar that one time, he had not pushed his luck to find her again. Partly because he was afraid she would ask him questions he didn't want to answer right now. And partly because seeing her reminded him of the void in his life...one that he had never really been able to fill.

So the last two days he was in Chicago, he had wandered the city. Visiting the regular tourist attractions. Taking in the long-waited for Bulls game. Basically killing time until it was time to go back to work. For once, he was eager to get back to the grind. Not because he desired the stability of work any longer...God knows while his job was stable, the world situation wasn't and no one knew where the next throw of the terrorist dice would land him. No, it wasn't that. He was anxious to get back into his office. To his computer...his ticket to anywhere and anyone in the world without leaving his desk. If Nigel Townsend thought his computer system rocked, he'd give his eyeteeth and American citizenship to play with mine, Woody thought, turning on his hard drive and listening to it boot up. Pulling some files from his bottom drawer and spreading them out on his desk, he took off his coat and appeared to settle down to work. His supervisor passed by his door. "Morning, Hoyt. Good trip?"

"Very good, sir."

"Ready to get back to work, I see."

"Yes, sir."

"Then carry on. There's a meeting at one in my office I need you to be at. Can you make it?" It was a command couched as a question.

"I'll be there, sir."

"Good."

The files on his desk were a ruse. He really wasn't working on anything much right now and probably wouldn't be in high demand until after the meeting at one. He appeared to be working so that no one would bother him. What he was doing was checking up on Jordan. His curiosity had been peaked at the bar. No wedding bands. No rings. Eight years had passed. She had told him little about herself. He had told her more about his past. When he had sat down to think about it that night, he still knew nothing...other than she was still an ME. Still in Boston. What had happened to her in those eight years? Why did he care? He wasn't sure. He just did.

She was still working for the state of Massachusetts. She was in the system. So she should be fairly easy to access. From memory he typed in her full name and address. The system declined. Invalid address. So she's moved, he thought. He typed in Max's address. Again the system declined. Invalid address. Not there either. Hmmm.... Determined to find out more, he pulled an old briefcase out from beside one of his file cabinets. It was dusty, worn with age. It was the one he carried when he was a detective with the Boston PD. Opening it, and rifling through some old files, he found it. Her ID number. Again, he punched in her name and her ID number. Her picture came up on the screen. He then typed in her social security number. The system opened up and spit the command back at him: ACCESS DENIED. CLASSIFIED INFORMATION. APPROVED MANAGEMENT ONLY And it asked for another password.

Damn. What has she gotten herself into? It had to be serious for a medical examiner's files to be classified. Doggedly, he typed in the morgues webpage address. It soon appeared. Her name was there. Along with Garrett's, Nigel's, Bug's, Lily's....where was Peter's? It wasn't there. A few names were there he wasn't familiar with .... When he clicked on her name, her biography told him nothing he didn't already know. Graduate of Tufts. Residency at Massachusetts General. Employed by the state as an ME for 12 years. Member in good standing of all the various coroner and ME associations required. Nothing he didn't already know and nothing that would shed any light on the last eight years.

Trying another tact, he typed her full name into the FBI's search engine. He hit pay dirt. She had testified at a drug lord's trial three years ago. Pretty heavy stuff. Scrolling down further, he came to a case she had again testified in about a year or so after he left Boston...one of his cases...he should have been called back to testify on...but he was in Quantico and had been unreachable. It was the Fitzsimmons case. Rifling back through the briefcase again, he pulled his copy of the file and refreshed his memory. Rich husband. Suspected of murdering his heiress wife for her to find out he had gambled most of his money away and needed her money to pay off his debts. She wouldn't give it to him, so he killed her to get it out of her estate. Only problem was the wife never put the husband in her will. Everything was left to her children from a previous marriage. The estate was tied up in court for years. Meanwhile, the husband died in jail, still proclaiming his innocence. His children had always vowed to get even.

Personal wise, he found out even more. She had bought a new car two years ago. She had a mortgage on a house with a familiar address.. she's moved down the street from Max, he thought. Her phone number hadn't changed from the one she had on Pearle Street. She paid her taxes before the deadline. He tried to scroll down further. Again, the ACCESS DENIED. CLASSIFIED INFORMATION warning came up. What has she done? He continued to wonder that most of the day...and came up with no satisfactory answers.

Jordan dropped Meghan off at St. Mary's with a sigh of relief. Watching her daughter climb the steps in her Catholic girl school uniform, brown braids swinging back and forth down her back, she thought that for once, it was good to be Monday. For once she was glad to be back at work. For once, normal seemed highly attractive and desirable. She pulled into her parking slot and rode the elevator to her office.

Seeing Woody had thrown her emotions into a tail spin. She hadn't questioned him why he had left her that night...alone and bare in her apartment, with no explanation. She wasn't sure she wanted his answer. She thought she knew well enough herself. She had driven him away, just like she had just about nearly driven everyone away in the pursuit of her mother's killer. She had lived with that guilt for weeks after the Malden event...questioning her actions...questioning her own DNA. Did some of her seeming self-destructive madness come from her mother? Or Malden? Was Malden her father? Did she really want to know? Then Woody's abandonment had nearly pushed her over the edge. She was ready to give up...give into the demons that plagued her mind...nearly ready to join James in the muddy Charles, when a positive pregnancy test proved her salvation.

She had told Garrett she was pregnant. He questioned who the father was. She hedged on that one, telling him she'd let him know as soon as she told the father. It was Garrett who summoned Max home. The pregnancy had pulled them back together, but everyone questioned who the father was. Everyone. Max. Nigel. Bug. Lily. Who was he? Do we know him? Thank God for Peter, was all Jordan had to say.

Peter had come into her office the morning she was running her pregnancy test, interrupting her and scaring her nearly to death. The contents of the test had spilled on the floor, ruining the outcome. She had erupted into tears and Peter had held her until she stopped crying. "Don't worry, we'll get another one," he had said. He went into trace, where they kept them for running tests on female victims, and retrieved another one. He had waited with her for the results. It was positive. Jordan was barely keeping it together. "Wanna talk about it?" he had asked.

Jordan didn't know why, but she opened up to him. They had gone out for coffee and she told him the whole sordid story of Woody, his leaving, and where she was at now. "So the baby's Woody's" he said, shredding his napkin to bits. She had nodded. "Why don't you just tell him?" he had logically asked.

"He's gone...left...Boston. I don't know where he's at..."

"Nigel could find him."

"He evidently feels he's got to get away. I don't want to bring him back for me...for this reason. I think we both need some time."

"But meanwhile, everyone is going to be driving you crazy about it."

"Yeah."

"Well, think up another father."

Jordan had laughed at him. "Everyone knows that Woody is the only man I've been seeing half-way steady for years."

"Have a one night stand."

"With who?"

"With me."

Jordan had turned pale with shock. "No, let me explain," Peter had continued. "Let them think you've had a one night stand with me and that I'm the father. It can't hurt. Because by the time you let them know you're pregnant and they think it was from a fling with me, I'll be long gone..."

"Peter?" It was a question...a request for an explanation.

He had pulled a letter out of his jacket pocket. "It's from my mother's family in Czechoslovak. They're asking me to come to work there. I'm taking them up on the offer. I'm ready to move from Boston."

She had swallowed hard. "When do you leave?"

"In a week. I gave Macy my letter of resignation two days ago. He just hasn't mentioned it at my request." He had looked at her with those big eyes of his. "We have a couple of days to work up to it...flirt....all that stuff. We go to the Pogue Friday night when everyone's there. We make sure we're seen leaving together. I stay all night at your apartment on your couch. The next day, we get up and go into work, still locked at the lip, me in the clothes I wore the night before. By the time you announce you're pregnant, I'll be in Czechoslovak, and everyone will think I'm a cad for running out on you. It will buy you time to get up the nerve to tell Woody. Problem solved."

She had swallowed hard again. It would work. It had to. Gamely, she had stuck out her hand. "Deal," she said.

He had shaken her hand, grinning. "Deal. My last underhanded deed with the great Dr. Cavanaugh, and everyone will think I'm at least half-way cool because they'll think I got it on with the 'hot ME'."

Jordan had blushed and grinned at him.

Peter's plan had worked. Beautifully. For two days they had publicly flirted with each other. In and out of the office. Garrett had shot her a warning glance more than once. Nigel had looked appalled. Doggedly, they kept it up, capping the week off with Bug and Nigel and Lily seeing them leave the Pogue together after a night of drinking and dancing. Peter had come back with her to her apartment, slept on the couch, and went back with her to work the next morning in the same clothes he had left in. They had giggled and looked at each other with puppy-dog eyes all day. The next morning, Peter had left for Czechoslovak. It was a done deal.

Three weeks later, she announced she was pregnant. And all hell broke loose. If it hadn't been for her fragile emotional state, Garrett would have killed her, she was sure.

And it was in a moment of weakness...during labor, she had confessed to her father and Garrett that the baby was really Woody's. She had explained what happened...why she couldn't tell him...and that Peter only played his part to help her out...buy her some time. Max had been insistent that she tell Woody as soon as she was able. Meghan was Woody's daughter. He had a right to know.

So as soon as she was able, she tried to reach Woody. He had long since gotten rid of his Boston cell phone. Nigel had begun looking for him in Wisconsin. He had been there, but left. They could find no trace of him then. It was like he had fallen off the face of the earth. Now she knew why. He had been in Quantico then and the FBI protects their own.

She had debated all weekend whether or not to phone him or e-mail him the news....and decided against it. If Meghan ever asked, she would tell her. And when she turned 18, if she wanted to find her father, Jordan would give her the business card Woody had passed to her in the Chicago bar. Until then, it was she and Meghan. And that was enough.