Nine o'clock finally came. Jordan had grown increasingly nervous as the afternoon hours had clicked away. Woody had done his best to calm her nerves, but nothing he could say or do could settle her down. In the past, he had known her to remain professionally cool. But none of the cases in her past involved her daughter.

They were in Jordan's bedroom that evening, getting ready to go. Woody had insisted that Jordan wear a bullet proof jacket underneath her shirt. She had chafed at the idea...and the Kevlar. He was firm. "You wear it. Put up with it. It may save your life. And if you get a rash, I'll deal with it when we get home." He had wagged his eyebrows at her suggestively. It worked. It at least broke the atmosphere enough to get her to smirk a little.

Woody put on his own vest, and secured his handgun. While he really didn't think anything more than a phone call would go on tonight, he wasn't going to be careless. He had warned Jordan of two things. First, they probably would not get Meghan back tonight. There would be a phone call and more instructions. Second, the people they were dealing with would want to trade him for their daughter.

She had been in the bathroom, brushing her hair as he stood propped up against the doorframe and revealed the news to her. He saw her fingers tighten around the handle of the brush just a bit...enough that her knuckles showed white. "You for Meghan...what will we do?"

"I'll go with them, of course..."

"But Woody..."

"Don't worry. The FBI is all over this one. Nothing will happen Jordan. I promise."

He had thought it odd how panic stricken she looked when he told her that he would go with the kidnappers. But he had let it go – chalking it up to the stress of the whole situation.

Truth was for Jordan, this nightmare just kept spinning on itself. First Meghan. Then finding out that Woody was the reason she was taken...now the possibility of trading Woody for her daughter. Of his getting hurt. Or worse. She loved her daughter. No doubt about that. But she didn't want anything to happen to Woody, either. He deserved to get to know his daughter. He deserved not to be alone. She ached for him....he seemed to incredibly alone...strong, yet beneath all the FBI bravado, he was vulnerable. Even more vulnerable than she was. She wished she could make life better for him...and she was facing that maybe, her feelings for this man, feelings she had worked so hard to push back down, hide away, were bubbling to the surface.

When she found herself alone after he had left her, after Peter and she had pulled the ruse of the one night stand, she had realized just what she lost. Not only her best friend, but someone she loved. Her pregnancy had compounded that feeling. But she couldn't find him. She had looked and called....all of her contacts. Eddie Winslow had even called in all his favors from everyone he had been involved with...no luck. Nigel had spent hours, searching databases. To no avail. Everyone kept coming up empty handed. So finally, out of sheer desperation, she had swallowed her pride and called his parents in Kewuanne. They had been abrupt. No. He wasn't there. He was gone. They didn't know where. Please don't call anymore. If it wasn't for you, he would have stayed in Boston and his life wouldn't have been in shambles.

She didn't tell them she was pregnant with their grandchild. She didn't have a chance. They hung up on her. She didn't call again. Not even after Meghan was born. She did call Cal. He was working in Milwaukee. He had flown out to see her and Meghan about six months after Meghan was born. And he didn't have any clue where Woody was, although he did talk to him from time to time. It seems when Woody had flown out of Kewuanne, he didn't tell anyone where he was going and had sworn Sandy to secrecy.

So she had put her feelings for Woody on the back burner. Concentrated on her job and being a good mother. She had tried dating after Meghan was born. She and Eddie had gone out. So had she and Nigel. It didn't work. She tried to blame it on the fact that being a single mom took all her time...that she didn't really have anything left over for a relationship with anyone.

She had only been fooling herself. The real reason she couldn't date anyone else was that none of the men measured up to Woody.

"You about ready?" he asked from the hallway, interrupting her thoughts.

"Be right there."

They went to her SUV and Jordan started to get in the driver's side. Woody gently took the keys from her hand and firmly led her to the passenger door. "My parade," he said simply. Wordlessly she got in and he began what seemed to be the longest drive in Jordan's life. They reached the phonebook on Elm Street about 9:30. Jordan began to fidget in her seat.

"So tell me, Woody, who are these guys? Do you know yet?"

"Yeah...I do. Hinshaw called me today."

"Hinshaw?"

"My boss."

"Oh...who are they?"

Woody ran his hand through his hair. Jordan caught the motion...some things never change. He always did that when he was agitated or annoyed. "They're out of London. They're arms dealers. Sold arms to terrorists. Or at least they did for years. Then I cut off their supply...and their money. Seems like they had a real money-making scheme going on....They're not too happy with me."

Jordan digested that bit of information. "Do you think they'll hurt Meghan?"

"No. Because if they did, they wouldn't get me. As long as I know she's alive, they can have anything of mine they want..."

Jordan's silence became deafening to Woody. "So tell me, Jo...why are your files classified?"

Jordan jumped at his statement. "How'd you know...no, let me guess. As soon as I called, you started checking me out..."

"No. Actually I started looking you up after I got back from Chicago. I told you quite a bit about me in ten minutes time. You said nothing about yourself other than the fact you weren't married. I was curious. So I began tracking you. I could only get so far when I'd get that damn 'access denied' message box."

Jordan shot him a half-grin. "Yeah...I know. Garrett thought it'd be a good idea after the Fitzsimmons thing we worked together on. The verdict and then the threats came in after Meghan was born. He was fearful for her...that someone would find out and hurt me and Meghan. So he had everything classified about me."

"Oh." Woody made a mental note to thank Garrett.

"What time is it?" asked Jordan.

"Five until ten. Let's go stand by the phone booth."

It seemed they just got there when the phone rang. Following directions, Jordan picked it up on the second ring. Taking a deep breath, she tried to remember everything that Woody had rehearsed with her that afternoon before they came to the parking lot.

"So we talk again, Dr. Cavanaugh," said the voice. This time, Jordan did detect a slight British accent.

"How's Meghan?"

"She's fine. Would you like to talk with her?"

"Of course."

There was a pause, then Jordan heard her daughter. "Mom?"

"Hey Sweetie...how are you?"

"I'm okay....I'm not as scared. I'm trying to be brave...but I want to come home." Jordan shut her eyes...the tears were threatening, but she didn't want to frighten her daughter.

"Have you had dinner?"

"Yeah...chicken fingers and French fries."

"We're working really hard to get you home..."

"When can I come back?"

"Soon..."

"Dr. Cavanaugh?" the man with the British accent said.

"I'm here."

"I'm sure that Special Agent Hoyt has told you exactly why we have taken your daughter. And I'm sure you know that we really have no interest in keeping her. We will trade you your daughter for Hoyt. Him for her. We will deliver her safe and sound to you, if you deliver him safe and sound to us."

"How do I know you'll keep your word?"

"We're many things, Dr. Cavanaugh. Child killers are not one of them. We are businessmen, not murderers."

"What will you do with Hoyt?"

There was laughter. "Bring Special Agent Hoyt to the warehouse off interstate 68...the abandoned one. Make sure his hands and feet are bound with duct tape and he is left in the guard shack outside the back entrance. No Kevlar, no gun...no tricks. As soon as we retrieve him and know you've done what we've asked, we'll call you and tell you where you can pick your daughter up."

"No. I want my daughter when I deliver Hoyt to you."

There was mumbling in the background. "Okay. We'll give her to you there when you deliver Hoyt."

"When do you want him?"

"Tomorrow night...midnight. And no cops...no FBI. Or you, Hoyt, and your daughter won't come out of this alive."