Chapter Four

"Who's here for Jordan Cavanaugh?" asked the nurse from the emergency room desk.

Woody quickly stopped his pacing and went over to speak with the nurse, then returned to Nigel and Garret. "There going to let me up to see her," he said. "I'll be back down with news as soon as I can." And with that he rounded the corner and took the elevator up to the sixth floor – they had already admitted Jordan into a room.

The ride up was the longest Woody had ever experienced. How would he find her? What condition would she be in? God knows the lady had been in more than one tough spot in her life, beginning with her mother's murder when Jordan was 10. He hadn't been around for that one, but he could count a few more on his fingers that he had witnessed...James...Maulden...their times in LA...the intruder in her apartment....the list was fairly long. He had worried about her as much as she had worried about him...

And now, all he wanted to do was make sure she was safe, and keep her that way. If it had been possible to put the woman in some kind of protective bubble and keep trouble away from her, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

Of course, keeping Jordan away from trouble ... that was another matter. She seemed to thrive on it. Until recently. In a moment of rare quiet for the couple, she had confessed to Woody she was just a little tired of the rat race....the endless pursuit of justice that sometimes didn't come. She was ready to slow down a little...find some peace....some serenity.

Woody had been amazed. What was she saying? Was she ready to quit her job?

"No," she replied. "I don't think I'll ever quit being a voice for the victims....I just think I'm ready to release some of the inner turmoil in my own life. Maybe buy a house. Settle in. Become responsible."

Perhaps become mine? he had thought, beginning to toy with the idea of looking at rings...planning a proposal. Only he didn't know how that would go now. Not until he saw her...and knew that she would be okay. He didn't want to think what he would do if she wasn't all right.

The elevator stopped and he got out on the sixth floor. He saw her surgeon at the desk.

"H...h...ow'd it go? H..h..h.ow is she?" Woody asked, so nervous that his childhood stutter was beginning to kick in.

"It went as well as could be expected. It was kind of touch and go there for a while. It was a bigger mess than we thought....It was almost too late when she got here. She'll be okay, but it's going to take time."

Woody nodded. "Can I see her?"

"Sure...she's still kind of out of it, though. Kind of comes and goes. Just don't wear her out. She needs to rest."

"I won't stay long. I just need to see her."

The doctor pointed out which room was hers. Woody rapidly walked down the hall...it seemed like this was taking forever.

But there she was. She looked so much smaller in the hospital bed....and as pale as the sheets, but still too warm and too beautiful to be a part of such a cold, sterile hospital room. He sat down in the chair beside her bed and gently took her hand. She was here...breathing on her own....although an IV was still hooked up to her arm. He softly rubbed her hand. It was small...like much of the rest of her. But he had seen those small hands do wonderfully good work...solve maddeningly difficult cases...and touch him with more compassion than he had ever known before in his life.

He remembered the times when she would know he was worried sick over a case...carrying it around in his head. She would playfully run her fingers through his hair, or better yet, knead his shoulders until the knots in the muscles loosened up. He bit his lip...or softly run them over his body when they were in bed. She had done that several times the other weekend. Gently touching him, loving him...he had hoped they could spend this weekend in much the same manner...but that wasn't going to happen. He was just thankful she was here....alive...he had been so afraid when the ambulance came and took her away. She had been in so much discomfort...and was helpless to do anything against the waves of pain that would well up and cause her to writhe. That was the first time he realized he could lose her....she may have dealt with the fact that she could lose him. After all, he was a cop. But she was a medical examiner. That was different.

Nothing could happen to her. He couldn't lose her. If he did, he wasn't sure how he would go on...he wasn't sure if he would be able to.

"Woody?" Her voice came weakly over lips...but it sounded like a philharmonic orchestra to him. In an instant he was sitting on her bed, by her side.

He brushed the hair off her forehead, tucking the unruly curls behind her ear. "What, sweetheart?"

"What time is it? How long have I been here?"

"About four hours."

She was quiet then, just looking up at him. He had been worried. She could see it in his eyes. "I'm okay," she said.

"That's easy for you to say. You've been unconscious. I've been downstairs waiting for what seemed like forever, for someone just to tell me you were okay. You can't do this to me again...I don't handle your being sick very well, Jordan. I'll just be frank with you on this one – I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you. Don't you ever....ever do this to me again. Do you understand?"

Jordan held his gaze for a minute more....seeing the tears he was trying to keep at bay. Finally, when her own eyes were growing tired of fighting to stay open, the lids began to flicker back down, but not before she whispered to him:

"Geeze, Woody....no need to get so worked up over appendicitis."