Chapter Seven

It was all over the papers Monday morning. Jordan wasn't sure who leaked it to the press, but her name and the Buchanan case were all over the front page of the A section in the Boston papers. She had discovered the chip that had ultimately killed Buchanan. She had figured it out. And she alone could pinpoint the killer by her knowledge of how they operated.

Instead of being able to slide back into a normal work routine with anonymity, she was propelled right into the forefront of the fray. Right into the front page. And right into a seat in Woody's office. He was nervously pacing when she entered his white collar crime office...miles away from his old one...and miles away from her morgue. He stopped when she came in.

"I guess you know why you're here?" It was a statement from him, but he couched it as a question.

"I think so...the Buchanan case."

"It's all over the front page. Who'd you talk to?"

"Who'd I talk to? I haven't talked to anyone. It must be someone from your office. The only two people from the morgue that dealt with this were Nigel and me. And neither one of us have talked.

"You sure you haven't mentioned it to anyone? Not at the Pogue on Friday or anyone else this weekend?"

"No. You know as well as I do, that after we talked at the bar on Friday, I left to go home. And I stayed there most of the weekend, doing laundry, cleaning and getting caught up on some other stuff. I went grocery shopping on Saturday and ran a few errands. Other than that, I was home." God, it was awful admitting to him how boring her life had become.

"Well, when I went to your apartment on Sunday, no one came to the door."

Jordan thought for a minute. No one had knocked on her door Sunday....then she remembered. Woody didn't know she had moved away from Pearle Street. "I don't live there anymore, Woody."

He looked at her sheepishly. "Oh. I didn't think to check. I guess the person that lives there now thinks I'm insane. I kept banging on the door calling your name."

"The person that lives there wasn't at home....Nigel lives there now. And he was at work, but he would have opened the door and told you off."

Woody digested this bit of information. "Then where are you at now?"

"The town homes near the morgue...the ones that were made from that old renovated warehouse."

She hadn't moved far, but she had moved. Away Pearle Street and all the memories it held for her, he thought.

"So why have I been summoned, Woody?"

How was he going to phrase this so that she would take it the right way and be cooperative? He knew of no other way but just to be honest with her and pray that she would agree. "We think that your safety may be compromised because of the articles in the newspaper, Jordan."

"Compromised how?"

"We think that this Cynthia Hough and whoever her accomplices are could jeopardize your well-being...making it difficult for you to determine if they kill again or testify in court."

In other word, the police thought Jordan's life was in danger.

"So....what do you want me to do about it?"

"There's nothing you can do. We are hoping you will agree to have 24-hour police protection....and maybe relocate for a few weeks until things cool down a little."

"Woody, I'll be fine....I'll be careful."

He walked over to her and looked down into her eyes....he hadn't looked deeply into them in more than two years. He had avoided them. After he left homicide, he built up a thick skin, an amour, really, against any female. He had dated, yes. But now most women thought him cold...even calculating. He just didn't want to hurt again like he did over her. Her constant pushing him away during the years he had tried to woo her had left him raw and bleeding. He had departed from homicide and the morgue, vowing never to feel that way over a woman again. So these past few weeks that they had been working on the Buchanan case, he had avoided her on a personal level...or at least tried to. Seeing her with Eddie Winslow had nearly broken that resolve. He had determined, going into this case, to treat her like any other female in his life now. Only seeing her with another man spun him nearly out of control. And watching Eddie kiss her the other night in the parking lot of the Pogue didn't help things. He had gone there to ask her a few more questions on the case and wrap it up. Nigel said she would be there. He hadn't bargained on seeing a make out session between Jordan the guy from MSBI. It was all he could do to keep from decking the man.

But Jordan wasn't his anymore...if she ever was. At one time, he would have bet a week's wages that she would be...at least one day. Then Devan...He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair—a gesture that made it stick out in a million different directions. "Jordan, I don't think so. At least let me put a uniformed officer outside your apartment."

"No. I'll be okay...Just have an officer escort me to and from the morgue everyday and I'll be fine."

"Jordan..."

"No." And she said it in the tone that he knew he couldn't get anywhere else with her. Reluctantly, he finally agreed.

"Okay. But I'm taking you back to your office now. I need to tell Dr. Macy so that he will at least be aware of what is going on." He took her by the arm and ushered her back to the elevators and down to the lobby. They were getting in Woody's car, and Jordan had turned around to tell him how much nicer the offices in white collar crimes were than in homicide when she heard a sharp whizzing sound and felt a sharp sting in her shoulder and then her side. Quickly, Woody pushed her to the ground. She heard him radio in something to his office and suddenly the sidewalk beside her was filled with policemen. That was the last thing she remembered seeing before she lost consciousness beneath his body.

It was like an out of body experience. She regained consciousness briefly in the ambulance, when the paramedics tried to pry her hand out of Woody's. But she felt if she let go of him, she'd let go of herself and end up floating off somewhere in the horizon. She remembered emergency, where they had finally made her let go of his hand...and put in an IV. Then she felt nothing...except peacefulness and no pain....until she woke up in a stark, white room, with a stinging in her shoulder and her side.

She knew what had happened. She was too smart not to know. She slowly opened her eyes to find a pair of concerned blue ones staring back at her. "What caliber?" was all she asked.

"A .55 millimeter," he replied softly, brushing the curls out of her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore. What happened?"

"You were shot. They're looking for who did it now, although we have a good idea who was connected."

"Cynthia Hough."

He nodded. "You need to rest, Jo. The doctor was just in and said to call him when you came to." Woody reached for the call button beside her bed.

"Wait, Woody..."

"Yeah?"

"How bad did they get me?"

"Well, your shoulder got clipped pretty good. You're may be in a sling for little while."

"And my side?"

Woody was silent for a minute. He didn't want to tell her....he felt it wasn't his place, at least anymore.

"Please, Woody. Tell me straight..."

He knew she probably already had an idea. Hell, she was a doctor. "It's your ovary, Jo. It got one of your ovaries. But the other one is fine...and....and...everything else should function as normal," he finally got out, stammering a little over the words that he felt were no longer his business.

She turned her head and looked away from him. Her body functioning again as normal? She didn't think anything could make that happen again.