LA: Jordan's POV

There were five children lined up on the shining stainless steel tables. Their ages ranged from fourteen to a mere eight months old. All had the same dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. Their eyes were the color of the ocean; the same color as Woody's. The children were small and malnourished; I wondered where their mother was. I wanted nothing more than to give these children names. The mother was probably running from prostitution or drug charges; LA wasn't all that different from Boston. People still had the same motives for their stupid actions.

I saw photographs of the fire; I saw the flames rise high enough as to reach the heavens. I'm not sure exactly how the children's bodies managed to stay so well-preserved. I was thankful that the children were lulled into a deep sleep by the noxious fumes. They were already gone before the flames slowly began to creep into their living space. The flames nipped at their skin leaving horrible burn marks. The smell nauseated me; the sight made me feel shame for the entire human race . . . I wondered who would do this to a defenseless children. I wondered if the perpetrator even knew that he or she killed five innocent souls.

This was my third day of work. It felt good to have my hands busy. It felt good to work until I was so exhausted that my body fell into deep sleep before my head even hit the pillow. Haley would often take me to his house after work for supper and a few glasses of wine. We would talk about work and other things that seemed so insignificant compared to the five little bodies in the morgue. I began to understand why I was here; Haley didn't want to have to look at the body of the eight month old boy. The baby was the same age as his son; the son his wife drown in the bathtub following her first schizophrenic break. His wounds were so fresh even after years of latency.

"Jordan, I got your stuff from Boston. A Patriots blanket? Last time I checked, there were a multitude of stores in LA. You could have found this blanket somewhere in the city rather than sending me to Boston for the day," Haley replied as he put a cardboard box on the corner of my new desk. He pressed an envelope into my hand. I knew the handwriting immediately . . . Garrett. I hoped he was well; I hoped he didn't take my careless actions personally.

"They don't have this blanket . . . this blanket has always been home," I replied. I could feel a smile play upon my lips; I hadn't smiled often since I got to LA. I saw Haley take note of this. He smiled at me; he looked like a completely different person when he smiled. He didn't look so hard; he didn't look so unwelcoming.

"Jordan, Dr. Macy . . . you should give him a call," Haley said as he sat on the corner of my desk.

"What did he say?" I asked. I was afraid to know. I was afraid to hear that I was fired. I was afraid to hear that my closest ally might not want me to come back to Boston once I found my center.

"Jordan, they found James," Haley said with a sigh. I set the envelope down on my desk. I could feel the air get trapped in my lungs. I didn't know how to react to the death of a man that I never really knew. I didn't know what to think about the man that so badly wanted me to die with him. I didn't know if I should feel guilty that he died alone in the murky waters of the St. James River.

"James," I whispered; his name floated over my lips . . . it lingered there.

"Jordan, are you going to be okay? You can go back to Boston if you need to," Haley replied. Haley put a hand on my shoulder. I lifted my head to meet his dark, nearly black, eyes.

"I'm not ready . . . I'll arrange a burial for him. We have no family to go to it . . . it really is just the damnedest thing . . . my brother died, but in death, I'm jealous of him . . . he at least gets to be with Mom," I rambled. I wasn't sure why I blurted out those words that sounded so insane. Haley nodded as if he understood; I was sure that he felt that after his wife committed suicide. He told me about that last night; he talked a lot when he drank. It was nice to know that I wasn't alone in my self-destructive desires.

"Jordan, Dr. Macy wants you to know that he loves you . . . he wants you to stay safe," Haley whispered. I was safe; they were safe. I'd have to work damn hard to hurt them from all the way across the country.

"Did you see Woody?" I asked. I knew Haley was anticipating this question; I could see it in his eyes.

"He looks rotten, Jord. He looks a lot like you do. He tailed me to the airport . . . I'm pretty sure I lost him in the concourse," Haley replied, "He wants you to come home . . . I can tell . . . he thinks he's done something wrong, Jordan. What did he do wrong?"

"Haley, I was the one that was wrong," I replied.

"Jordan, come home with me tonight . . . you shouldn't be alone," Haley replied as he gently squeezing my shoulder, "You've had a rough day."

LA: Woody's POV

"Nigel, were you able to trace her credit card?" I yelled into the telephone in an attempt to overcome the static.

"I was able to hack into some files. One purchase caught my eye . . . it's an authorization in Los Angeles for Sunset Inn. Let me get you an address," Nigel replied, "Dr. Macy went to your court marshal as your proxy . . . he talked Walcott into giving you no more than a slap on the wrist . . . a three week suspension effective starting last week."

"That's good news," I replied. I had half expect to lose my job.

"Dr. Macy said that it went well . . . you should have never been asked to respond to a homicide involving the Cavanaugh family. Doc did want me to pass on that you should get your ass on a plane back to Boston," Nigel replied, " 1124 Somerset Way . . . by the ocean. Woodrow, make sure she's okay. Try to bring her home."

"I will, Nigel. Thanks," I replied. I hung up my telephone. I rented a small compact car; I found that my legs would barely fit into the car.

This was the first time that I was thankful that my brother was working for the Sunset Division in LA. I missed him come holidays, but I understood the commitment that went with the job. I liked mine a lot more; my job only consumed my life if I wanted it to.

I pulled up outside her hotel. The parking lot was nearly empty. The hotel looked like it was built in the 50's. The main building looked as if it would topple to the ground if the wind blew hard enough. I dialed Cal's cell phone number.

"Hoyt," Cal responded . . . he sounded groggy. I thought that was odd; it was only eight in the evening.

"Cal . . . I'm in LA," I said.

"Why?" Cal sounded confused; I didn't normally make rash decisions. Cal was the one that acted on his gut instinct; I was the one that needed to think things through and have back up plans. I rarely acted without thinking; every time I had, I wound up suspended.

"Jordan," I replied. I had told him about Jordan last Christmas. He said to be careful; I said that I thought Jordan just might be worth the risk. Cal asked if Jordan thought I was worth the risk; I told him that the jury was still out on that. Jordan had issues; commitment, trust, and a thousand other ones that I was too tired to think of.

"What can I do to help?" Cal asked yawning.

"Do you know of an Agent Haley? He's an FBI profiler," I asked.

"Drew Haley . . . I've had the pleasure several times. Word is that he's working up a series of arsons. What else do you need to know?" Cal replied . . . sarcastically . . . I was glad that I wasn't the only one that thought Haley was an ass.

"Where's he working?"

"Classified . . . I'm not going to get my ass fired so you can get the girl," Cal replied.

"Have you heard anything about Jordan?"

"She must be the new hot ME . . . word is that she keeps to herself. She doesn't really interact with anyone besides Haley. Haley watches over her like a hawk. One of the guys in the lab made an off color comment about her . . . Haley was all over his ass," Cal replied.

"I'll make my way to the office tomorrow . . . get a look-see if at all possible. I'll call you later, Wood. Don't do anything stupid," Cal lectured.

"Thanks," I hung up my telephone. I walked into the lobby. An old man was sitting behind the desk. He was sleeping. He slowly looked up as I approached; the old man seemed apathetic to my presence.

"Sir, I'm looking for my wife. Jordan Cavanaugh. Could you please give me her room number?" I asked. The old man looked down at a handwritten log; he slowly turned in his rolling chair and retrieved a k.ey

"35 B, upstairs and to the right," he said . . . thrust a room key at me.

I stood outside her room. I knocked several times before I was satisfied that she wasn't there. Only then, did I enter her room. It was immaculate. It wasn't something that I would expect for Jordan. Her things were neatly folded in her suitcase. Her suits were hung in the small closet; I didn't even know Jordan own one of those let alone three. There was a picture of Jordan, Garrett, and Nigel on the nightstand. It was taken at the Pogue; the three looked so happy. I wished that a picture of me had made it onto her nightstand. A letter lay on the bed. The ink ran in some areas; the paper was deformed from her tears. I picked it up; I didn't want to invade her privacy, but I wanted to know what could possibly be so sad that it would make her cry. I could count all the times that Jordan had cried in front of me on one hand.

Jordan,

I knew this day was coming. I'm sorry I let you fall apart; I'm sorry that I wasn't the one person that you could count on to help you. I wanted to be that person; I wanted you to know I'm not a slave to Walcott . . .you'll always come first. You've always come first.

I'd ask you to come home, but I know that decision is yours alone. Just be safe. Make sure that Haley takes care of you. Make sure you come home . . . I'll keep your office warm for you.

-Garrett

PS Call Woody. He's like a damn caged rat in my morgue. Call Nigel too. Hell, just call everyone.

I let the letter fall back onto the bed. I sat on the bed and waited. I was going to wait for Jordan. I had so much to say to her; I had so much to apologize for. I missed her; I wanted to bring her home.