LA: Jordan's POV

"I should walk you to your room," Haley said as he helped me out of the town car. He told the driver to park for a few minutes. We had far too much wine tonight. Haley swayed as he walked me to the base of the stairs. I laughed. I told him that he was an easy drunk; I wasn't much better. We laughed. I touched his arm; it was nice to feel the warmth of skin next to mine.

"Haley, I'm fine. Call me in the late morning . . . or afternoon. Whenever you think my hangover is going to be tolerable," I replied. Haley relinquished his grip on me; I wasn't sure if I wanted him to. I remember our first and last night together. It was filled with a passion and longing that I had never felt before; two desperate people trying to cling to each other.

Haley kissed my cheek. He watched me walk up the stair. I clung to the railing. I was a little dizzy; I didn't know what to blame it on . . . the wine or the man. I struggled with the lock on my door. I had to check the number on the door several times before I was even satisfied that it was my hotel room. I immediately kicked my shoes off and began to retreat to the bathroom to take my makeup off.

"Jordan."

Woody was sitting in the corner of my room. His voice scared me; I was thrown off balance. I think I tripped over my own feet . . . nearly falling over as I reached for the nearest stable object.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. My voice cracked; I wobbled a little as I clung to a table.

"I came to find you," Woody said. He stood up. He closed the door; I hadn't closed it on my way in. I hoped he didn't think that I came to California to drown all my woes in alcohol. I wondered why it matter what he thought of me; I had to remind myself that he was the one that arrested me.

"You shouldn't have . . . Woody, you should go home," I whispered. I wanted to tell him that I needed more time to get myself together. I had to bury my demons before it was safe for me to go back to Boston.

"Jordan, come home with me," Woody said. He stood in front of me; he put his arms around me much like he had before he read me my rights. I tensed against his body. He pulled away a little; Woody could easily see that I didn't feel safe in his arms as I did weeks ago . . . before Malden.

"I can't . . . I can't go back," I replied.

"Jordan, don't leave like this. Everything at home is over. It's over, Jordan. James is in the morgue . . . Malden is in a grave," Woody said, "Jordan, you can trust me."

Trust was a tricky thing . . . it was fragile . . . so hard to rebuild after it had been broken.

"Woody, I need to sleep . . . I have to work tomorrow," I lied. I wanted him to leave; I wanted a few moments alone with my thoughts.

"Can I stay the night?" he asked.

"When does your flight leave?" I asked cautiously. I didn't understand why he didn't see that I was poison; I hurt everyone around me because I was self-centered, fixated on something that wouldn't really impact anyone but me.

"I don't have a flight to leave on . . . I'm not leaving without you," he replied.

"What about luggage?" I asked.

"None . . . I was in a hurry," Woody replied.

"Haley told me . . . he thought he lost you in the concourse," I replied. I laughed; it was just like Haley to be overconfident. I appreciated it occasionally; it was nice to feel like I didn't always have to be the one to be right.

"Jordan, can I stay the night?" he asked again. He must have realized that I had drifted off into space.

"I guess that would be okay," I replied . . . trying to numb my feelings for him.

"Jordan, open up. You forgot your homework," Haley called out as he pounded on the door; he was slightly drunker than I was.

I walked to the door pretending to be statuesque and composed. I opened the door; Haley was smiling. He leaned on the doorway.

"You know what . . . Jo, you're trouble," Haley said in a drunken stupor, "I've been needing a little trouble in my life."

Haley put his hand on my cheek; he smiled and handed me my case folders. He reminded me to get my homework done tonight so we could enjoy our day off. I was surprised that he didn't see Woody. I half expected them to go at it. I knew Woody had some twisted feelings for me; I knew Haley felt something when he touched me. I could see it in Haley's eyes; he let his guard down when he was with me. I didn't want a relationship; I think I just wanted to get lost in someone without commitments or expectations. I just wanted to feel something real; something other than anger and shame. I was thankful that Haley left without seeing Woody; I was thankful that Woody didn't decide to defend someone that wasn't even his to defend.

"Is that why you ran?" Woody asked. He looked at the floor; I didn't want to see his eyes. I didn't want confirmation that I had hurt him again.

"No, I ran . . . I ran to protect you," I whispered as the tears ran down my face.

"How were you protecting me? I'm the one that runs after you . . . cleaning up messes . . . nearly getting fired from my job," Woody ranted. He swiftly moved toward me. My body was trapped between him and the closed door.

"I don't want to hurt you anymore . . . I left because I didn't want to hurt you anymore," I cried. I could tell by the flicker of anger in his eyes that he didn't believe me.

"Did you ever think that by leaving . . . you hurt me more?" Woody asked; his breath hot on my cheek.

"Woody, please," I pleaded with him; I needed more space so I would be able to breathe.

"Jordan, why did you run to him?" Woody whispered in my ear; it made the hairs on my neck stand on end.

"Because . . . he runs too . . . he never lets anyone in . . . I can't hurt him because I can't touch him," I cried. Woody walked away. I slid down the door to the floor; my sobbing was uncontrollable.

"I should go," Woody said softly.

I stood up; I was unsteady in my high heels. My case file fell on the ground; the pictures scattered on the ground. I tried to put them back in order. The one picture always caught my eye; I ran my finger along the edge of the photograph. She was ten; she had beautiful honey colored eyes. Even in death her eyes were beautiful. The picture nauseated me. I stumbled to the bathroom to rid my stomach of all the wine, but I really wished I would be able to purge all the memories and anger.

Woody's POV

I picked up the picture; the girl was badly burned along her legs and her torso. I could hear Jordan retching in the other room. I wondered why; Jordan had seen this before, but I guessed that seeing a child was always harder. I picked up the file folder named 'Firestarter' and put it on the table. I looked at the picture again. I was transfixed by the girl's honey colored eyes; there was something familiar about those eyes . . . even in death something looked familiar.

I could hear Jordan sobbing. She probably thought that I was long gone by now. She probably thought that she had successfully pushed me away. Jordan probably thought that it was safe to feel in the loneliness of a hotel room in a state so far away from home.

"Jordan, your mother started fires didn't she?" I whispered. I sat next to her. I had never noticed the burns on her hands. They were small; it looked like there was so attempt at plastic reconstruction. It was a good attempt, but it couldn't erase what happened. I couldn't believe how many times I held those hands without noticing. I don't think I ever asked her about that stuff . . . I wondered if it was ever right for me to asked those questions.

Jordan didn't answer she only cried harder. LA was supposed to be an escape; it was supposed to keep her hands busy . . . keep her away from her mother. It was supposed to suppress her urge to go after personal justice damn the consequences. It didn't; it only broke her heart a little more. She probably thought that it was better than hurting the people around her. Jordan was remembering everything that I knew she strived to forget. She was determined to do this alone; I wished she knew that she didn't have to.

I let her fall into my arms. I never claimed to understand Jordan, but right now she seemed a little simpler; she wanted to suppress the memories of her mother, her father, and her brother. All that running to be confronted with the same demons.

"She only did it twice . . . setting the paper in the bathroom wastebasket on fire . . . I remember waking up and smelling something burning . . . I used my hands to carry water to the fire," Jordan replied as she ran her fingers along the scars. This case had become personal. I knew she wouldn't just leave on a plane with me.

"Jordan, I'm so sorry," I whispered; I knew coming from me the words didn't mean much . . . she needed to hear those words from her mother.

"I'm sorry, too," Jordan replied as she climbed to her feet and walked over to the bed . . . kicked off her shoes . . . she unbuttoned her shirt . . . turned to avoid my gaze. She pulled off her shirt . . . letting it fall to the floor . . . unfastened her bra . . . letting it fell beside her shirt . . . I took small steps forward . . . tiny little scars all over her back. She quickly pulled on a t-shirt . . . pulled off her pants and pulled on her pajama pants . . . pulled back the covers and laid in bed . . . avoid my stare.

It would have been impossible for Max to say no to the dirty money . . . his wife needed help . . . she was abusing his baby girl. Jordan . . . Jordan she searched for her mother's killer . . . out of love . . . she immersed herself in the love she thought she should have for her mother . . . trying to forget how much resentment she had for her. Jordan was just trying to be a good girl . . . make it up to her mom. Everything seemed a little clearer.