Chapter Two

In the end, all he thought about was that he couldn't protect her.

Despite of everything they had been through together, despite of all the times he had kept her safe, this time he could do nothing to protect her. Not a damn thing.

Woody pinched the bridge of his nose and sat back in his desk chair in office. He was tired, and he looked it. As a matter of fact, he could count on one hand the hours of sleep he had in the last week and still have fingers left over. He wasn't eating. Some of his coworkers said he looked gaunt.

She haunted his sleeping and his waking hours….her and what happened. And God, the events happened so quickly, it was difficult for him to piece them together in any semblance of order.

Rene Walcott had resigned. She had her baby and resigned to leave for Seattle to take a better job there…plus she had family in the area. He didn't blame her. It would be tough to be a singe mom and work the hours a practice required without a support system. She didn't have that luxury in Boston. And although Woody had no particular great liking for the woman, he did respect her.

That something he wished he could say about the new DA, Douglas Baker. Baker intended, from day one, to put the unsolved Malden murder back on the front page of The Boston Globe. He would solve the case, or he would die trying.

The problem was, the DA didn't care how many other bodies he left in the wake of his quest.

Woody knew there would be problems for Jordan from the beginning. Max was still nowhere to be found. Jordan became the target for Baker's investigation, despite the fact she had long ago been exonerated. She became, in short, a walking bull's eye.

Woody remembered when he realized this, and what happened when he went to tell her. He had to tell her, despite the fact it would tip her off and maybe make her run again. He hoped she wouldn't…that she would trust him. After all they had been through, he hoped that the trust that had seemed to blossom take root between the two of them would be strong enough to withstand this next storm.

After Devan, after the crash, after many long talks, and sleepless nights, they had finally broken down the walls that Jordan had erected against over twenty years of lies and deceit that had been dealt her. The battle had been hard, but the victory had been sweet … so very sweet. Woody's lips twisted into a wry smile as he remembered. Damn, they had just gotten started, when Baker started in on her.

Malden had said that James was the key to the mystery of Emily's murder. But James had been nowhere to be found…his body wasn't in the Charles River, but no one had seen him. Of course, with no birth certificate or legal identification, it would be easy for the man to hide … if indeed, he was still alive.

Unfortunately, Baker didn't see it that way. He was too busy to chase real or would-be ghosts. Jordan was much more accessible. Jordan was vulnerable without Max or James to back her story. And Jordan had found Cahill's remains in the trunk of that 1966 Ford Fairlane and the remains of the dirty money that Max, Malden, and Cahill were recycling. That made her culpable enough in the DA's eyes to open a new investigation with her in the crosshairs. Besides, Malden was killed in her Pearle Street Apartment.

It didn't matter that Woody had proven that Malden had drugged her. It didn't matter that Garret had found her in an alley beside her apartment during the time that Malden was murdered. It didn't matter that Max was found standing over Malden's body with a gun. It didn't matter that James had said, in front of witnesses, that he had shot Malden to protect Jordan.

It didn't matter.

Nothing had mattered but the DA's ambitions. Woody had wanted to quit the force over it. He had typed his resignation and had his gun and badge in hand to turn over to the chief of police when Nigel stopped him. "You're about the only friend she's got in there," Nigel had said, pointing to the police station and DA's office. "If you leave, she really will be sunk. Please don't, Woody. For her sake. I know it's tough mate, but think about how hard it will be on her if she doesn't have a friend in there."

Woody had swallowed his pride and remained. But a lot of good it did him. He still couldn't protect her…keep her safe. Something he had always done….he had taken great pride in doing. It may have been a male-thing…taking care of "his woman."

He preferred to think of it differently…as taking protecting the one thing in his life that meant more than life itself – Jordan.

In the end, she had to run. She had to leave. He knew that. She had no choice. But that didn't stop her from returning on a daily basis in his mind and in his heart. He could see her everywhere he turned….he could smell her perfume. And God help him, at night, he could feel her beside him…holding her close, as if that could keep all the forces of Boston and the DA from getting to her.

He looked out his office window to the parking lot below. He could see her old parking spot…and in his mind he could see her old El Camino…he had begged her to get rid of it…it was a hunk of junk…she could get herself killed in that thing. He sighed. Now her parking place had been given to the new ME. He hadn't met him. He didn't want to. He understood that Garret hadn't given the ME Jordan's old office. It was almost like a shrine to those who loved her and hated to see her broken. Woody often would find himself going by the morgue in the evening, even when he didn't have business there, just to look in her office…nothing much of her remained there…just the houseplant that Lily kept watered as silent testimony to her one-time occupation of the facilities…but her spirit – Jordan's spirit – was there.

He had bought her El Camino at the small auction the lawyer had at her request. The few pieces of furniture she owned…some kitchen appliances….books….her car. They had all been sold and the money put in her savings account. Woody bought her car…she had loved it. He bought it so that if she returned, he could give it back to her…giving her something she loved would somehow help ease the ache he felt in his heart. And it kept her close to him. On days, or more likely nights, when the pain in his heart would give him no rest, he would go downstairs to the parking deck of his apartment and just sit in the vehicle. It still smelled like her. He found out why…there was a bottle of her perfume in her glove box…along with some lip gloss – the peach color she always used to wear, a hair scrunchie, some hair clips, and her winter mittens.

Woody sighed and fought back the tears in his eyes. She was gone. He didn't know where she was at…just that she was fine and "coping," as the lawyer said. Gone…the word passed over his lips in a whisper. Gone…but still in his dreams.