Chapter Twelve

Getting up the courage to walk from her truck to the morgue had taken more out of her than she thought it would. She had circled the morgue five times before she could talk herself into driving into the parking deck and going into the office. Even then, she had nearly run from her El Camino to the elevator in the deck.

Once inside, work offered the solace it always had. She soon immersed herself with reports, trace…the normal light load for a Saturday night. She reviewed autopsy reports…getting up to speed on current cases. She was in the lab, deeply involved in her work, and didn't hear him come in. As a matter of fact, she didn't know he was behind her until he placed a hand on the small of her back.

And she nearly jumped out of skin. Whirling around, and pushing whoever it was away at the same time, she managed to get around to the other side of the lab table. Woody gingerly got himself up off the floor. She pushed him so hard, he landed on his butt. "Woody," she stammered out, "Don't do that….don't come up behind me and scare me…Not now.."

"I called out your name…didn't you hear me?"

Jordan shook her head, still too frightened to breathe correctly. Her brown eyes were huge in her face. "No….you know how I am when I'm working." Jordan would get so involved with what she was doing that she didn't notice anything going on around her.

"Which is exactly why you shouldn't be working the graveyard shift…there's no one here but you, and you get so caught up in what you're working on that anyone could come in here and you'd never know it."

"There are security guards."

"Who can't be everywhere at the same time."

"Pullman's in jail."

"And there are hundreds of other crazy people who aren't."

Jordan tapped her foot impatiently. She really had not wanted to see him tonight. It just made things harder. "What do you want, Hoyt?" she finally asked. If she answered his questions…tried to keep it on a professional level, maybe he would leave and she could get back to work…and then talk herself into leaving the morgue and walking back through the parking deck to her car. God knows that was going to take a while. "If it's about one of your cases, I'm sorry. I'm still not up to speed on everything yet."

Woody propped against the lab table, directly across from her so he could look her in the eyes. "I'm not interested in any case. I'm interested in you."

"Me? I'm fine." She abruptly turned and walked out of the lab. The last thing she wanted to do was get into a personal discussion with this man. She made her way to her office and shut the door. Maybe he'd take the hint.

No such luck. He followed her inside and stood next to her. "So…why are you here, Jordan? Macy told you no more graveyard shift."

She leaned back against her desk and shut her eyes. "I just think it's better for me to work these hours right now."

"Why? Like you said, Pullman's in jail. You don't have to worry about him anymore."

"I happen to like these hours."

"Liar."

Jordan opened her eyes. He was a lot closer than she realized. She tried to back away, only to find that he responded by grabbing her waist with his hands to keep her right there….next to him. "The real reason, Jordan. Tell me the real reason."

Drawing in a deep breath, she said, "It's just better this way….things are still a little tense from the Levinson/Pullman thing. I don't want to rock anybody's boat right now…."

Woody grunted. "These people worried about you…I worried about you. I'm worried about you now."

"I told you, I'm fine."

"Liar." He said it again…cupping her face with one of his hands, he forced her to look him in the eyes. "You're not fine. You might tell other people that….even yourself. And they and you might even believe it. But not me. I know you better than that."

He was so near….she could feel the warmth rolling off his body…She stayed so cold now…it was like she couldn't shake the chills that had wracked her body when she was in the box….that feeling lingered and she couldn't get rid of it no matter how hard she tried…extra shirts….sweaters….the feeling wouldn't go away. But he was warm…and his eyes were telling her he was worried now. Before she could stop herself, a tear escaped from one of her eyes. That was the last thing she wanted to happen. She was beyond this now…she was made out of tougher stuff than that. But his response was just to pull her closer to him…hold her just as tightly as he did that night when they found her.

And then the tears came in earnest. Everything she had been keeping bottled up inside her came out. She was barely aware that he took her over to the couch in her office and sat down, pulling her across his lap. She tried to fight the tears, but it was a useless battle. "Shh….it's okay Jordan…you're safe….no one will hurt you again…"

"I'm just cold, Woody…so cold….I can't get warm now."

He pulled the Patriots throw she kept across the back of the couch over her. Cold? How could she be cold? It was at least 72 degrees in her office. "You're cold?" he asked. He felt her nod against his chest.

"Ever since….you got me out of that box….I was so cold in there….freezing…I just don't feel like I can get warm again. Silly, isn't it?" she replied, beginning to get control of her tears, wiping her eyes on the backs of her hands.

He wanted to tell her no…it wasn't silly. It was probably a psychological reaction to the trauma she had gone through, but she pushed away from him and stood up, walking away from him to go to her desk and get a tissue. "I'm sorry, Woody….sorry I broke down like that…I think I got mascara on your shirt…I'm sorry."

He stood up and walked over to her. "Don't worry about the shirt…are you okay?" She wasn't. He could tell by looking at her. She looked precipitously close to breaking down again.

She nodded. "I just need to go home now. It's quitting time."

"Get your things. I'll walk you to your car."