Santana came into the breakroom as Woody retrieved a ham and cheese sandwich from the vending machine.

"Hey, Woody. I just saw your girlfriend," she said, refilling her coffee cup for the umpteenth time of the day.

"Girlfriend?"

"Long brown hair? I met her once before."

His heart fluttered a bit. He could barely think of Jordan as his girlfriend anymore, but he wasn't quite ready to let go, despite the debacle of the previous week.

"Jordan's here?" He tossed his sandwich into the trash. "She must've come by to ask if I wanted to go to lunch."

"I don't think so. I just saw her going into Interview Room A with Lois Carver."

Curious. He cocked his head. "Oh. Thanks. They must be working on a case together," he said as if to convince himself. Truth was, he wasn't quite sure why Jordan would be with Lois Carver in one of the interview rooms.

He mumbled a quick goodbye to Santana and strode down the hall. He hesitated for a moment before stepping into the observation room next to Interview Room A. Perhaps it was just a cop's instinct, but there was a sickening sense of foreboding building in his gut.

He could see Jordan and Carver through the two-way mirror. Carver had her back to the mirror, and Jordan sat across from her. She held a ball of kleenex between her hands. She was picking at them anxiously, letting shards of white tissue flutter to the floor. She was wearing one of of those shapeless black sweaters she had taken to wearing lately, except for the siren-red camisole she'd worn on their date the week before.

Lois was speaking. He strained to hear.

"So, you don't remember if you used your key to get in that night?"

It was about the burglary at Jordan's place the month or so before, Woody realized. So, why was Jordan talking to a homicide detective?

"No, I don't remember." Jordan's voice was strained.

"OK. When did you notice that something was wrong, Jordan?"

Jordan looked away at the wall. "When I saw his reflection through the glass wall."

Woody froze. Jordan had lied to him. She had told him that the break-in had happened when she was at work. This did not bode well. He thought for a moment he should run and leave what was about to be said forever unknown to him. But he stayed.

"What did he look like, Jordan? Did you see him?"

"He was wearing a ski mask."

Ski mask. The words sliced into him. Ski mask. Like the other attacks. It made sense now. That's why she had lied. He shut his eyes tight.

Oh, God, not Jordan.

Lois went on. "What happened then?"

"He..." Jordan stopped for a moment. Her head dropped. "He was on me. He had a knife. He told me take my clothes off. So, I did. Then he ransacked my place."

"What did you do, Jordan?"

"I just stood there. I was terrified! He had a knife!" Jordan's voice had begun to tremble. Lois reached over and gave her wrist a squeeze.

"It's okay, Jordan. Take your time."

There was a glass of water there on the table. She sipped it and wiped at her eyes with a trembling hand.

"Then he turned to me. He had the knife. He told me to sit on the bed."

Inside the observation room, Woody felt the sick feeling rise in his gut. He feared the inevitability of what Jordan was about to say.

"What then? Go on," Det. Carver prodded gently.

"He put the knife to my throat. He told me he would kill me if I screamed. He put his hands on me." Woody hands flew up reflexively, as if to clamp out the sound of her words. "I was frozen. I couldn't move. He was talking to me the whole time. Telling me what he was going to do to me. It was horrible, the things he said." She choked for a moment on her own words.

"And?"

"That's when I fought back. I wasn't going to let him to that to me. We struggled. I cut my hand. And then he was gone."

The observation room had suddenly grown unbearably hot and arid. He staggered out of the room then and stormed blindly down the hallway before stopping, turning, taking a few steps in the other direction, then turning back again.

The door to the interview room opened then, and Lois and Jordan exited into the hallway. They stood together for a moment; Jordan nodded solemnly while Lois spoke. Then, Lois placed a sympathetic hand on Jordan's shoulder and headed in the opposite direction.

Jordan looked up then and saw Woody, perched casually on the edge of a desk at the end of the hallway. Their gazes locked, and no one moved for a moment.

Finally, Jordan gave a weak smile and headed toward him. She was the first to speak.

"Hey, Woody. I was just, uh, going over an old case with Det. Carver."

Woody nodded. "Good to see you, Jordan."

"Yeah. Listen." She looked down at her feet awkwardly. "I want to apologize about the other night..."

His hand flew up. "It's okay, Jordan. Really. No need to apologize. I guess we did move things a little too fast."

"Ok. Well. I guess I'd better be heading back to work." She turned to go.

"Jordan! You want me to walk you to your car?" He jumped from the desk.

"No. It's okay, Woody. It's broad daylight, and the place is crawling with cops." She managed a small smile and hurried down the hallway.

"Okay, then." He called to her back. "Be safe, Jordan." She was gone.

The competing emotions of pain and rage roiled inside of him. His heart ached for Jordan, and he wanted to run after her, pull her to him, and tell her he knew everything. But he wouldn't. He couldn't.

And then...he hadn't been able to save Jordan. It was his job, and he had failed. Now, she was going through untold pain that he couldn't heal.

He paced restlessly, not knowing what to do with his uncoiling rage. Finally, he turned a planted a clenched fist into the wall.

He drew back his hand, blood running from the skinless knuckles, and pulled it to his chest. He turned then to see Santana standing next to him, her mouth a horrified, round "O."

XXXXX

"You could have shattered every bone in your hand, you know." Santana tended to his injured hand in the break room.

"Thereby ending my career as a concert pianist," he mumbled sarcastically.

"Thereby ending your career as a Boston cop," she shot back. "You want to tell me what that was about?"

"No."

She stood up from the chair where she had bandaged Woody's hand. "Fine. You're angry. Most of us here are angry about something, everything. I think that's why we're cops. Just don't let it get the best of you, Hoyt."

"Mind your own business, rookie," he hissed before grabbing his coat from the back of the chair.

"Where are you going, Woody?"

He turned before storming from the break room. "I'm going to go do Carver's job for her."