She stood in front of his door for at least ten minutes before knocking. A few times, she had turned and headed for the stairs. Then she would stop, recall what Dr. Brady had said, screw up her courage and head back to his door.

Jordan liked Dr. Maggie Brady. Dr. Stiles had recommended her. She specialized in treating victims of sexual assault. She was warm and funny, and she reminded Jordan of what she, herself, might have been like if her life had gone in a slightly different direction. Jordan believed she just might have to change her opinion of headshrinkers.

"Have you told the man in your life? The detective?" Dr. Brady asked at their last session.

Jordan shook her head. "No. And I wouldn't call him the man in my life."

Dr. Brady looked back at her with an arched eyebrow. "You did end up in bed with him last week."

"Yes, and what a resounding success that turned out to be." There was a silence. Jordan finally spoke. "So...are you saying that I should tell him?"

"That's up to you, Jordan." Jordan looked down and picked distractedly at a loose thread on her shirt. Dr. Brady went on after a beat. "My impression is that he cares about you very much and that he probably already knows something is wrong."

So, she stood now, rapping softly at his door. She swallowed hard when he answered.

"Hi...I was just in the neighborhood. Driving around your block for the past fifteen minutes." She laughed a small, nervous laugh. "Do you mind if I come in?"

"Sure, Jordan."

She suddenly noticed his hand. "Hey, what did you do there?" She caught his hand in hers. It occurred to her, sadly, that this was as much physical contact as she could bear right now. She ran a finger gently across his bandaged knuckles.

"Oh, that? Nothing. I fell. Come on in."

She headed in, still not knowing where to start. He followed her and went to the kitchen area.

"So, you want something to drink? Some wine?"

She shook her head. "No. Nothing for me. Look...this is hard, so I'm just going to say it." He froze behind the kitchen island, a wine glass in each hand. "Please don't flip out. I need you to just sit and be calm while I talk."

He put the glasses on the counter and went slowly to the sofa with a kind of pained resignation. Jordan knew that Dr. Brady was right. He suspected something.

She stood in front of him, pacing in small, restless circles. She stopped finally, took a breath, and launched in.

"I lied to you. Before. When I said I was at work when the guy broke into my place. I wasn't. I was home."

He looked down at the floor, and any doubts Jordan had were erased. He knew. He already knew.

"Oh, God...you know. How did you know?"

"I found out at work," he said, unable to tell her the whole truth.

"Lois..."

"No! She didn't say a word to me. Honestly. But...you knew I was bound to find out anyway." She nodded and looked away in shame. "I just wish you'd told me before. I could have..."

He stopped and shrugged helplessly.

"I know. I know. I keep going over and over it in my mind. But I felt so ashamed." The words were agonizing. She knew, rationally, that she had nothing to be ashamed of. But there was nothing rational about what had happened to her and nothing rational about they way she felt now. "And I thought since I wasn't actually raped, that I didn't have a right to feel this way."

"Jordan, assault is crime, too..."

She cut him off. "I know that now. Of course I know that. But..."

There was nothing to say. She finally sat next to him on the sofa. He put a comforting hand on her back but withdrew it quickly. There was a long pause.

She could not stand to look at him. When she finally turned, he had retreated into an angry silence, elbows on knees, staring at the blank wall in front of them.

"Don't worry, Jordan. We'll get the guy who did this to you." He was speaking in slow, measured tones, as if he were trying very hard to remain calm.

"We?"

He turned to her then. "I'll do everything I can, Jordan..."

"No. No." She shook her head rapidly. "Please. Let Lois handle this."

He looked back at her with stunned eyes.

"Jordan, I'm a homicide detective! You can't expect me to leave this alone!"

"Please, Woody. Please. I can't have you involved in this."

"Why not?"

She wasn't sure she could adequately explain without revealing too much of herself. Because she didn't want him to start looking at her with a cop's look of detached pity. Because she had feelings for him, and she couldn't bear the man she was falling in love with hearing the sordid details of her attack over and over.

"Please. For me."

She saw his jaw tighten, and he leapt up from the sofa. "Okay. For you."

She rose, then. "Thank you." The brief silence grew uncomfortable, and she headed toward the door. "I should go..."

She had her hand on the doorknob when he finally spoke.

"This doesn't change things, Jordan. The way I feel about you."

She could not turn to face him for the tears that had sprung to her eyes. She nodded and headed quickly to her car.