He wanted to honor Jordan's wishes; he really did.

He would discreetly excuse himself from the break room or the water cooler circle when the subject of the Charlestown Killer-Rapist would come up, and he would refrain from any conjecture when asked what the division's next move should be.

But Jordan had come in that day to see Lois Carver, and they exchanged a few awkward words. Then he overheard a cluster of detectives huddled around the coffee maker, and their banter began to disintegrate into the basest terms to describe what the attacker's victims had gone through. He found himself biting his lip so hard he drew blood.

"I'm outta here," he mumbled to Santana before heading out the door.

"Hoyt! Where are you going?" Santana followed after him. "Just let it go, Woody."

"Did you hear what they were saying? It makes me sick." He kept moving down the hall.

"Look, Hoyt." Santana reached out to stop him. "I know why this case is making you insane," she said under her breath. She had already heard the rumors about Jordan. "But you can't let those jerks get to you like this."

His eyes fell to the floor. "Every time I close my eyes, I see it. I see that animal with her. Touching her. Saying those things." He raised his head up, and Santana looked away in embarrassment. When he spoke again, his voice was cold. "Cover for me, Santana."

"Cover for you? What?"

"I've got something I've got to take care of."

"I don't know, Woody. I think you should just leave this to Carver. She can handle it."

"C'mon, Santana. I thought you were a risk-taker. A rule-breaker."

"Don't do it, Woody. You're too close to it." She shook her head.

He turned finally and looked at her beseechingly. "I've gotta do this. I swear this is the last time. Just this once, and I'll turn everything I know over to Carver. But I've gotta do this."

"Where are you going?"

"Alonzo HVAC. It's in the book. I've got a few questions about one of their employees."

She searched his face for a moment. "All right. But if you're not back in 45 minutes, I'm gonna have 'em haul your ass in."

Santana watched him go with the uneasy feeling that she had just made a very bad decision.

XXXXXX

"I'm not in trouble or anything, am I?" Joe Alonzo asked Woody as he flashed his badge. They stood in the front of Alonzo's dingy downtown shop.

"No, Mr. Alonzo. I just wanted to ask you a few questions about an employee of yours. A red-haired kid."

Alonzo shut his eyes and nodded knowingly. "That'd be Brian Weems."

"Brian Weems? What can you tell me about him?"

Alonzo exhaled with exasperation. "I only hired him because his uncle's an old army buddy of mine. I don't like to hire ex-cons."

Woody's ears pricked up. Bingo.

"Ex-con? What was he in for?"

"Well, he never did time. That's the only reason I hired him. Seems like he was the neighborhood peeping Tom. Some of the ladies on the block recognized him. He turned himself in because he thought they'd go easy and send him to juvvie, but that's where the little pre-vert was wrong. They charged him as an adult. I mean, he got probation, but still. Now it's on his permanent record. Little pre-vert." Alonzo chuckled to himself. "He says it was all a bum rap, and he didn't really do it. Course if you ask him what the real deal is, he just clams up."

Woody could feel the red heat of anger crawl up his neck and into his cheeks. He struggled to remain calm. "Say...you wouldn't happen to have Brian's address would you?"

Alonzo shrugged and began to thumb through a box of 3x5's. "Anything for the cops..."

XXXXXX

"I told you I didn't see anything. He had a mask on the whole time."

Jordan wearily rubbed her eyes as she pored over yet another mugshot book. It had been an hour, and the faces were beginning to blend together.

"I know, I know," Det. Carver reassured her. "But maybe you knew this guy. Or he knew you. Maybe he'd been in the building earlier that day. It can't hurt to look. Something might ring a bell."

Jordan shrugged and looked down at the book. "All right..." she exhaled and dropped her head. It was then that she saw him. Those eyes. She had felt those eyes on her before. She knew him. She had seen him in the building. When was it? A few days before the attack. It was him.

"That's him," she coldly. Carver turned to see Jordan stabbing at the picture with her index finger. "That's him. I've seen him before."

Santana appeared at the door then, breathless. "Excuse me, Det. Carver. It's about Det. Hoyt..."

Jordan's head spun around. "Woody? What's wrong?"

"He took off. About an hour ago. I just got a call from him. He says he knows where the Charlestown Rapist lives, and he's going after him."

"Jesus..." Lois stood from the conference table and headed for the door.

"Look, I called the guy at Alonzo HVAC," Santana started. Lois and Jordan exchanged puzzled glances. "It's a long story, but I know where Woody's headed."

Without another word, Carver and Santana raced down the hall. Jordan sat for a moment, not sure how to process the fact that Woody had gone after her attacker, then jumped from her chair. "Wait. I'm coming with you."

It was pointless, the women knew, to try and stop Jordan. She followed after them, leaving the mugshot book open to the page where Brain Weems' face had stared blankly up at her.