Chapter Seven

The blasting ring of his alarm clock brought him out of an uneasy slumber. He hated getting up in the morning anymore. He hated facing the glaring light of daybreak. Of course, he hated the dark, empty, loneliness of the night, too.

In short, to paraphrase a George Strait song, he hated everything.

He hated Chinese food, pizza, movies….

He hated going to the morgue and seeing her empty office. He hated how every time his phone rang, it wasn't her. He hated how empty his life was without Jordan.

He had even grown to hate police work…his cases…homicides. He was solving a record number of cases and assisting in putting the perpetrators behind bars, but it all was a hollow victory to him now. What was the meaning of justice if you didn't get a little of it yourself? He groaned as he pulled his reluctant, sleep-deprived body out of the bed, forcing himself under a hot shower spray. The only thing that was keeping him going, keeping him motivated, was his work on the Albanian mob. It was slowly making sense…but the shadowy figures that were really pulling the strings of the puppets over here were over there -- in Europe. He knew names. He knew locations.

He also knew that they would be impossible for a regular Boston homicide detective to get. Not without some outside help. And he was coming up empty handed on that end. He turned the shower off and towel dried his hair, getting ready for work. He needed to find another angle if he was to ever get her back in Boston…if he was to ever see her again, he needed to find a way into the mob.

But how?

The pains were coming harder and faster for Jordan now, as she made herself get up out of bed and call a cab to take her to the hospital. She knew labor was going to be hard…hell, she was a doctor. She knew what it entailed.

She never knew it would hurt so much…As the cab picked her up from the apartment and drove towards Seattle General, she flipped open her cell phone. Although it was nearly 6 a.m. in Washington, Boston would have been humming four or more hours now. She dialed Nigel's number and left him a message. Then she called her FBI contact. From there it was a blur.

She was admitted to labor and delivery. And from there, things began to go horribly wrong. Her blood pressure dropped and then rose. She was losing too much blood. The pains were coming too fast and too hard and her body couldn't keep up with them. The doctors tried to slow down the labor, in order to get her prepped for a c-section, but it was too late. She delivered her baby, a girl, on her own. No pain killers, no labor coach.

No family and no Woody to congratulate her and share in the joy this tiny bundle brought. A daughter. Her daughter. All six pounds nine ounces of her…blue eyes, chestnut hair, and her father's dimples. Jordan melted when she saw her.

Apprehension didn't set in until her FBI contact, a fellow named Murrow, showed up in her room a few hours later. She looked at him, the question in her eyes. "No, Dr. Cavanaugh, as best we can assess, the mob knows nothing about your baby, you, or where you're at. They seem to be a little more preoccupied with something else now…an effort to break them up. We're still going to keep you under surveillance, there's still that danger…but not like it was before. We'll be sealing your baby's birth certificate, just in case…so I need to know what her name is and who her father is."

Jordan thought for a minute. Names were hardest. She had a boy's name ready….because for some reason, she had anticipated having a son. But the baby was a girl….a very beautiful girl. "Her name is Abigail Meredith … Hoyt. And her father is Woodrow Wilson Hoyt."

Woody pulled up his chair to his desk and got to work…but this case was going to be difficult to push any further until Nigel got him the ballistic report back. He had gone over to the morgue, trying not to glance too many times at her darkened and still-locked office. Nigel was in Dr. Macy's office…deep in an animated conversation and Emmy had said they couldn't be disturbed. Woody had briefly wondered what was up, as the Brit looked just a tad more anxious than usual and Dr. Macy had also worn a concerned look. He had left a message on Nigel's desk that he needed those ballistic reports stat…and to please fax a copy over ASAP.

He had just settled in to looking through his other files when a thick envelope landed on top of his desk. He looked up to see where it came from. Framus was standing over him. "I don't know what the hell you're doing with the Albanian mob thing, Hoyt, but you're stepping on too many toes. An unnamed FBI agent just dropped this information off for you and told me to tell you to read it and stay the hell out of their case."

Woody grinned. If the FBI was sending information to the police precinct for him via anonymous agents, then he was on the right trail. He was correct in his assumptions. He may be one step closer to breaking the mob and getting her back. He may not could do anything about the European leaders, but he could make life miserable for the mob in Boston. "Like hell I will," he told Framus with a smirk.

"That's what I thought you'd say," she replied with a wink.

"But that's what you're going to have to do," said a voice from the doorway. It was Rene' Walcott. "Detective Hoyt, I just received a very interesting phone call from the local FBI chief. He brought to my attention that you've been investigating the Albanian mob. To the best of my knowledge, the Boston PD has no outstanding cases with this group." She gave Woody her best DA stare-down. Woody swallowed hard. "I told him I wasn't personally aware of any deliberate investigations going on with the mob, but some of our other homicides may have weak links to them, and that you are very thorough in your work.

"I got you off the hook, detective. This time. The next time you may not be so lucky." She walked over to Woody's desk and sat on the edge, so she could look him closely in the face. "I understand your desire to dismantle the mob and bring her back, Woody. I do. I know what it's like to love someone you can't have." Her face grew wistful for a moment. "But I can't have you endangering this police department with the mob or our relationship with the FBI. More importantly, Jordan must be kept safe….and if you nose around too much, they may go after her. You know that. I can't ask you not to inquire from time to time with the FBI about how the Albanian mob case is proceeding. They know of your interest in the case and the reason behind it. I am asking you not to investigate any further on your own and leave it to the system to exact justice from this situation. Have I made myself clear, detective?"

Woody nodded. "Crystal," he said, slamming the door behind Walcott.