Chapter Eight

Time was doing Woody no favors. As more weeks passed, accumulating into months, Jordan's safety and the FBI case with the Albanian mob plagued him…wrestling in his thoughts. He continued to work…he continued to be one of Boston's best detectives, but his friends and co-workers could see the change in the man. He was, as Framus had feared, becoming bitter. And solitary. It was not unusual to see him at work all hours of the day and night. He rarely went out socially. He never dated. As a matter of fact, if he had ten dollars for every time a friend would try to fix him up with "a really nice-looking girl, with a great personality," he could probably afford that vacation to St. Thomas he had been wanting for years.

He would smile at their requests and simply reply, "I'm not ready, yet." Jordan still had his heart. Each time his phone would ring during off hours….in the middle of the night or early morning, he would hold his breath, hoping to hear her on the other end.

It never happened.

And since, in the six months since Walcott had unceremoniously thrown him off his Albanian mob investigation, he had little idea where that stood. At first, he called his FBI contact, a guy named Murrow, weekly to see where the case was at. Murrow was always less than forthcoming. Finally, Woody had just outright asked about Jordan.

There was a longer hesitation on the other end. Murrow eventually responded with a curt, "She's fine. And that's all you need to know."

"You'll let me know if that changes?"

More hesitation. "I can't promise anything, detective."

Woody ran his fingers through his hair. "How often do you talk with her?"

"The last time she spoke with me was about six months ago. She was fine, she just needed me to take care of some paperwork for her. She's under surveillance and another FBI contact talks regularly with her. If things weren't kosher, I'd know about it."

"You don't know Jordan Cavanaugh very well. She's the world's best at hiding her feelings and her condition."

Another long pause. "I do know she's fine, Woody. And I know she misses you. She asks about you all the time."

For the first time in weeks, Woody felt his heart soften just a little. She hadn't forgotten about him. She still wanted to know how he was…for a second he fought back tears. "How long is it going to be before she can come back to Boston? Or when can I go to her?"

"I'm not sure, Detective Hoyt. There are a lot of people working to clear this case and get everyone's life back to normal. But you have to prepare yourself. It could take a while."

Woody ground his teeth. Patience was no longer one of his virtues. "I can't wait forever. And neither can she. Life is slipping by us…"

"I understand."

"No. I don't think you do. But…just when you talk to her, tell her my feelings haven't changed….and to be careful and take care of herself."

"I will."

Being a single mother was more difficult than Jordan ever imagined it would be. She had six weeks of maternity leave, but got little chance to rest or to recuperate after Abigail was born. Jordan had no support system in Seattle…all the responsibility of the baby fell on her. Every three hours she was up with theinfant and Abigail was showing no signs of sleeping through the night, even at six months of age.

She was, of course, back at work now…working regular nine-to-five hours…and Abby was in daycare. Jordan wasn't thrilled at the arrangement, but it was the best she could do. She had always hoped, in the back of her mind, that when she did become a mother, she could work part time.

Circumstances being what they were, that was impossible.

So her days began early…five in the morning, and ended late at night. Usually not before midnight. And then she was up with her daughter at least once a night. It was grueling….and it was getting to her physically. She had never fully gotten over the blood loss she had at Abby's birth. Her immune system was weak and she was picking up every virus and germ that passed her way. Add in the fact that she got inadequate rest, and it was the recipe for disaster. She knew this…and so did Cal.

He had found out when the baby was born and had come to see her in the hospital, holding his niece and wishing with everything he had that his brother could be there to see his daughter. Woody would have been over the moon with excitement. If there ever was truly a man predestined to be a daddy, it was Woodrow Wilson Hoyt. And Cal knew this.

But the fewer the people that knew about the baby, the better. And most of all Woody. Garret, Nigel, and Rene' knew that Abigail had been born. And of course, the FBI. That was how Cal knew. They had phoned him.

And now Cal felt more responsible than ever. While he watched his niece flourish…for she had a great mother … he watched with alarm as Jordan's health began to decline. He came by her apartment as much as he could, which wasn't often. His job kept him away. But each time he saw Jordan, he became more and more apprehensive. He finally called her contact at the FBI.

"She's too sick to function," he told Murrow.

"Has she seen a doctor?"

"Yeah, and they're all saying the same thing. She needs to get some rest so she can get well. Right now she has the flu on top of everything else…she can't get over one illness before she comes down with another."

Murrow sighed. "Is there any possible way you…"

"Not a chance. I don't know squat about babies…and Jordan needs to be with someone she feels comfortable around. She doesn't have any close friends in Seattle yet, and she won't trust her baby to just anyone. She needs someone she knows."

"I know where you're going with this, Hoyt, and I still think it's too risky."

"He needs to know…I've said all along he needs to know….and he's going to be furious when he finds out, anyway. God knows I don't want to be in the same room with him when Jordan or you tell Woody he's a dad and has been one for six months without knowing it. You haven't seen him angry. I have," Cal said, his voice trailing off. Indeed, he had been the object of Woody's anger for more years than he cared to remember.

Murrow sighed again. "Do you think you can do this discreetly?"

"Hey, discreet is my middle name."

"No, I seem to remember Coledge is your middle name. Just….make a plan and run it by me before you do anything, okay Hoyt?"

"Will do."

Damn, why wouldn't his phone stop ringing? It was four in the morning and his cell phone wouldn't shut up. He wasn't on duty, so he didn't have to answer it. He looked at the caller ID the first time it went off, hoping her cell phone number would show up, but once again, he was bitterly disappointed. Whoever was calling at this hour was certainly persistent, he'd give them that…and his middle finger when he found out whom it was calling this hour.

Finally, after the sixth time of listening to his cell phone go off, he flipped it open. "Hoyt," he barked into the phone. "And I'm off duty….so this had better be damned important."

"Woody…"

Dear God, it was Cal. "Cal…I'm in no mood for games. If you've gotten yourself in trouble, you're on your own. And if you've called to apologize again, forget it. Not now. I know you're sorry, but there's been too much water under the bridge…"

"Woody. Shut up. For two seconds, just shut up. Then you can get back on your self-righteous high horse and have another go at me. But right now it's about Jordan."

Woody's blood ran cold. "Jordan…is she okay?"

"No, Woody. She's not. She's sick and she and….she needs you."

"How do you know?"

"Because I just saw her. In her apartment. She's sick and she's not getting any better…and you need to come."

Woody threw back the bedspread and jerked a suitcase from the closet. "Where is she?" he asked, dumping clothes and toiletries in the bag.

"I can't say over the phone. Be at Logan at six. There will be someone there waiting to give you tickets. And don't say anything about this to anyone…."

"I'll have to call work…"

"Don't worry about it. I've already talked to Walcott. She's aware of the situation. She's got it covered."

"Walcott? You've talked to Walcott?"

"Yeah."

"What…How…."

"Just shut up and pack. And be at Logan by six. You only have one layover in Chicago."

"But Jordan? Is she in the hospital? How bad…"

"She's not in the hospital, but probably needs to be. She can't go with…anyway, she just can't be admitted right now."

"Cal, that makes no sense."

Cal made an impatient noise in the back of his throat. "Just….get here. Then you'll understand."