Chapter Six

The Truth Doesn't Always Set You Free

So he watched her from a distance…for the next several weeks, Woody just casually observed Jordan, hopefully without her noticing. As a detective, he knew that suspects often were caught when they were under low-key surveillance because they thought no one was watching as they planned their next crime or cover up.

However, his masculine pride was taking a beating in the meanwhile because she was living with Nigel. That fact in itself was hard to swallow. Was it his masculine ego pricking his conscious so hard or the fact that Jordan no longer felt safe with him or felt she could no longer ask him for help? He really didn't know which one. He just was having a hard time dealing with her living arrangements. And he had a sickening feeling it was a little of both his pride and her rejection of him that was making his life nearly unbearable.

There were only a couple of times in his relationship with Jordan that she had been remotely clingy with him. But now it was a regular part of her behavior with Nigel. They came into work together. They left together in the evening.

He had seen them together after work occasionally. Sometimes Jordan had seemed nearly happy. But most of the time Woody could still sense that fear in her. It was more than just the apprehension that she might be attacked…and it was more than just stress. But he still couldn't piece together what was bothering her.

And as much as he wanted to ask her, he knew he couldn't right now. He wouldn't do anything to increase her anxiety level…he wouldn't do anything to cause her to faint again. He had never felt as helpless as when she was unconscious in his lap on the floor of autopsy.

So he watched and waited. And found out nothing, except for the fact he would bet anything that there was something going on in Jordan's life that had scared her deeply. However, if there was, the lady wasn't talking.

But a very wise person once said that truth is a lot like cream. When the temperature is just right, and the milk is left alone, it will rise to the top. The truth would eventually come out. And when it did, maybe it would set her free from whatever was frightening her.

So Woody would just have to be patient and wait. Sooner or later he would know. Jordan might show her hand or Nigel might slip and tell him, but he would know.

And hopefully Jordan would realize then that she could still depend on his help, even if their relationship was over.

"There you go, love," Nigel said, handing Jordan a cup of hot chocolate. "Hopefully this will help you go back to sleep." He gently pushed her hair off her forehead as he helped her sit up in bed.

"Thanks, Nige." She took the cup from him with a wan smile. These bad dreams were becoming an every night experience now as the memories of her attack were beginning to surface. It seemed every night now there was a new revelation….sometimes big, sometimes small, but always painful. Sometimes so excruciating that Nigel would end up curling up beside her, on the top of the bedspread, just holding her until she would fall into a fitful sleep.

But he never stayed there the entire night. If he did, at some point during the night, she'd wake up gasping, thinking Nigel was her attacker. And not be able to go back to sleep the rest of the night.

"What exactly did you remember tonight?" Nigel prodded gently. He was writing down as much as she could recall about her attack, knowing that at some point Jordan would go to the police, and she might need this record.

"He…he…had a knife. A large one…."

"You've known he had a knife…you said he threatened you with it."

"Yeah…but I never could remember what kind…until tonight."

"So….was it a kitchen knife…a wood working knife..."

"No…no. It was the kind that fishermen carry…."

"The serrated kind?'

"Yeah…that they use for scaling…"

"Good, anything else?"

Jordan shook her head. "No…no. Nothing else. Not tonight. Sorry."

Nigel smiled sadly at her. "It's okay, love. It will come. You'll remember."

"That's what I'm afraid of, Nigel. That's what really scares me."

"What's that?" Woody asked Santana as she walked into his office with a small evidence box in her arms.

"Something to keep you busy and out of my hair," she replied with a smirk.

Woody raised an eyebrow to the younger, female detective. "And that would be?"

"A box of evidence from a rape about six months ago." She sat the box down on his desk with a thud.

"And?"

"And it might be a link to the condom rapist. The report from the victim and the tests ran indicate strongly it was that assailant."

"Why haven't we heard about this vic until now?"

"Because while the victim willingly turned over her clothing as evidence…she refused to give her name."

"Well, even if we can link the evidence to the attacker, without a named victim, that's going to make it damned hard to validate the link."

"Yeah, but if the woman was a target of the condom rapist, she," Santana said, pointing to the evidence box, "is his first victim. And we both know how important that would be. So good luck, detective." With that, she left his office, shutting the door behind her.

Woody sighed and took off his suit coat. Loosening his tie, he put on a pair of latex gloves and opened the top of the box. A pair of size two ladies' jeans….she was tiny…petite… he thought, a masculine feeling of protectiveness automatically rose in his chest. She was probably too short to fight him off…poor girl. Bra. Brief cut underwear. None of it rang familiar with Woody until he pulled out the shirt. It was light green with darker green cut outs resembling leaves.

He knew the shirt. She had always looked good in green…but it couldn't be…she would have told him….tentatively he put the shirt to his nose. Lavender and jasmine. He would always remember that scent because…

Because she wore it all the time. It was hers.

Dear God, Woody thought, the room beginning to spin around him as he sat down hard in his office chair. No wonder she's been acting so fearfully…she's been afraid for months. He swallowed hard and ran his fingers through his hair as the cold, hard truth began to sink down and solidify in his mind. Oh Jesus, tell me it isn't true…He felt the contents of his stomach lurch as the realization hit him hard. The shirt belonged to Jordan.

Jordan was the first victim of the rapist.