Chapter Two

Rules are Made to be Broken

Jesus, Framus wasn't kidding…more has changed than I ever dreamed about. How'd the Boston PD get more red tape than it did when I was here?

That thought kept running through Woody's mind as he set up his office and began to re-learn all the procedures and paperwork that the precinct now had. By the time he had reviewed his fifteenth form, he had crystallized in his mind that one of the first goals he had in mind was developing his own paperwork reduction act for the police. Sunny D didn't have this many rules, regs, and forms.

The other thing that Woody was mulling over in his mind was simply the concept of change itself. Coming back to Boston for Woody was sort of like his first trip back to Wisconsin after he had moved away. Kewuanne was familiar…it was warm….it was home. It wasn't supposed to change.

But it did. He remembered how he felt when he returned to his Aunt Marge's to find she had sold the childhood bunk beds that he had shared with Cal and turned their bedroom into a storage area – the sanctity of his childhood had been irrevocably violated.

He was feeling the same way about the precinct. It had been gutted and re-constructed years ago…well after Woody had left. The detectives' room he had been used to was now burglary. Homicide was in a completely different wing with a completely different layout. His desk was at the "hub" and all of the detectives he supervised swirled out from that area like spokes in a wheel. There was little privacy.

But then again, there was little chance of division among the ranks with a layout like that. It was open. It kept folks honest.

And the detectives themselves…apart from Capri, Framus, Carver, Seely, and Cruz … it seemed they were barely out of high school. Or at least that was the way they appeared. Woody wondered if he had ever looked that young and green in Boston.

Swearing softly, he knew he did. He had been a country rube, but it hadn't taken Boston and her long enough to put some brass and polish on his belt. When he left over fifteen years ago, there was nothing about him that indicated he had ever grown up in backwoods Wisconsin. As a matter of fact, other than his direct supervisor at Sunny D, no one had ever known he was from the cheese state.

"Hey….what do you think about all this?" came a boisterous voice from behind him.

"Roz….let me look at you."

Roz strutted like a super model for a minute then turned so he could see her from behind, too. "Is this enough? Are you through?'

Woody laughed and hugged the woman. "You're lookin' good, Roz."

"As are you, Detective." She plopped down on the edge of his now-clean desk. "So….what do you think?'

"That Thomas Wolfe was right."

Roz raised an eyebrow. "You mean you can't go home again?"

Woody nodded. "You were right, too. How do you keep the paperwork straight?"

Roz walked over to her desk on Woody's right and flipped open a chart. It had a diagram filled with boxes and arrows that showed her what form to fill out when and under what conditions. Woody groaned. "At least, being in charge, I can delegate."

"At least being in charge, you have to review each and every form."

Woody groaned again. "How's the group? Does everyone work and play well together as detectives?'

"For the most part, yeah. There are a few cliques….some here are too green in my opinion to be homicide. They need to be back on narcotics or burglary, but that's not my call."

Woody nodded. "Were we ever that young?" he asked, indicated a detective across the room.

Roz laughed. "Yeah…believe it or not we were. So how's Boston feeling on your tanned California hide?"

"I can't believe it was ever this cold here."

Roz grinned again. "And it's only October….So it looks like you're settled in here. When are you going to see her or have you already?"

"Her?"

Giving him her best "I-can't-believe-you're-that-dumb" look, she said, "Her. Jordan. Dr. Turner. Chief ME."

Sighing, Woody rubbed the back of his neck. Truthfully a part of him had wanted to waltz through the doors of the morgue as soon as his Corvair his Boston.

Another part of him wanted to avoid it for at least another twenty-four hours.

And avoidance was winning. But he had to go and re-introduce himself to her. Since he was now over the homicide department, he knew he would be working with her nearly exclusively from the rest of the ME's. Only she would handle the high-profile stuff he would have to get directly involved with.

Hopefully that would only happen occasionally. And maybe it would help that she was now married and unavailable.

Besides, after all this time, who would believe anything would be left between them anyway. Once he had flown out of Boston, they had experienced no contact with each other by mutual choice. That…and a few, heated words.

Okay…more than a few heated words.

Giving Roz a wary look, he said. "No. Not yet. Thought I'd make my way over there after lunch. Want to come?"

"What for? To ride point? I don't think so. I have other things to do, Detective." She jumped off the side of his desk. "Anyway….I might like a ring-side seat to what might happen between you two…but I'll be damned if I play referee." She grabbed her jacket and began to walk towards the door. "Have a great day, Woody. Call me if you need me….but not to go cover your ass at the morgue."

Woody gritted his teeth and grabbed his own jacket. Putting it on and shoving his new ID into his pocket, he left the precinct building and crossed the street to the morgue

The fever to renovate all the downtown buildings had also caught the morgue in the crosshairs. There was little for Woody to recognize here, either. He stopped at the directory in the lobby and grinned. Garret must have finally gotten rid of the gift shop he detested…Woody didn't see the tacky establishment anywhere. Nigel was here…as was Bug…and Sydney…and Peter was back. That was good. At least there was one person at the morgue who didn't hate him because of what was said between himself and Jordan when he left.

He had never deemed Nigel to be a violent man, but the Brit had threatened to kill him before he had flown out of Boston. Woody hoped enough time had passed that the threat and their memories had dimmed….or at least softened a little. He glanced at the listing one more time. The morgue had the basement…and floors seven, eight, and nine. Her office was on the ninth floor. He rode the elevators up, hoping that they hadn't been changed. If they were still as slow as they used to be, he would have a good few minutes to rehash what he was going to say to her.

And if he was really lucky, maybe he'd get stuck.

He wasn't lucky. The first person he ran into was Nigel. Still tall…still thin…still pale…a few strands of gray now in his long hair, that had grown out enough that he kept it pulled back in a pony tale. "Nigel?" Woody said, hopefully…

"Woody….I heard you were back….we all did. Good to see you, mate." Nigel stuck out his hand.

Woody mentally let out a sigh of relief. All the anger seemed to at least be gone. "How are you….and how are things going?" Woody asked.

"Good….really good. But Jordan's sent me out on a field call. I've got to run right now…but drinks later this week? We'll catch up. I'll bring my wife."

"Your wife?"

Nigel grinned. "Yeah. Kate. Seven years ago August."

"Good for you."

"Thanks. Two kids, too."

Woody shook his head. Too much had happened for him to cognitively fathom at the moment. His emotions were on overload.

"Oh, by the way…her office is at the end of the hall."

"How did you know…."

"We all figured you'd be by to re-establish your connections before the week was out. See you." And with that Nigel was in the elevators and was whisked out of Woody's sight. He began the long walk down the hall by himself.

He knew it was close to five….so most of the offices were deserted. He could see her through the glass of her observation window. Her hair was still long, although not quite as long as he remembered. It was still wavy. And despite the fact that her back was to him, he could tell her figure had filled out. She was at least a size seven now. But he liked the change. She looked more womanly…softer. He tapped lightly at her door. "Dr. Turner?"

Jordan turned towards the noise. Woody held his breath.

"Lieutenant Hoyt. I've been expecting you." Her voice held a note of softness that her figure did. She held out her left hand for him to shake. "And please…it's still just Jordan."

He smiled. "And it's Woody…okay?"

She nodded. "Sure."

There was that awkward pause he had been dreading. If her mind was remembering anything about their last time together, her face gave no hint. "So….how does it feel to be chief ME?" he finally asked.

"Too much responsibility and not enough pay. Have a seat, Woody." She motioned towards her couch. She remained standing, propped against the front of her desk. "Glad to be working with you again. Framus told me she had warned you how much things had changed?"

Woody nodded.

"I still get lost in this building now…you'd think I never would…after working here so long, but after the renovations, nothing looked the same. Nothing was the same." She gave him a meaningful look.

He took it as a hint. "I'm glad to be back…I just hope we can work together like we did before …" he swallowed the rest of the sentence.

Jordan held a hand up to stop him. "I don't see any reason why we can't…as long as we let the past stay in the past. That was what…almost sixteen years ago? We are different people now….different relationships…different…well, different everything. Can I make a suggestion?"

"Um…yeah." She always did know how to make him tongue-tied.

"Let's start fresh…like we've never worked together. I don't imagine it will be too hard to do, seeing as we've had no contact for so long. But this time, we know there are boundaries."

"Boundaries?"

"You haven't read the new state handbook, have you?"

Woody shook his head. It was on his to do list, but as of the present, there had been too much "to do" to read it.

"One of the parting gifts of Slokum's reign of terror was a new Massachusetts State Employee Handbook. People working for the state aren't supposed to have 'inner office relationships'."

Woody gave her a disbelieving glance. "And this works?"

Jordan nearly smiled. As closely as everyone worked together with the police and the morgue, she, as well as every other supervisor, knew that this rule was overlooked and ignored as soon as Slokum was sent packing by the governor.

But Woody didn't know this.

"It works well." She crossed her arms over her chest, as if daring him to challenge her. "So….you know there are boundaries now that you can't cross."

"And you can't either."

She nodded. "I don't want to."

"Okay…I get your drift, Dr. Turner. Like you said, fifteen plus years away from each other is a long time. I think I understand the boundaries…and you have no worries. We will have only a professional relationship."

"Good. Now, if you will excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be." She grabbed her pocketbook and jacket from her chair. Woody followed her out and waited until she locked her office door. Then he rode the elevator down with her to the lobby, propped against a wall, casually observing her. She hadn't changed that much. Her hair was still the same chestnut color. She could be warm one minute and abrasive the next.

But she was still made his breath catch when he looked at her. And her eyes…damn…they still made him weak in the knees.

And he still fought that feeing she left in his gut … the one that made him want to forget anything else he had to do and just protect her.

But something had changed about the lady. Despite her almost cold comments to him, she was somehow soft, gentler … warmer that he ever remembered her being. He wondered what had caused it.

Couldn't be her marriage. She wore no rings. So she was divorced.

The elevator stopped at the lobby. She turned to him before she got off. "Good night, Woody," she said as she stepped out of the car and headed out the exit, turning left and going to her parking deck.

Fifteen plus years had changed him…and her, too. But if he would wager, he would bet she had changed more than he had.

Whistling softly, he crossed the street back to his office. No rings on her fingers, but a bunch of regulations to keep them apart. He smiled to himself. If the years spent with Jordan Cavanaugh had taught him one thing…it was that rules were made to be broken.