Chapter Three

Jack McCoy

"Hi…I'm Dr. Cavanaugh…I'm here to see Jack McCoy," Jordan told the petite blonde woman sitting outside of the ADA's office. Short…blonde…blue eyes….suit…and reminds me too much of Devan, Jordan thought absent-mindedly as the woman knocked on the door behind her. She heard the murmuring of low voices and then the young woman turned to face Jordan again.

"He'll see you now," she said. "And by the way, my name is Serena." She extended her hand to Jordan to shake. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem. But could you give me some hint about what this is about?"

"Jack will go over the details with you," Serena replied.

"I know…I'd just like to know what's up before I face the ADA…what kind of trouble am I in?"

Serena laughed. "You're not in any trouble….he just wants to pick your brain about one of the cases you worked on in Boston that may have some ties here."

"Ah." Jordan took a deep breath and stepped through the tall, wooden doors that ushered her into Jack McCoy's office. She had asked Betty about the man…and nearly wished she hadn't. Renee' Walcott had the reputation for being tough. From what she had heard about Jack McCoy, he was beyond tough. He lived in bastard territory. "He takes no prisoners," she was warned. "Just stay on your toes…but for God's sake, always….always tell the man the truth. If you don't know an answer, tell him so. He hates lies."

Well, at least that's something we have in common, Jordan had thought.

"Dr. Cavanaugh?" Jack McCoy's voice brought Jordan out of her thoughts. She stepped towards his desk.

"Mr. McCoy?" Jordan held out her hand for him to shake it and saw his face turn just a shade paler than it had been a few minutes earlier. "Mr. McCoy? Are you okay?"

"Fine… fine… have a seat Dr. Cavanaugh. This won't take long." Jack quickly regained his composure and motioned towards his couch.

"Please…call me Jordan."

Jack nodded. "I need to talk to you about a case I understand you helped solve in Boston…one that involved the Albanian mob…I understand you and a Detective Hoyt were instrumental in shutting down some of that type of mob activity in Boston? We have strong reason to believe that the same Albanian mob has now surfaced here in New York City…I need to know what you know, Jordan." Jack's brown-eyed gazed held her pinned to the couch.

"There's not a whole lot to tell on my part," she began.

"Really?" Jack's eyes narrowed at her, trying to determine if this young ME was telling him the truth or protecting her jurisdictional rights over a Boston case.

"A woman was out walking her dog in a park…the dog found a femur bone. We began to search the area and found a total of seven bodies buried in a shallow, mass grave – the bodies of men who were members of the Irish mob in Boston."

Jack nodded. "The old Irish mob?"

"Yeah…Blackie Conroy's group. They controlled Boston's underbelly for years….Nigel Townsend, a criminalist I work with, found a bloody knife imbedded in some remaining soft tissue of one of the bodies. Dr. Garret Macy, the chief ME, was able to lift a print. We ran the print through the local and FBI data bases. Nothing. It wasn't until Garret and Woody – Detective Hoyt – ran the print through Interpol that we got a hit. From there, the Woody linked it to the Albanian mob." Jordan paused for a moment, considering how to phrase the next part of her story without saying anything that would reflect badly on Woody. "Through a recovered cell phone and an informant that Woody had on the inside loop of the Albanians, he was able to make an arrest."

"What did that show?" Jack asked, leaning forward and looking at her intently.

"That the Albanians had been quietly taking over the Irish mob for several years…bit by bit…territory by territory. And although the Irish had tried to retaliate and hold their ground, nothing could stop this new group. They had seen the worst kind of horrors in their own countries while they were at war. The Albanians thought nothing about using the same kind of tactics here to get whatever they wanted."

Jack grunted. That much he believed. He eyed Jordan again, sitting on the couch, her legs crossed, one hand on her face as she gazed out his window now, as if collecting her thoughts and remembering events that obviously had taken a toll on her. He could see it in the expressions that played across her face and her eyes.

Jack had been startled when she entered his office. Every nerve in his body had screamed "Claire," the minute she had said "Mr. McCoy." The similarities between the two women were startling…amazing…down right spooky.

But from what he could tell, this woman was nothing like his Claire…besides from the obvious. Jordan was tinier, her hair was longer…and while the eyes were nearly identical in the two women, the emotions that played in them were as different as night and day. Claire … his Claire… was – had been – a well-trained lawyer…Harvard- educated. She could mask her emotions. This woman's feelings played across her face like a movie script. However and whatever had happened with the Boston Albanian case had affected her. He doubted it was the number of bodies found…she had been an ME for sometime by then. Maybe it was the violent nature of the mob…maybe it was the upset in power from the Irish mob to a newer, more terrifying element.

"There's one thing you must keep in mind if you go after those guys," she said, softly, turning her face back to Jack.

He raised his eyebrows. "Go on…"

"They consider each other as family, whether they are related or not…and it's not just local. If there are Albanians in another city or state, they refer to them as 'cousins'. And with the Albanians, blood is truly thicker than water. They won't roll over on each other. Duty, honor, family….those are their priorities. And they won't hesitate to kill over them. Or die for them," she ended quietly.

She must have lost someone over this case, Jack mulled watching her closely. He had been a DA too long not to read body language well. Sometimes what wasn't said was more important than what was stated. "Jordan, can you get me a copy of your coroner's files on that case, as well as the detective's?" he asked quietly.

"Mine are no problem. I'll call Garret and he'll get them faxed over to you." She took a deep breath before she continued in a fainter voice. "I'll call…Woody…and see if he'll do the same."

"I can make the call if you think Hoyt will give you a hard time."

If you only knew, Jordan thought. "No…I'll call. You may have to follow through just for verification's sake, but I think he'll be okay with it."

Jack took out a business card from the desk drawer and flipped it over, writing something on the back. "The office phone and fax are on the front. These," he said, handing her the card with some hand printed numbers on the back, "are my personal cell phone, home phone, and home fax. Don't hesitate to use them." He grinned at Jordan.

The action made Jordan catch her breath. McCoy had been all business when she walked into his office…and she had reciprocated the atmosphere. But that smile…no, it wasn't dimples and crystalline blue eyes…instead it seemed like a brandy-warmed expression complemented by brown eyes that were filled with understanding. For a moment, Jordan had a hard time breathing correctly. "Thank you," she said, curling her fingers around the card. Then standing, she put the card in her back pocket. "I'll call Woody right away."

"Thank you, Dr. Cav…Jordan," Jack said, shaking her hand.

"No problem, Mr. McCoy."

"Jordan…it's Jack." He walked her to the door and opened it. "And don't forget to call me."

"I won't."

Come on, Woody…pick up the damn phone…She had tried his office. He wasn't there. She had tried his police cell phone. He didn't answer. She called his apartment, mildly surprised he hadn't changed his number. She got his answering machine:

Hey…this is Woody. You know how this works. Leave a message.

Well, she had done that. Twice in one hour. He wasn't returning her calls to his office voice mail, his cell voice mail, or his home phone.

Beeeeeeeepppppp.

"Woody….Woody, this is Jordan," she began again. "If you're there, please pick up. I promise this is not in any way personal. It's business with the New York DA. Please…"

He heard her voice as he came through the door. It seemed eerily surreal to him…she had been gone nearly six weeks, and there wasn't a day that went by that something didn't remind him of her, whether it was walking by her old office at the morgue or her trademark sloppy signature on the paperwork in his files.

Or the lingering scent of her perfume on a jacket ….

She goes to New York and he still had a hard time exorcising her from his life…even with Allison to keep him company. He made a grab for the phone. "Jordan…."

"Woody….this is you, not a recording?"

He chuckled under his breath. For whatever reason she was calling, Jordan sounded nearly distraught. "No, it's me." He caught his breath. "How's New York, Jor?"

"It's good. How's home?"

"It's good, too."

"Umm…you're going to have messages from me on your office phone and cell. You can ignore them now. I've been trying to get in touch with you for a couple of hours…" her voice carried a concerned tone. "Are you okay, Woody? I mean, your back?"

"I'm fine, Jo. Honestly. I was out for a run."

"You're running? That's ….great. When did this happen?"

"I've gotten a lot better over the last three weeks. I'm off LD and desk duty. And while I'm not up to our old six-mile run, I'm running a couple of miles three times a week now."

"Woody…I'm so happy for you…" Her voice caught. He heard it. While he would never doubt the sincerity of her words, he in no way wanted the conversation to get any more personal than it was. It would be too painful…for both of them. And then there was Allison to consider.

He sighed. "What do you need, Jordan?" Woody finally asked, cutting to the chase. "You said this call had to do with the New York DA?" He wanted to steer their conversation back to a professional level.

Jordan caught the defiant tone and swallowed hard. In the recesses of her mind she had hoped that they would at least have a longer conversation. During her time in New York, she had been incredibly busy, but also incredibly lonely. She missed her friends…and the detectives there didn't mingle too much with the morgue staff after hours. She hadn't been there long enough to find the typical after work "hang outs" and since she was temporary, not many of her co-workers had thought about asking her to go out with them. She would be gone too soon for them to invest their time in building a relationship.

She missed Boston. She missed her friends. She missed him…ached for him, really. But that part of her life was now gone. He had pushed her away. He no longer wanted her.

"I….yeah…" Jordan stopped and composed herself for a minute. "The Albanian mob," she began, knowing it was a sore spot concerning Woody. "They've surfaced in New York City like they did in Boston. Jack McCoy, the DA here, found out we worked that case. He's already picked me clean. He was wondering if you would fax your files over to his office for him to look at…as a professional courtesy?" she finished cautiously.

Woody thought for a moment. The Albanian Mob….the group that had cost him his family…God forbid they re-surface anywhere. And if they're in New York, and she was in New York…he could nearly feel his blood pressure rise as he realized one thing.

He wasn't there to watch her back or cover her sweet ass.

But it's not my responsibility to do that any longer, he thought. It's over between us. And once this DA, if he's any good, reads that file, he's going to know the havoc these mob guys can cause…and if they find Jordan is working with the New York DA's office and police…Surely, he'll know enough to make sure she stays off the case and out of sight….

"Woody…are you still there?" she quietly asked.

"Yeah. Give me the number to your office and I'll fax it over first thing tomorrow morning."