Disclaimer #3. Don't own Rascal Flatts or their song Bless the Broken Road.

It's Really Over?

Chapter Four

Getting her files from Garret had been a hell of a lot easier. When he had answered her call, they had talked for an hour and a half about everything….and nothing at all. Garret had sensed she was reluctant to hang up just because she wanted to hear ….needed to hear….familiar voices.

"Don't tell me Jordan Cavanaugh is homesick," he teased.

"I…well…maybe a little. I miss you guys. I miss my family." Her voice carried a note of longing Garret had never heard out of her. Maybe Jordan was not only maturing, but softening up a little…mellowing out.

Maybe he had made a mistake sending her away for a year.

Garret swallowed the lump he felt forming in his throat. "So you want your coroner's files on the Albanian case. Official files or unofficial?"

"Both…and my notes."

"I'll fax them to your office right away, Jor. How are things going?"

"Good. I'm working several cases with detectives Lenny Briscoe and Ray Curtis. They're nice guys…really professional. Lenny is a hoot. You two would get along great."

Garret smiled. She was trying…thank God she was trying to regain some ground and make new friends. That had to be a positive sign.

"And I'm working the DA on the Albanian thing a little. The DA is a guy named Jack McCoy. Ever heard of him?"

"No…should I?"

"Didn't know. You've been in this field longer than I have…just thought…"

"Is he as tough as Renee?"

"Tougher…but fair and good. I like him…he's an older guy, but seems to have his act together…fighting his own inner demons while pursing justice…"

"So you two have a lot in common…"

"I guess. Don't know him well enough to really definitively say."

Well, at least she's talking about other men, Garret thought. That has to be a good sign. "Okay, Jor. I'll get your files over to you asap."

"Good. Between my files and Woody's maybe I can be of some help."

"You've talked to Woody?"

"Just got off the phone with him."

Garret paused for a moment. "How…how'd that go?" He heard her sigh.

"It went okay…he's sending me his stuff, too. It was all pretty cut and dried."

"So it's really over?"

There was a long pause. "Yeah, Gar. It's really over."

He heard the slight catch in her voice…and knew the effort that last statement took. For her to admit to him…and herself…that she and Woody were through…took a monumental effort on the part of her emotions and her heart. "I'm sorry, Jordan. I know you loved him."

"Yeah. I guess in a way, I still do. Maybe I always will. You know what they say…the one real, true love of your life, you never really get over. You just learn to move on."

Garret sighed inwardly. Damn the Wisconsin Farm Boy. Damn him, damn him, damn him. "Keep moving, then," he replied, trying to bring a smile to his voice. "Your files are on the way."

"Thanks Garret. Talk to you soon."

"And Jordan?" he said before she hung up. "We miss you….and love you."

By late that morning, both Woody and Garret had faxed the needed information to her office. She had held hope that Woody would include a note to her…something personal that she could tuck away and look at when she was lonely.

No such luck. It only came with a Boston PD cover sheet. He didn't even sign it.

Gathering the file work together, she spread it out on her desk and took her lunch hour pouring back over the evidence. When she finally felt she was ready, she made copies…keeping one set for herself and putting the other copy in a file folder for Jack.

Calling him should not be such a big issue, but she found her heart beating just a little faster as she dialed the number. This is stupid, she thought, chalking it up to the fact that Mr. McCoy….Jack… could be just a little intimidating. Serena answered his office phone. "Jack's not in Jordan. Try his cell phone."

"He's not in court?"

"They've recessed for lunch until two."

The call to his cell yielded a gruff "Hello...McCoy speaking," in her ear. Jordan could hear the sound of people talking and drinks being ordered. He must be in a bar. "Got those files for you, Jack…the Albanian information."

Jack smiled. He had wondered how long it would take her to produce it. He got the distinct feeling Hoyt may have wanted to give her trouble. Evidently the lady could handle what was ever tossed her way. Her rumored reputation was proving true.

"Good…"

"Want me to go ahead and fax it over to your office?"

"No…tell you what…I'm in court all afternoon. You got dinner plans?"

Jordan's lungs seized. "No…" she stammered.

"Then meet me at Flannigan's for dinner. Bring the files. We'll go over them then. You play pool?"

Jordan smiled. She did, but it had been a long time. "A little," she admitted.

"Any good?"

"Used to be. My dad taught me."

"Then bring the files, an appetite, and your best game. See you at six, Cavanaugh."

Flannigan's was a noisy, Irish-type of pub not far from Jack's office. As a matter of fact, if it was picked up and moved to Massachusetts, a customer wouldn't have known the difference between that pub and the other dozen or so Irish pubs on any given block of downtown Boston.

So Jordan felt right at home as she entered the dimly-lighted, noisy establishment. She stood still for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness of the bar before she began searching for Jack. "You made it," a deep voice said behind her. Turning around she found herself staring up into a pair of warm, brown eyes, lighting up just a little with suppressed laughter.

"Yeah…sorry I'm a little late…I had some trouble finding it…"

"Not been out much, eh?"

Jordan shook her head. "Not a whole lot, just work and my apartment."

Jack took her by the arm and led her over to a booth. "Let's order, then we'll deal with what's in yours and Hoyt's files." He motioned for the waitress.

Food and drink orders taken, Jordan handed the file to Jack. She sat in silence, nursing her Guinness as he flipped through the file. Hoyt's information about Jordan's involvement struck him particularly hard. She had been put in a position where she had been in real danger…and nearly killed. It wouldn't be like the Albanian mob to forget her involvement.

It wouldn't be like the Albanian mob to forget her face, either.

"Were you always so involved with the police cases in Boston?" he asked.

Jordan nodded. "Most of the time. The morgue and detectives work closer together there than they do here."

"Do you like it better that way?"

Jordan was quiet for a moment as she considered the question. The stress was definitely off her as she did her work as a ME in New York….but she missed her Boston morgue and the way things operated there. "Yeah," she finally said, somewhat subdued as the memories of home fanned through her mind. "I guess I do."

Jack smiled at her. From what he had heard of her reputation as a troublemaker that pursued justice without flinching, he had assumed as much. Still it was nice to hear it come from her. "No place like home, huh? Are you homesick?"

"A little…but Betty's keeping me busy."

Jack spread the papers out on the table and he and Jordan worked their way through them as they ate. He was particularly taken with her knowledge and insight…and her intuition. She may look a little like Claire, he thought, but Jordan's on an entirely different playing field. When the last paper was looked over and he listened to her comments, he shoved everything back in the file folder and stuffed it in his brief case. "Now, I believe you owe me a game of pool," he said, standing and extending his hand….just like Woody used to do. Jordan swallowed hard.

"It's been awhile since I've played," she said as they walked over to the pool tables.

"I'll go easy on you," Jack said, loosening his tie.

Three games later, he was finished going easy on her. She beat him soundly every time. "Your dad taught you to play like that?" he asked.

"Um…yeah. See, after Dad retired from the police force, he bought a bar…."

"That had pool tables…."

"And I played nearly every night after work."

Jack grinned. "So your old man was a policeman. That explains it."

Jordan raised her eyebrows. "Explains what?"

"Your questioning everything…your intuition with cases….your desire to run in and solve the crime, get the bad guy, rescue the victims. Was he on the Boston force?"

Jordan felt her cheeks flush. "Yeah…"

"My old man was a cop, too. We get it honest….all the inquisitiveness, the desire for justice…the anger at injustice. Don't apologize. I understand. About that anyway. But about your pool game….I feel tricked. I figured I'd be teaching you to play. Instead, I owe you fifty bucks."

"I really haven't played in awhile…probably over a year…not since my dad left Boston."

"He retire to Florida?"

Jordan shook her head. She had really told Jack more than she wanted anyone in New York to know. But he had turned out surprisingly easy to talk to and as long as she was looking in his eyes, it was easy to forget to keep her distance from these people. "Not exactly … it's a long story."

Sensing her hesitation to tell it, he changed the subject as he put their pool cues back in the rack. "Do you dance, Cavanaugh?"

"A little."

"A little….like you play pool a little?" he teased.

Jordan felt herself blush again. What was it with this man and his ability to make her feel like a school girl? She fervently hoped the darkness of the bar hid the rosy hint in her cheeks. "Okay….more than a little," she admitted. "But I haven't done that in a long time, either." And she hadn't…not since she sold the Pogue….and not since before things between her and Woody went so horribly wrong.

"What? Do you do nothing but work in Boston? How about giving it a whirl?" Jack held his hand out.

"Sure," she stammered, letting him lead her out on the tiny dance floor after dropping a few coins in the jukebox. She assumed he would pick some sort of Frank Sinatra song…something New York-y. She was shocked when she heard the sweet refrains of Rascal Flatts' Bless the Broken Road come out of the humming machine, as Jack pulled her close.

"Was it hard talking to Hoyt today?" he asked in her ear.

"Woody? No more difficult than usual."

"Does he always give you a hard time?"

"How do you know he gives me a hard time?" Jordan questioned back, trying to steer this man away from her personal life…despite the fact that for the first time since Woody had pushed her out of his life, she felt comfortable in another man's arms.

"Your expression when we were talking in my office yesterday. You really don't have a poker face, Cavanaugh. Is he a real bastard?"

Oh boy…. "Not…not really. It…I…We…just had some personal issues that needed to be put to rest, and I…it didn't go so well…"

"Ah."

"But he's a good detective…" she protested, somehow feeling slightly unfaithful to a man that now had no claim over her.

"I never said he wasn't…and I gather he is…from looking at the file you brought." Jack spun her out and pulled her back to him again. "And ….just in case you're wondering…you're not a whole lot like her."

"Her?"

"Claire. I know people have told you that there is a strong resemblance."

"Just a few…Curtis…Betty…Briscoe…"

Jack laughed. "Briscoe would be the first to notice. He and Claire were close in a father/daughter sort of way."

"But you and Claire were closer." It wasn't a question. She felt him sigh, pull away from her and stop dancing.

"We were. I loved her…Claire Kinkaid was one in a million. I was truly blessed to have her in my life. Most folks don't know this, but before she was killed, she was thinking about leaving the DA's office so we could settle down together. Most people just assumed that Claire was just another one of my 'flings'. By the time Claire came on as my assistant, I had had three other ones…and had affairs with each of them."

"So most people just assumed she was your flavor of the month?" Jordan said, smirking slightly.

"Yes. But she wasn't. Claire was beautiful…inside and out. And smart…Harvard grad…with honors. She was quiet…but had a bawdy sense of humor if you were lucky enough to get to know her. She was the one woman that I felt could really hold her own against me and not get hurt."

Jordan nodded. She knew how Jack felt. She had felt the same way about Woody. "I'm sorry that she didn't …" She began to pull out of Jack's arms. The music had long stopped and somehow she no longer felt it appropriate that they remain that close.

"Thanks." He took her arm and steered her back over to their booth. "Want another beer before we leave?"

"No…I think it's time I got back home."

"Let me walk you to your car…"

Jordan shook her head. "I don't have a car here…besides, my apartment is just a couple of blocks away…"

"Then I'll walk you there…can't have my new ME getting mugged or anything." He took her arm again and led her out the door. They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes, each with their hands stuffed deep in their pockets and their minds lost in the thoughts of former lovers.

"So what about you, Jordan? You and Hoyt?"

"No. Not anymore."

"Ahh…tell me …what did the man do?"

Whether it was the beer, the cold, the dance, Jack's confession about Claire, or just the fact that she felt at ease with this man, for the first time she openly confessed what happened to someone other than Garret. "We had sort of been dancing around each other for several years. When I finally told him I did love him, he didn't believe me."

Jack stopped walking. It took Jordan a few seconds to realize he was no longer beside her. "That was cold," he said before catching up with her.

"I'm sure he has his reasons." They resumed walking together. There was silence again for a few minutes.

"So where'd you go to school?" he asked, regaining ground on neutral subjects.

"Tufts and UMass."

"Good schools. This your building?"

Jordan nodded. "Thanks for walking me home."

"You're welcome. I'll be talking with you tomorrow."

"Okay." She watched him turn and walk back down the sidewalk towards the bar. She bet he was going back in for another beer…that all the talk about Claire and his past would lay heavy on his mind for a while and another drink may at least make him feel light enough to go back home to his empty apartment.

She could hear the chorus of the Rascal Flatts' song echoing through her mind as she climbed the stairs to her own lonely rooms …

That God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you…