DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

A/N: Thanks for the feedback on this one and previous stories.

Part Two: Daddy's Little Girl

In the four days between the fire and the finding of Emily's locket, a falsely persistent sense of hope had sustained Jordan's friends. The idea that she had somehow gotten out and just hadn't been able to contact them had lasted despite all logic. When not working on clean up, Nigel had camped out at her apartment "just in case." Garret had called hercell phone at least once an hour even though the only reply he ever heard was "The cellular customer you are trying to reach is currently unavailable." At Lily's tearful request, Seely had gone to work trying to find Max. Everyone sifted through the ashes, processed even the smallest scrap of evidence with a hard determination. No one acknowledged they were as likely to prove she was dead as that she'd somehow gotten out.

Time slid by like the watches in the painting, now fleeing from them, now hanging heavy over their heads, never moving as it should. At last, they all had to admit that the fire had burned so hotly that nothing was left. Only Emily's locket remained, and Lily confirmed Jordan had been wearing it that day. No one knew exactly what she would have wanted (although they were all fairly certain, given the Digger case, she probably wouldn't want to be buried in a casket), but the idea of simply moving on, of letting Jordan Cavanaugh go, with nothing more than a hearty "we tried" didn't sit well. It fell to Garret to choose a headstone and arrange its placement next to her mother's, though the ground beneath it would be empty. He agonized over the choice of words and finally went with the simplest phrase he could think of, but one that expressed what they all hoped she had at last. Rest in Peace.

The day of the graveside memorial service was one of the most beautiful June days in memory. Nearly two months had passed since that horrible night. The dark smudges under Lily's eyes were now from lack of sleep and grief. Nigel and Bug often wore haunted looks that never quite went away completely. Too often the phrase "I wonder what Jordan would think" came from a mouth that listened to a heart that failed - or refused - to remember what had happened. Garret oversaw their moving into a temporary building while the old one was leveled and rebuilt. He could barely stop himself from leaving an office open for her. The wrongness of eulogizing her on a day such as the one they'd chosen was beyond all the telling. Then again no day would have served.

Her friends spoke in hushed voices, in tones that broke upon still-sharp grief, extolling her virtues and making it clear how much they had loved her not in spite of her faults, but because, like her qualities, they were part of who she was. Only Woody didn't speak, a dark-suited haunt lingering behind the cluster of Jordan's quasi-family. What could he say? "I loved her. She loved me and, in a moment of pain, fear and anger, I told her I didn't believe her. I made her declaration worthless and then I made everything we'd had together worthless by moving on without her." They wouldn't thank him for it. Lily would fix her stony eyes on him, press her mouth into a tight light and then look through him, as she'd done every time he'd seen her since the fire. The others might be cordial, but Jordan's death had finished what the aftermath of Woody's shooting had started. The camaraderie, the feeling of belonging somehow had gone up in flames that night, too.

Next to him, Tammy squeezed his hand softly. Tammy was part of moving on. His medically appointed shrink who'd not only gotten him out of the mental funk the shooting had produced, but had propelled his heart out of the rut he'd let it sink into with Jordan. Straightforward, unafraid and placid, Tammy Harrison was as nearly opposite Jordan Cavanaugh as a man could get. Any man would be crazy not to pursue her and crazier if, once having her in his life, let her get away. Woody had coveted the unattainable for too long. He was ready for the tranquility she represented. He firmly ignored the small voice in his brain that kept asking why he'd gone to the fire that night, then. And why he'd tried to charge into a burning building to find someone other than Tammy.

When everyone else had gone, Garret, Lily, Nigel and Bug stood around, trying to ignore the newly placed headstone and the undisturbed sod that ran from its length. They made a few inane comments and then fell to an uneasy silence. Woody hadn't stayed and none of them had asked him to. Maybe in time...

A shadow fell across the grass. "Nice enough service. Jordan would have liked it, I think." They turned at Max Cavanaugh's broad vowels. "Now that young Seely found me and got me here, maybe you'd better tell me what happened to my baby girl."

XXXXX

They went to the Beef 'n' Brew over Bug's protest. "Don't you think we should go somewhere - you know - a little more… upscale?"

"Why?" Nigel asked. "We had a lot of good times there."

"We'll have an old-fashioned Irish wake," Max asserted. "Drinking and singing and telling tales about Jordan. Great tradition when you've just buried your only child." His words were light, but his tone heavy and bitter.

There was little drinking, no singing and the only tale told about Jordan was of her death. Max listened with an impassive face. When they finished, for the tale had been told by all of them, Max nodded. "That's my Jordan. Does what she thinks right and worries about the consequences later." No one corrected his use of the present tense; they all did it too much themselves. After a long pause, he sighed. "I'll have to go see Hoyt. I might as well have that locket back." He rubbed his chin absently. "I wonder how she got it. We buried Emily with that locket."

"She snuck into the funeral home and stole it." Woody's blue eyes were veiled, the light in them so dimmed as to make them almost holes in his face. "I won't stay. Seely told me he found you, Max, and I guessed you might come here." Woody took the locket out of his pocket. He resisted the temptation to open it one last time, to gaze on the child Jordan had been, to let her words "Yeah, I was a cute kid," echo in his heart. He handed the locket, pendant dangling from its chain, gold glinting in the muted light, to Max.

Max looked at it for a long moment, as if his whole life could be summed up in that tiny piece of jewelry. Maybe it could. He saw the look on Woody's face, knew that, for the barest of moments, the young detective wanted to wrap his hand around the charm and call out "Mine! Mine! All mine!" But then Hoyt gave up his talisman. He did the one thing Jordan had never been able to do. He let go.

Max took it. He rubbed his fingers over the heart and, fumbling a bit, opened it. "Oh, Jordan," he breathed. "Damn it, it wasn't supposed to be this way."

END Part Two

TBC...