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Part Six: On the Brink
Max sat in his car, watching his daughter walk away. He'd dropped her at the cemetery after she'd extracted a promise from him that he wouldn't follow her. "I need time," had been the thrust of all she'd said. Still, as she vanished, the temptation was strong to make sure she was all right, to find out where and how she'd been living. Max sighed - he'd broken enough promises to Jordan in her life. If this was a new chance for them, then he'd better start by keeping this one.
He thought of her friends and in his mind their conversation replayed itself...
TWO HOURS EARLIER
"I can't tell them, Dad."
"Why not?"
She shook her head. "They'd never understand. They'd hate me."
Max's shrewd look made her uncomfortable again. "Well, pardon me for saying, Jordan, but from where I'm sitting I'm a bit surprised you'd be worried about them understanding or hating you."
She didn't say anything, but felt tears welling up in her eyes.
Her father handed her a paper napkin from the dispenser. "I'm sorry. That probably wasn't very fair."
"No, actually, it was." Her voice was thick with the tears she held back. She swallowed around the painful lump in her throat. "You're right."
"Make me understand, Jordan."
She snorted. "So you can hate me?"
He gave her a smile that summed up their relationship - tender, bitter, sad, loving, damaged and yet, in the tiniest measure, hopeful. "I could never hate you, Jordan."
After a long silence, she nodded. "Can we go somewhere else? Somewhere quiet?"
So Max took her a small park across the street from the diner. On an impulse he bought them both ice cream cones from an old-fashioned vendor with a pushcart. He handed Jordan hers, saying, "I know it's not the ripple-nut-all-that-fancy-stuff you all eat these days, but it used to be your favorite."
She took a lick of the sweet, cold strawberry ice cream and, for the first time since the cemetery, let the tears trickle from her eyes. They walked under a green canopy of trees, finding a bench at the park's far reaches and sitting down. Max let Jordan finish her cone without pressing her. She'd agreed to explain and he knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't go back on that. Jordan may have had her commitment problems and the occasional anger issue, but when she said she'd do something, she'd always done it. When she finished the ice cream, she clasped her hands together and put them between her knees, hunching forward.
Her hair swung free, curtaining her face. Had she been a child still, Max would have reached over and pushed it back, wanting to see her eyes, to read her expression, to learn everything about her. Jordan looked over in surprise when he did. Her eyes threatened to spill over again. Instead she began to speak, her voice quavering. "I couldn't take it anymore."
"Take what?" Max's forehead crinkled in genuine confusion.
Her mouth quirked into a bitter line. "Didn't they tell you?"
"About what?"
"Woody."
He shook his head. "I know Hoyt got himself shot."
Miserably, she nodded. "He'd - We'd -" She took a deep breath. "He tried to give me this - friendship ring on my birthday. I got scared, said no way. We worked this case and-" Another sigh. "I wanted to tell him I'd changed my mind, but he - uh - he'd decided he just wanted to be friends."
"Can you blame him?"
She shook her head. "After everything? No. So, I - I... anyway, he got shot and, in the hospital, going into surgery, I got there in time. I told him I could say it. That I love him. Loved." Her shoulders drooped. "Typical Jordan - too little, too late. When he came to, he thought I'd said it out of pity. He told me to get out of his life." She paused. "What he actually said was screw my pity and screw me."
Max nodded, chewing the inside of his lip. "So even though he was in pain and scared and not himself, you took him at his word and got out of his life."
"Gee, Dad," she replied with some of her old sarcasm. "I thought you'd be happy for him. You did warn him about me."
Max put a hand on her knee. "Didn't do any good. He fell in love with you. Hell, he probably already was then. But what I never expected, Jordan, was that you'd fall in love with him." He gave her a look. "You may not understand this, but I did that for you as much for him. You may pretend otherwise, but you hate hurting people - you take all the responsibility on yourself, Jordan, as if other people had no choice in the matter. I didn't want you to have that guilt."
She considered that for a moment.
"So you fell for him, but couldn't tell him?"
She nodded. "I was afraid to lose him as a friend." Her hair swung back into her face.
Without thinking this time, Max tucked it behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the long, dark strands. "You're not her, Jordan. And that's the way it should be."
"What does that mean?" Her voice was that of a child's.
Max tilted up her chin. "It means you can be happy, Jordan."
She gave him a hopeless look. "Here? I think I kind of blew that chance, don't you?"
He shook his head. "They'll be angry. And hurt - mostly hurt, I think. But, in the end, everyone will be so happy to have you back."
"Not Woody."
"Yes, he will."
"He's dating someone, Dad. She practically lives with him." Jordan wished back the words as soon as she heard them, but Max made no comment.
"So a guy - maybe a special one - knocks you for a loop, and you not only run, you let everyone think you're dead?"
She shook her head. "That's just it, Dad. Everyone thought I'd run. Everyone." She coughed, choking back tears. "That night, I - I saw a way out. No one watching me anymore; no one wondering if this is the day I'll pick up and never show my face in Boston again; no one - no one being careful of me anymore."
"New life, new Jordan, is that it?" She didn't reply. "Has it worked out?"
She sighed and shifted uneasily. "Not really."
"Yeah, I notice you're still in Boston."
She laughed harshly. "Yeah. I guess some things just don't change."
That had been the end of the discussion. With it had come Jordan's refusal to tell where she was living. She had said she'd contact him in a few days. She'd agreed to think about telling the others, but he didn't count on her changing her mind any time soon.
XXXXX
As Max watched his daughter walking out of his life with the thin promise of calling in a few days, Nigel sat in his makeshift office and checked his e-mail. He scanned the subject lines. "Well, well, what have we here?" He clicked on the e-mail with the subject "T is for Taxine" and his eyes widened. He picked up the phone and called the precinct.
Woody's voice was tired and less-than-hopeful when he took Nigel's call. "Something new?"
"I hate to get too enthusiastic about it, I admit, but I've had another - message."
In his office, Woody sat up. "Another note?"
"Not exactly. This time my... helper sent me an e-mail."
"What's it say?"
"It says all of our victims have a common link."
"Does it say what that might be?" Woody crumpled up a piece of paper from his desk and arced it toward the wastebasket. He missed.
"Our writer doesn't exactly say. Can't."
"Can't or won't? 'Cause, Nigel, this could be our killer taunting us, you know."
"Yeah, yeah, I thought of that," Nigel agreed. "But I don't think so. The sender says they all... hmm..." he chuckled.
"That's kind of funny."
"Nigel," Woody growled.
"Sorry. The sender says they all shopped at rabbit-feed stores."
Woody sighed. "Rabbit-feed stores?"
Nigel grinned. "Yeah. You know, health food stores. Sounds like something-" Nigel stopped.
"Like something what?"
"Huh?" Nigel's fingers flew over the keyboard, setting in motion a trace of the sender's information. "Oh, nothing. No, not important. Our - um - helper isn't sure which one though."
"Well, it's better than nothing. I hope." Woody leaned back in his chair. "I'll get my people on it."
"Great. Yeah. Woody, do you want me to trace the sender?"
"Can't hurt. Let me know if you find anything important."
Nigel's voice held an oddly serious and sad note. "Oh, I will. Don't worry, I will." Still distracted, he replaced the phone, the receiving falling out of the cradle. When it began to beep in the annoying monotone, Nigel reached over and put it back. His eyes never left the screen. It took a number of steps - ridiculously easy for the Brit, though - to find out the addy had been a freebie, used once and then deleted. The message itself had been sent from a copy center. On a hope, his lips moving in silent supplication, he called the copy center. He smiled when they told him that yes, they had surveillance cameras. Yes, the morgue's office could send someone down if it was important.
Nigel couldn't go until his shift ended, but when he did, he found it was worth his wait. The IP address had shown which machine was used and when, so isolating the correct amount of tape was simple. Nigel stared at the screen. His breath whistled out. "Not quite careful enough," he murmured.
END Part Six
TBC...