Chemistry

Stupid Nigel and his stupid advice. As if the thought wasn't already there, now it's all I can think about.

Jordan dragged her suitcase through the airport, shifting the duffle bag hanging from her shoulder. She had to remind herself that she was there for business first and pleasure, if any, second. Woody was supposed to pick her up near the baggage claim, which was, of course, on the other side of world from her gate. She was glad she hadn't decided to pack anything other than her personal things for carry on. Just when she thought her arm was going to break off, she reached the conveyor belts.

She found a spot near her flight and dropped her bag on the ground, rubbing at where the strap had been digging into her shoulder. Looking around the fairly empty area, she caught sight of Woody walking towards her. He was wearing jeans, a fitting dark green T-shirt, and a tan suede jacket. His hair was falling boyishly over his forehead, not in its usual gelled state. He looked…hot. God, don't make this easy for me or anything, she thought.

"Hey," he said when he reached her.

"Hey yourself."

"Good flight?"

"Good enough," she said. He nodded and shifted on his feet, looking a little uncomfortable. She gave him a lopsided grin. "I guess small talk isn't really our forte."

"Haven't really had the chance lately, have we?" he said, returning the grin. He looked towards the luggage that was winding around the conveyor. "Any of this yours?'

"Just the one. It's labeled," she told him. "It has some equipment in it. I had the rest FedEx'd, it should be here tomorrow morning."

"The rest?" he looked at her.

"You ask for my help, you get a traveling morgue," she said as she pointed to a black case that was nearing them. Woody reached out and grabbed the handle as Jordan took hold of her suitcase again. When she went for her duffle bag, Woody quickly reached out and took the strap before she could get to it, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

"I got it," he said, nodding in the direction of the parking garage. Jordan blinked in surprise, one step behind him as he walked away.

"Okay," she said quietly to herself.

The drive back to the house was quick, with the sun setting behind them casting an orange glow over the countryside. Jordan got a canvas view of the fields and trees, just barely touching the colors of fall. It was so open and freeing. By the time Woody pulled off onto the road that led to the ranch, she had not seen a single building that was not a farm house or a barn. She realized that the jokes she had made about her Farm Boy were not all that far from the truth. Woody parked in front of the two-story house and got out to help Jordan with her things.

"Woody, this is…beautiful," she commented, pausing to look at the property.

"Yeah. It is," he said, his face expressionless. "Welcome to Kewaunee, Jordan."

When Woody awoke the next morning, Jordan was already up. He could hear her downstairs moving things around. He assumed the other boxes of equipment had arrived and she was busy sorting. Deciding to shower before he went downstairs, he made his way to the bathroom. The second he shut the door, he was enveloped by her scent. She had already showered, and the whole room smelled like her.

Unable to stay his curiosity, Woody pushed back the shower curtain and picked up the bottle of body wash sitting in the tub. Gardenia. So that's what it is…wait, what the hell am I doing?

Putting the bottle down quickly, he forced himself to ignore the scent of the flower while he showered, although it was next to impossible. As he walked downstairs, he realized that he had not anticipated how sharing a bathroom with Jordan would stir his mind. He had almost forgotten how wonderful she smelled those rare times when he had held her close. Some things would never change. Woody found Jordan in the front room, rummaging through boxes. She had pulled out some equipment, leaving others.

"Okay, everything sitting over there goes to the guest house," she instructed him. "And the rest goes to the morgue for a second autopsy and to look at the murder weapon."

"You don't waste time, do you?" he commented as he walked past her to the kitchen.

"Only when I need to," she replied. "By the way, have you ever heard of a grocery store?"

Woody stopped in the doorway and grimaced. He had forgotten to buy more food. Turning to face her, he said, "I don't always live like this."

"No big deal," Jordan shrugged. "Just thought I'd remind you."

"Thank you," he said sarcastically. Why was he defending himself to her, anyway? It was not as though he cared what she thought of his living habits. There was no need for her to approve of that, or any other aspect of his life. Not anymore. "Is this stuff ready to go?"

"Sure is. Gimme a hand, would you?"

Woody helped her carry the crime scene equipment over to the guest house and worked with her for several hours while she combed the place. She managed to find a few fibers, and she took samples from the bloody sheets. The fact that all of this had already been done did not seem to phase her. She remained totally focused on the task at hand, determined to find what the others couldn't. Jordan was good, and she knew it. Woody hoped that her confidence would help them find the answers they needed.

When it came time to go to the morgue for the autopsy, Jordan suggested that Woody take the opportunity in town to do some shopping. Woody was surprised at first. Jordan had never dismissed him from an investigation before. Then he understood what she was doing: she was trying to protect him. She did not want him to have to witness the autopsy and was giving him a safe out. He was about to protest, but then thought better of it. He had never been very good with autopsies. And they did need food. After helping her set everything up, he left for the store.

And almost immediately wished he hadn't.

Woody ran into at least a dozen people he knew from years ago. They all expressed their sympathies for David, sounding utterly shocked that such a thing could happen in Kewaunee. They talked as though his own father hadn't been cruelly murdered; but then, people in the small town never had very much tolerance for "laid back" dads who drank too much. Most of them wanted to know how "sweet little Cal" was. And a few commented that "had he perhaps gone a little far in trying to lose that baby weight?"

By the time he rejoined Jordan hours later at the morgue, he was ready to pack it up and go back to Boston. He vented to her while she ran scans on some blood and the knife.

"Try not to let it get to you," she said as she read the information on the screens.

"That's rich, coming from you," he muttered, his arms crossed sullenly over his chest.

"I never said anyone should follow my example," she said, switching the samples for a new scan. "They're probably just envious of the life you've made for yourself. You're a success, cowboy."

Woody snorted, not humored.

"Wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it," she said slightly under her breath, an edge of annoyance to her voice.

He glanced up at her, trying to read her emotionless face. She stayed focused on her work. But that comment…was she trying to tell him what he thought she was? It was the first time he had heard Jordan remotely touch the subject of what had happened between them. Now that he thought about it, she had remained remarkably silent on the subject. He couldn't believe she was breaking into that area now of all times. Pulling his irritation in check, he turned his attention to the case.

"Find anything yet?" he asked curtly.

"Well," she started. "He had a small cut on one hand. I've been trying to locate any traces of separate DNA that might have ended up there. It's the only sign of a struggle on him. Which made sense when I found this mixed in with the dried blood." She turned a computer towards him, and he read the results.

"Ethyl chloride?"

"My guess is the killer was trying to anesthetize him, but he might have pushed against the object that contained the chemical." She mimicked what the struggle might have looked like. "If the cut was open, it could have picked up some of the chemical. The killer may have cleaned the body up later, but by that time the ethyl chloride was already congealing with the blood in his cut," she explained, meeting his eyes. "Unfortunately, that's not much to go on. It's not that hard to buy or produce the right chemicals for ethyl chloride. Anyone whotook high school chemistry could do it."

"What about the knife?" he asked, trying not to let his discouragement show.

"That brings me to computer number two," she led him over to another screen. "There was no label or number to go off of, but I scanned the style and ran a search. The knife is one of a series of hunting knives made for the 'avid outdoorsman' in 1988. It was a limited make, but still sold a lot."

"So you'll just match it to someone, right?" Woody asked. He had seen Nigel do this kind of thing a hundred times.

"The manufacturer does have a list of buyers. That's the good news."

"What's the bad news?"

"This is the list of purchasers in Wisconsin," she said with an apologetic look as she clicked on an attachment. A list of names popped up. There had to be over a hundred buyers. "Without a specific number, I can't narrow it down any farther. The best you can do is go through the list and try to find a connection."

"Unbelievable," Woody grumbled. Jordan dropped her head a little, feeling like she had failed him. He noticed the look. It wasn't a look he saw very often on her face. It suddenly hit him how hard she was trying for him…what she had already done for him. Changing his tone, he said, "Can you print out the list? I'll start looking at it before we leave."

Jordan nodded and busied herself with getting the information. After shutting the equipment down, she left to change into normal clothes while Woody scanned the list of names. She took her time, glad to have an excuse to step away from his presence for a minute or two. His intensity was bringing her dangerously close to saying things she shouldn't. It had taken a huge effort to keep her mouth shut on a subject she had no right bringing up now. She pulled on her jeans, her boots, and her brown scoop-neck shirt and then stood in the locker room for a few moments to ground herself. When she returned to the autopsy room, Woody was just finishing reading the names.

"Recognize anyone?" she asked.

"Not really," he said, putting the list down. "There are one or two last names that might mean something, but other than that…" he trailed off as he walked over to the door, opening it for her.

"We'll find something Woody, it'll be there," she tried to encourage him as she walked past him through the doorway.

"Thanks, Jo," he said, absently reaching out to touch her arm.

His touch nearly caused her breath to catch in her throat. She felt warmth radiate from the spot on her arm. He hadn't touched her in months. She forced herself to keep walking down the hall next to him, maintaining a decent distance. All of a sudden the hallway seemed very small.

Just as they were rounding the corner to leave, Mike appeared, walking in their direction.

"Hey Woody, I was hoping to run into you," he said as he walked up to them. His attention turned to Jordan and a look of interest flashed across his face. "And you must be Jordan Cavanaugh."

"Yeah, I am" she said, smiling and taking his outstretched hand.

"Mike Foster," he introduced himself. "It's nice to finally meet you. Woody's told me a lot about you."

Jordan smiled complaisantly and glanced at Woody. He conveniently avoided her gaze.

"Nothing bad, I assure you," Mike smiled. He looked from one to the other. "You guys done for the day?"

"For now," Jordan answered. "Thank you for allowing me to take over here, I know it's sort of inconvenient."

"Don't worry about it," Mike said. "Hey, since you guys are done, why don't you join me and some others for drinks at The Bucket."

"The Bucket," Woody said with amusement. "That place is still around."

"Oh yeah," Mike said with the same look. Jordan had the distinct feeling she was missing an inside joke. Mike came to her rescue. "Woody was the last of us to turn twenty one, and we decided it would be a great idea to get totally smashed at The Bucket because we could."

"Okay, she doesn't need to hear any more," Woody said quickly, steering Jordan down the hall.

"Oh yes I do," she said, completely amused. She looked expectantly at Mike and he smiled.

"We got 86'd out of the bar, took a walk down to the pier, and Hoyt here pitched headfirst into Lake Michigan in an attempt to toss his cookies," Mike finished to the chagrin of Woody.

Jordan stared open mouthed and wide eyed at Mike before turning slowly to look at Woody. He seemed to be turning about fourteen different shades of red.

"Oh I can't believe you never told me about that," she laughed.

"Yeah, well, I thought I would spare myself the endless teasing," he muttered as they left the morgue.

"Now, I forget, Woods," Mike added with a mischievous grin. "Was that before or after you and Jimmy Reitkirk tried to bull ride a pair of heifers?"

Jordan almost choked laughing as they walked down the street, and the sour look on Woody's face only made it that much funnier.