I love how spontaneous family vacations can throw a wrench into my updates…my apologies for the wait.

Two Minute Personalities

Woody never thought he would feel a particular connection to a literary character such as Dr. Jekyl, but there it was. Watching Jordan walk away from him, he could almost feel himself morph back into his sane self, with the destruction of Mr. Hyde fresh in his mind. There was a reason he had left this place. Several reasons, actually, each more adept at bringing out a most unattractive side of him. Now his two worlds were colliding, and he felt awful for dragging Jordan down with him as he suffered through the transformations.

Woody half expected Jordan to be gone the next morning. The thought bothered him more than he cared to admit. If she walked out on him, he knew it would mean the end of their friendship, or whatever was left of it. There would be no chance of reconciliation.

He did not, however, expect to wake up with a post-it note stuck to his forehead. Confused, he reached up to peel it off and sat up. 'At the morgue' was all it said. A wave of relief washed over him. She had stayed. Woody got dressed quickly and drove into town, stopping at the bakery before going to the morgue. He opened the heavy metal door that led to the room where Jordan had set up shop. She was at a computer, comparing the screen to her notes.

"Couldn't find any wall space for that note?" he joked mildly, hoping to put her in a good mood.

"I wasn't sure where to leave it so you would find it," she answered, then looked at the box of pastries and coffee in his hands. Her eyes flicked up to his. "Is that a peace offering?"

"More like a thank you," he said as he handed her a cardboard cup. "For…everything."

"No apology, then?" she asked, her tone belying the complacent look on her face. Woody hesitated, but Jordan went on before he had a chance to speak. "Didn't think so. Thanks for the coffee."

She gave him a small smile and turned her attention back to the computer. Woody couldn't tell if she was serious, or even angry at all. She was getting harder to read all the time. For Jordan, it felt like a small victory, but one she wasn't quite ready to celebrate. She couldn't even remember the last time he had brought her breakfast. It had to have been well over six months. Before he started easing up on his efforts to catch her. Jordan knew what this small gesture meant, but she wasn't going to allow herself to give in just yet. He owed her some explanations before she dropped all her defenses again.

"You know, I think I liked you better when you were 'Denial Jordan' and you ignored things," he said, though he sounded more resigned than irritated.

Jordan smiled a little to herself. "Can't take the scorn?"

"Hell hath no fury," he quoted, catching her eye and giving her a patented Woody smile. Jordan's heart fluttered a little at the sight, and she had to pull herself together before telling him what she had found that morning.

"Well, in regards to the fury of the crime," she said, referring to the screen, "our killer is definitely male. I pulled some DNA from the samples. I also got Mike to track down Eric Ferrand," she said and handed him a file with all the research she had done. "We have a little investigating to do."

"Jordan, you are amazing," Woody said, looking at the file. "I should make you angry more often if this is the result I get."

"Don't push your luck," she replied.

They gathered their things to leave, and just as they walked out the door onto the street, Woody bumped into someone.

"Sorry," he said automatically, before recognition crossed his face. "Father Mahone."

"Woodrow, it's wonderful to see you. I'd heard you were back in town," Father Mahone said, a smile on his remarkably kind face. "I was surprised not to talk to you sooner, to make arrangements for David's last rights and the funeral."

From anyone other than this unassuming old man, these words would have seemed insensitive. From the surprised look on his face, Jordan guessed that Woody had let this aspect of the situation slip his mind. In their line of work, it was easy to forget that things did not end when the case file was signed and filed away.

"Yeah, sorry," Woody said, trying to gather his bearings. "Things have sort of taken a detour."

"So I've heard," Father Mahone said. "I have to be on my way to a meeting right now, but we can make arrangements later. I look forward to seeing you at Mass tomorrow."

"Uh, I-"

"And you're welcome as well," the priest said warmly to Jordan. She started a little at the invitation.

"Oh, well, I haven't really attended in…I mean-"

"All the more reason to join us," Father Mahone seemed pleased, as though things were once again how they should be. He added to Woody, "Your mother would have loved knowing you were joining us again. She always loved the church…brought you boys every Sunday."

"Yeah," Woody tried to smile sincerely. Father Mahone bid them goodbye and went on his way. Woody looked guiltily at Jordan. "I'm sorry, you shouldn't have gotten roped into that."

"It's okay. Who knows, maybe it'll help my soul out a little," she said as they walked to the car.

"Yeah right," Woody snorted.

"Ha ha," she replied sarcastically. "I'm not in that much trouble yet."

Woody started to unlock the door, and then stopped, a look of puzzlement on his face.

"Jordan, how did you get here?" he asked, suddenly realizing that she had left the car for him at the house.

"I rode a horse," she quipped. He gave her a no-nonsense look and she shrugged casually, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "When I called Mike about Ferrand this morning he offered to drive me in, since we're on his way."

Woody didn't say anything, unlocking the car so she could get in. He had a sinking feeling she was lying, though.

"Sure I remember this knife," Eric Ferrand said, looking at the bagged weapon Woody had handed him.

He and Jordan had driven an hour to the family dairy where Ferrand worked. He was a manager in his early sixties, and outwardly very obliging to Jordan and Woody. They sat in his office now, looking at the murder weapon.

"So you acknowledge buying this knife," Woody stated.

"Yeah. One of the better hunting knives I ever had," Ferrand said as he handed the knife back. "What's all this about?"

"Mr. Ferrand, that knife was used as a murder weapon," Woody said. Ferrand let out a whistle and crossed his arms over his chest. Woody handed him a photo of his uncle. "Do you remember doing business with this man?"

Ferrand looked closely at the photo. Jordan thought she saw him tense ever so slightly, his skin just a touch redder than it was. He looked from her to Woody and gave the photo back.

"This is about that Thoroughbred colt, isn't it?" he asked as though he had been caught. "Look, he didn't ask for a higher price. I know I underpaid him, but-"

"Mr. Ferrand," Woody interrupted him, holding up a hand. "It's not the price of the colt we're here to talk about."

"This man was murdered a few days ago," Jordan informed him. "With this knife."

"I didn't kill anybody," Ferrand insisted, looking panicked.

"We have enough to connect you to him through business dealings," Jordan held up the file. "And if this was your knife-"

"No, that's impossible," Ferrand said firmly. "I sold that knife over ten years ago."

"You wouldn't happen to have a record of that, would you?" Woody asked doubtfully.

"I do," Ferrand said eagerly, jumping up to rummage through a file cabinet. Woody exchanged a surprised look with Jordan. "You don't sell a knife like that without keeping a record. It's caused fights before, always safe to have proof with stuff like…here it is; the check copy."

He handed the small slip of paper to Woody in relief. Woody looked at the paper. The knife had been sold to a George Havisty. His jaw tightened in disappointment, but he tucked the paper inside his coat.

"You don't mind if I hold onto this, do you?" he asked Ferrand, though it was hardly a request.

"Not at all," Ferrand shook his head. "I'm happy to help in any way."

Woody furrowed his brow as they walked back to the car. With no prints and Ferrand able to prove he had sold the knife, it would be difficult to bring him in for anything. He had to remind himself that the break had been fairly random in the first place. Once they had gone into his uncle's affairs it probably would have surfaced anyway…probably.

"You think he was telling the truth?" he asked Jordan as they drove along.

"Well," she started, "he was either an overzealous liar or an extremely nervous innocent. It's hard to tell the difference sometimes."

"His record is pretty decent," Woody consented.

"That doesn't always point to innocence. Although Jake seemed to think highly of him as a rancher, if not as a horse dealer."

It took several seconds for Jordan to realize why the car had gone silent. She felt her face flush and wanted to slap herself for the slip. She dared a glance at Woody – he did not look happy.

"When did you talk to him?" Woody said the last word like it was poison.

"He saw me arrive at the morgue this morning and stopped to talk," Jordan said with what she hoped was confidence.

"I'm surprised he was awake before noon," Woody said cuttingly.

"He works at the market across the street, he starts at seven thirty."

Stop talking, why are you still talking! she screamed at herself. Woody's grip on the steering wheel tightened and it felt like his jaw might break from how tightly he was holding it. He could not believe she had kept this from him. What taunted him most was why she had kept it from him. What did she have to hide?

"Got pretty personal, didn't you?" he said. "Was this after he drove you into town, straddled on his motorcycle?"

"I told you, Mike drove me in," Jordan insisted. "Why are you turning into a jealous idiot?"

"I'm not jealous," Woody said too quickly. "Just forget it, would you? It's not like his advice got us anywhere."

"You told me not to talk to him about the case," Jordan pressed. "So when he came over to clear up what he'd said about Ferrand, I blew it off and changed the subject. We ended up talking about stupid things like his job."

"Make any good dinner plans?" Woody asked, feeling unnerved by the whole thing. "I'm warning you, Jordan, stay away from him."

"I don't believe you," Jordan muttered under her breath, turning away from him to glare out the window and thinking of all the women she had to endure watching Woody with…or at least hearing about it. He was being absolutely impossible. She had dealt with his attitude in the past, but it seemed to be a daily event now. Maybe it's better this way, she told herself. The dose of reality was putting her feet firmly on the ground again about their relationship. And why she was hurt and angry because of him for far longer than she found herself aching for him.

She couldn't help but think about what Nigel had said before she left, starting to wonder if she would be facing the bitter reality of leaving their relationship in the dust. No matter how much she tried to accept the possibility, her other option was still far more appealing. After all, she had managed to unearth a remaining jealous streak in him…hadn't she?