A/N: Hello! Thankyou eternalgorithm, azncinnamon and maehsweet for reviewing Ch3! Uhm...what to say about this chapter? Uh oh yeah, I think I screwed up the time frame, but bear with me. Also the American geography is probably all out of whack, I defend myself by telling you I am an Aussie...I just looked at a map and took a guess on how long it would have taken them to get to Philadelphia! Anyway it doesn't really matter...oh and this chapter's pretty much all dialogue, but bear with me... ok well don't let me keep you, read on!

Garret sat in his chair, hands shaking slightly, remembering what he had done. It had seemed like a betrayal, but he knew that to do anything less would have been the betrayal. Maybe he had been stupid to do it himself, maybe Renee had been right. As if in confirmation of that thought, she walked in.

"Garret?" she asked, uncertainly. He looked at her.

"What do you want?" he said, a little too harshly perhaps. Her eyes narrowed.

"What did you find?"

"Do you know what time it is?" he asked. She sighed, exasperated, and looked at her watch.

"Approximately 11:30pm," she told him smugly. He was surprised, sure it was much later.

"What are you doing here?" he asked unnecessarily.

"I want to know what you found," she repeated patiently, and sat down on the chair in front of his desk.

"A bullet," he said brusquely. "What did you expect?"

"Who did the bullet belong to?"

"No way to tell," he said. "Nothing."

"Are you sure there was nothing?"

"Damn it, yes I am sure!" he shouted, standing and bashing his hand down on the table. Renee watched him blandly.

"Go home, Garret."

Garret did not calm down. He couldn't.

"No!" he pushed past her and left the room, unable to look at her, so calm, so indifferent, at such a time. She followed him into the conference room.

"You don't know where she is, do you?" Renee chanced a guess as to the reason for his frustration. She knew that doing the autopsy on Max Cavanaugh would have exacted its toll on the Chief ME, but he would not have become frustrated. Introspective and reflective, sure, but not this angry!

"No," he admitted, staring out the window.

Renee let out a sigh. "Damn it, Garret, why didn't you say anything?"

"What would you have done?" he asked.

"A lot more than nothing," she replied. "Have you got anyone else working on it?"

"Detective Hoyt from the…"

Renee rolled her eyes, unable to believe the stupidity that this intelligent man was showing.

"I know who he is! I also know that there is or was something going on between them! Why is this so enclosed? You did the autopsy and Hoyt is looking for her? What has gotten into you all?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Garret said, calming down.

Renee practically spluttered, "I don't know? I don't know? That's it, you're gone! You're off this damn case! I shouldn't have even let it go this far!"

Garret looked at her. "Go to hell," he said, icily, before striding out of the room.

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"Where?" Woody almost yelled into the phone. He had fallen asleep on his desk hours ago, and had jerked awake at the sound of his phone shrilly reminding him he had a job to do. The voice on the other end was just the one he wanted to hear, luckily for the man, who would have gotten a much worse reception if he was irelevant. It was the man who would tell him where the car was.

It was parked outside a house in New York. At least it had been.

"What do you mean, its not there anymore?"

"What do you think I mean?" the irritable voice came. "It was there, now its not."

Woody made an effort to calm down. "Did your man see it leave?"

"Of course," the man said, but did not elaborate, sparking the detective's anger again.

"Well tell me!"

"Alright! A woman drove it away, but she was followed."

"Followed?" he asked, alarmed.

"But there's no way she didn't know the guy was following her. He was in plain sight. The numberplate was slightly obstructed and we didn't get the plate. It was a white van, though."

"A white van in New York?" Woody said dryly. "Well there's a stretch. Lets just go an arrest everyone with a white, damn van!"

"There has been no crime, Detective Hoyt," the man assured him.

"No?" Woody said. "I'd say murder is a crime. But that could just be me."

"Murder?" the man asked mildly. Woody related the story. "I'm sorry about that," the man said. "But I can't do a thing about it. You want to investigate? Come down here."

He made his leave and hung up the phone, leaving Woody even more worried and uncertain than before. Who would be following her? And why? He felt helpless, and truly, he was.

-------

They had driven for hours, on James' instruction, and had dumped her car just outside of Philadelphia. She had climbed wordlessly into his van and they had made the slow journey back to New York.

"I have the distinct feeling that was stupid," Jordan said, breaking the silence. James looked doggedly out of the window.

"Probably," he conceded. "You got a better idea?"

She was silent. "So…what happened next?" she asked, as if there had been no break in their conversation. Surprisingly, James took up the narrative gladly.

"I told you she said she was being followed?" He waited for Jordan's nod. "She didn't know who it was, only that it had something to do with Max and his work. Some case he was working at the time."

"Why did they want her?"

"Oh, not just her. You and Max, too. I'm sure if he had known at the time that I existed, I would be targeted too."

"Why?" she asked, numbly, wanting to know all he did.

"Why do they commit crimes to start with?" he countered. "He wanted revenge, I suppose."

"Against my father?"

James nodded. "Yes."

"What did he do?"

"I don't know!" James said, frustrated. "I have no idea who it is, and no way to find out. We need to know what case he was working on." James gave her a sideways glance, which she caught.

"Oh, no," she said. "I'm not calling them. Damn it, James, they're looking for me! They'll be able to trace the number!"

"So what, Jordan? You're going to have to face them sooner or later. They wont find you, anyway. Look, I'll stop here."

Jordan nodded, knowing she would have to ring them if she was going to find out who killed her father. She pulled out the phone that she had secreted in the pocket of her jacket, and dialled a number.

"Hey, Woody," she said simply. James heard the exclamation on the other end of the phone.

"Jordan!" he yelled into the phone, causing her to have to hold it a few inches from her ear. "Where are you? Are you all right? What happened?"

"Calm down, Woody," she said. "Everything's ok." She said what he wanted to hear, but it wasn't enough for him.

"How can everything be ok?" he asked hoarsely. "I…" he trailed off, at a loss for words. Jordan took a minute to compose herself, the concern in her friend's voice overbearing.

"I am fine for the moment. I need a favour, though."

Woody wanted to berate her, tell her she needed to come home, but he melted instead.

"What?"

She was mildly surprised at his immediate willingness to comply, but didn't press the issue.

"I need to know what my father was working on around the 17th of September," she said, bracing herself for the onslaught.

"Jordan…" Woody began. "Will you please tell me where you are?"

"I can't, Woody," she said, frowning.

"Just tell me you're ok. Give me some sort of clue, if you're not."

"I am fine. I promise."

"You better be," he warned her, and she made her leave and said goodbye before he totally tore her resolve apart. She wanted to tell him where he was, let him come and make it all better for her like he had done so many times before. But she steeled herself; they had a murderer to catch, after all.

"He'll call me back," she said to James, who nodded and started up the car again.

"I'm sorry you had to do that," he said after a while, noting the faraway look in her eyes. She looked at him and nodded.

"It had to be done."

They drove in silence until they reached his house. He parked around the back and they got out.

"Now we wait?" Jordan asked, looking at her brother.

"Now we wait." He looked at Jordan, noticing her bloodshot eyes and less-then-perky state. "When was the last time you slept?"

She thought back. "Friday morning," she replied truthfully. Seeing as it was now Sunday morning, technically, that was no mean feat.

"Go get some sleep," he ordered, but she shook her head.

"No thanks," she said. "Maybe a shower, though?"

He nodded and pointed her to the bathroom, fully understanding why she didn't want to put herself at the mercy of her cruel, subconscious mind. He wouldn't want to, either.

Her cell phone started ringing. He looked at it, not knowing whether he should answer or not. He shook his head, realising they would worry more if she did not answer.

"Hello?" he said. The voice on the other end turned hostile.

"Who is this?" it asked. "Where is Jordan?"

"Hey, calm down. I should ask you the same question. Who are you?"

"Detective Hoyt, Boston PD. Now where is she?"

"I think she's in the shower," he replied mildly, knowing he sounded like a crook.

"If you touch a hair on her head I swear I will hunt you down and rip you apart," the detective growled. James frowned, mildly disconcerted.

"Doesn't sound too pleasant. Oh wait, here she is now."

Jordan stood, towel wrapped around her, hair wet and dripping. He handed her the phone.

"Woody?" she said.

"Jordan!" he sounded relieved. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," she said. "Do you have the case?"

He ignored her. "Who is that guy?"

"A friend," she answered. "You've met."

"Damn it, Jordan…"

"Just tell me what he was working on, Woody, please."

He hesitated, before giving her the information she wanted. "He was working on a drug ring case in September 1979."

"Who was connected?" she asked quickly.

"A whole heap of people," Woody said, and she heard the rustling of papers. "How about a deal? You tell me where the hell you are, and I'll tell you what you want to know."

"No can do, Woody," she said. "Tell me."

"I wont," he said uncertainly.

Jordan exhaled. "Listen. You were just the quickest way to get this information. I have the resources to get it myself."

"Like hell you do, Jordan!"

"Like hell I don't!" she retorted, angry. He sighed deeply on the other end.

"Fine," he said. "Fine. Get yourself killed, see if I care. There were two men and a woman involved. Thomas and Rebecca McKinley, a married couple, and Jack Koreldy. All three were convicted, though not by Max, on the 19th of September. They were tried a few months later, and convicted. Koreldy was suspected of a few murders but there was never enough evidence to try him."

"Where are they now? Can you find out? How long were they in jail?"

"One step ahead of you. The McKinley's were sentenced to 7 years. Rebecca died in custody, in 1982. Thomas was released in 1986, and lives in Louisiana. Koreldy got 17 years, was released in 1996, and is now living in New York." He told her the address.

"Thank you, Woody."

He said nothing.

"I mean it," she continued.

He paused. "Are you coming home? Ever?" He was remembering the money and key on her table, she surmised.

"I…" she didn't know how to answer him. "I don't know."

"Jordan… keep in touch."

"I will," she said, and hung up.

"I think our best bet is a Jack Koreldy, seeing as he lives in New York. The other guy is in Louisiana."

"Koreldy…" James tested the name. "Never heard of him."

"It's a bit of a long shot," she admitted. "But it's worth a try."

"Maybe you should get dressed first," he said, amused, and nodded towards her lack of clothes. She reddened, and nodded, leaving the room. She came back a few minutes later, looking decidedly dishevelled, but the better for being clean.

"Shall we go?" she said, and he noticed a bulge in her pocket. She followed his gaze and shrugged. "Gotta be prepared."

"Does your over-protective Detective buddy know you're packing heat?"

"I'm not doing anything illegal," she diverted, and walked past him. "Lets head off." She told him the address. "You said you knew his face?" she said when he still seemed reluctant.

"This guy. If he killed them, he is not going to have any qualms about finishing us off. Probably wants to. If he killed her all those years ago and left it at that I wouldn't be so worried. But he has killed, recently. Jordan…!" She had shaken her head and walked out, towards his car.

"I'm going. Come or don't, its your perogative."

He didn't have a choice, of course, so he jumped into his car. Suddenly, two men jumped out from behind a bush, and pointed their guns at them.

"Cops," Jordan muttered.

"Damn,"James said.

"Get out of the car, now!" one of them called. "Get out with your hands up!"

They glanced at one another and stepped slowly out of the car.

"Low blow, Woody," Jordan muttered. "Low blow."