Disclaimer: I own everything... except "Crossing Jordan" and everything else

A/N: Okay, so y'all don't like cliffhangers (with the exception of traceyh). Well, good thing no one knows where I live...

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"Nothing can stop in this land of the pain/ the sane lose not knowing they were part of the game" -Linkin Park, "FRGT/10"

Woody tapped his foot impatiently. What's taking Jordan so long? he thought.

Just then, the door to the office next to the file room creaked open. A tall man in a tailored suit headed towards the ajar door to the records room, a gun clutched in his hand. Woody crouched down on the stairs. Get out of there Jordan. He wondered if he should ambush the man. He switched his Glock off of safety and checked to make sure it was loaded. Then, a fist impacted with the back of his head. Woody accidently squeezed the trigger. One bullet hit the wall and the other one grazed his left leg. He shouted in pain and dropped the gun. A large hand grabbed him by the throat. He swung around and stomped on the foot of his attacker, a large hairy man. The man grunted and squeezed harder. Woody choked as his windpipe was constricted. He clawed at the hand, trying to make the man let go. Then, his oxygen-starved brain finally remembered that his legs were free. He kicked his attacker as hard as he could in the groin. The man threw him down the stairs, where he lay stunned. Help me, Jordan, he silently pleaded.

Jordan hid the files behind her back. "Don't bother hiding those documents, senorita," the man said. "I saw you snooping around in here on the security camera. My question is, who are you and what were you looking for?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," she said. Would I be able to grab my gun and shoot him before he noticed?

The man answered by slapping her across the face. "Wrong answer."

"Are you Javier Avarro?" Jordan asked. Keep stalling. Where the hell is Woody?

"Carlos Guitan. But I'm asking the questions- not you. Who are you?"

There's got to be something I can do. "What brand is your tie?" she asked. I don't think he'll be stupid enough to fall for that.

She was suprised when Guitan looked down. Jordan lunged forward and slammed into him. He stumbled, crashed into a file cabinet, and fell. She kicked the gun out of his hand. "Now it's my turn to ask the questions. Who are you and Avarro working for?"

He gasped for breath. "Client privilege," he croaked. "I think you as an American should appreciate that."

Jordan responded by putting a bullet between his eyes. She picked up the files and hurried out the door. "Woody!" she called. "Are you okay?"

A huge man stood at the top of the stairs. There was no sign of Woody.

At the bottom of the stairs, Woody forced himself to sit up. His attacker lifted a shotgun- where'd that come from? he wondered- and leered down at him. "Time to die!"

He squeezed his eyes shut as he heard a gunshot. Any second now, he expected a bullet to tear through his flesh. Instead, the large man fell forwards and rolled down the stairs. "Woody!" Jordan yelled.

"I'm okay," he said. Another man came up behind her. "Jordan! Look out!"

She spun around to see an even larger man. He shoved her. She fell backwards down the stairs, but her fall was cushioned by the dead man's body. The second man slowly made his way down the stairs. He had a malevolent smile on his face as he aimed a shotgun at the two Americans. He looked down at his gun to reload. In those 30 seconds, Jordan and Woody slammed the door open and raced back into the lobby.

"You have the files?" Woody asked.

"Yes." She picked up a large purse that someone had left unattended on a table.

"What's that for?" asked Woody.

Jordan dumped the contents out and put the files into the empty bag, then hung the long strap across her shoulders. "I'm sick of carrying them."

As they approached the glass door, Jordan heard something, a high-pitched sound. She stopped. "What's that?" she asked.

Woody's eyes grew wide. "Get down!" he shouted, as a rocket-propelled grenade smashed through the window and destroyed the wall behind them. Outside, a car sped away, it's occupants thinking that they had finished their job.

Woody and Jordan stood up and took off running for the fire exit as two men carrying AK-47 Assault Rifles stepped inside through the hole in the window. They shot a barrage of bullets at their targets' retreating backs.

"What the fuck is this?" Woody shouted as they ran up the stairs.

Jordan swallowed. If only you knew...

They threw open the door of the nearest office and took shelter within. Jordan looked at the nameplate on the desk. They were in Javier Avarro's office. "How ironic," she muttered. She stared at the strange dark stains on the top of the desk. Woody grabbed her by the arm. "Uh, Jordan? I think we're a little too late."

Javier Avarro himself was sprawled out behind his desk, dead.

The fire alarm went off, and Jordan could smell the acrid odor of smoke. "What are they trying to do: cover the evidence?" Woody asked.

"Woody, there's something you need to know."

"What, are you going to confess your love for me or something?" he said sardonically.

"No, this is serious. They know who we are."

"What?" They heard the bottom door to the fire exit slam shut. "Later. We have to get out of here."

They raced down the hall, the sprinkler system dousing them with ice cold water. They hurried over to the other stairs where the large man with the shotgun was still standing guard. Woody crept over to him. His Glock was lying a couple feet behind the man, and he wanted it back. Almost there. Closer and closer he crept, sweat beading on his forehead and falling into his eyes, until he had the weapon in his hand. "Hola," he said.

The large man turned around in suprise as he was shot in the back. He fell down the stairs and landed by his partner. "That was easily the stupidest thing you've ever done," Jordan said.

Woody shrugged. "I wanted my gun back."

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Jordan and Woody knelt on the flat roof of the law office next to a coil of rope, the harsh Mexican sun drying them off. "Okay, the next roof is about three yards away from us," Jordan reasoned. "All we have to do is jump."

"Right. Piece of cake." He rolled his eyes. "Jordan, we both know that we can't jump nine feet." The door to the roof opened. "But I guess we have no choice."

Jordan grabbed the rope and tied an end around one of the exhaust pipes. "We'll swing across." The men with the AK-47's came out and reloaded.

Woody and Jordan both grabbed onto the rope and jumped, slamming against the building. "Okay, on the count of three we'll kick against the wall," she said.

They glanced up and saw the assault rifle barrels. "Three!" Woody shouted.

Instead of landing on the other roof, they smashed through the window of a dentist's office. The stunned dentist and his equally stunned patient stared at the two Americans. "Uh, sorry," said Woody.

"And don't forget to brush twice daily," Jordan added.

When they were outside and several blocks away, Woody asked, "Okay, so what do I need to know?"

Jordan pulled two files out of her bag. One was labled 'Jordan Cavanaugh', and the other was labled 'Woodrow "Woody" Hoyt'. "They know who we are," she said grimly. "That's why we were attacked. They want us dead as much as we want them dead."

"We didn't learn anything, did we?" asked Woody.

"No. Except Guitan said something about client privilege. Maybe one of their clients is a Black Dragon. We need to go back there and-"

"No way! We barely got out of there alive the first time."

"Then, what, we wait for them to find us first?" Jordan demanded angrily.

Neither one of them had an answer for that.

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A/N: No cliffhangers here! This is the part where the entire story changes, so watch out for more plot twists...