Chapter Three

It's Getting Better All the Time

Jordan rubbed the heels of her palms into both eyes. It had been a long night…and an even longer morning. Once Woody had told her about the bad drug shipments, she had worked feverishly to complete trace and do the autopsy.

She told herself it was because she wanted to get a cold-blooded killer off the streets.

And if she said it enough, she was sure at some point she would believe it.

But the reality was, his return had stirred emotions in her she thought she was over. Regret. Longing.

Heartbreak.

So, she reasoned, the quicker she could get the information processed and get him out of her office and off her back, the better. Her life could return to normal. She wouldn't dream of him again.

She wouldn't wake up with a longing in her soul that only he could fill.

Putting a hand on the small of her back, she leaned backwards until she could hear her spine pop and her stiff muscles relax just a little. When all this was over, she was going to get a massage….right after she had the world's largest and strongest cup of coffee. Ruefully, she looked at her watch … four a.m. Starbuck's wouldn't be open for another two hours. Needing something to distract herself in the meantime, she wandered back into the locker room to change into an old pair of jeans and a shirt she kept in there as a spare. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror – the tired eyes and the dark circles that were hugging them, she silently asked herself the question, Why in the hell am I doing this? Why the hell am I knocking myself out for Woody when all he really cares about is getting back into homicide – being a homicide detective once again?

She couldn't give just one answer to that question. She wouldn't even try, because in reality there were at least three answers. First, of course, was to try to find out who this sinister killer was…and why was he or she doing this? Not that his or her victims were innocent by a far cry…they were drug users. But still…for all her and Woody's revulsions against drug use, no one should have to die this way. Not painfully poisoned.

Second, she mused, was that a part of her really wanted to see Woody back in his old department. He was a natural homicide detective. He could interrogate a suspect like no other Jordan had ever witnessed. Despite his arrogant demeanor, he could gear down into an "aw shucks" backwoods hick from Kewuanne in a heartbeat and win a suspect's trust.

Then he would go in for the kill….striking at the jugular of truth…She had seen suspects flounder and fall under his questioning.

If she kept telling herself that she only wanted Woody back in homicide for the good of the citizens of Massachusetts, she could leave her reasons at two. But if not…then that brought her to her third reason for wanting him back: Herself.

Maybe it was to test her mettle. To see if she was really over him. To be able to work with him again without wanting to touch him, smell him…feel his arms around her once more. To not want his kisses….and so much more. If she could deny herself all of that, then she was truly over him and was moving on.

But if not….if that desire…longing….still lingered. If she still wanted to whisper in his ear, "Don't leave me….I love you…." then she wasn't. As a matter of fact, she would be worse off than she was a year ago. Her heart would not have mended; it would have simply covered itself with a band aid called denial.

His presence would rip that bandage right off and leave her bleeding again.

But at least she would know where she stood emotionally. At least she would know if her heart was healed, or merely patched. At least she would know if she could move on and look for another relationship with another man…or if she was doomed to pine after a man who not only no longer wanted her, but seemed to despise her.

Jordan checked her watch again. Only five o'clock. Swallowing her distaste for vending machine coffee, she fished some change out of her purse and headed for the break room. It may not be Starbucks, but it was caffeine….and she needed that to ease her aching head and give her the energy to complete her reports.

And then see where the results took her. Back to a life without Woody…or one that would be a mere shadow of what they once could have had together.

Damn that dress.

Woody rolled over in his bed one more time and hit his pillow with his fist. Damn the dress and damn her for wearing it.

And damn himself more for wanting to see her in it…

Better yet, without it.

He had first seen Jordan in that dress nearly three years ago. And for many weeks afterwards, it was the subject of every one of his fantasies about her. Her in it. Him taking it off.

And he never took it off the same way twice. Oh, he got creative…very creative. He flinched at a certain body part causing him trouble at the memories.

So just when he's sure she's behind him…that he's a different man…no longer a welcome mat she could wipe her feet on….when he has to work with her again, she has to show up in that dress.

He thumped his pillow again in frustration. Why her? Why that dress? Why tonight? he thought.

His mind…at least the rational part of his mind…told him she had no clue that he was the detective that had called her in on her night off. He made Emmy promise not to tell Jordan it was him. He was afraid that if she knew that, she wouldn't come in for love or for money…and this case was far too important to him for her to start any trouble between them. He had assumed the element of surprise would work in his favor.

So much for assumptions. It had only gotten him in a world of frustration…and anger. Even in her scrubs, he could still picture her in that dress. Especially when it became obvious she wasn't wearing a bra. For years he had thought she wouldn't wear one with that dress.

And he had been right. It didn't matter that she wore a smock loosely over her scrub shirt, the fact that she was more that aware of his presence in a physical way had been glaringly apparent.

Which not only left him with a swagger in his step…she still wanted him … but also with an aching in him that bore witness to the fact that he wanted her just as badly.

Damn that dress.

Woody rolled over to his back and tucked his hands behind his head. He wasn't sure what his body was experiencing most….sexual frustration or anger. If his behavior was any indication of which emotion was controlling him, it was anger. Hands down. He was an angry man.

Angry at the circumstances that always kept them apart. Angry at himself for letting them.

Angry at her.

For months his resentment at the sniper, his injuries, and all the repercussions that went along with them, had been under control. He was doing well. His temper was in check.

Until tonight. Until he saw her. Then all the fury in his soul spewed forth again. She brought it all back to the surface.

But why?

Jordan hadn't shot him. If anything, she had worked hard on the sniper case before he was shot. At least until Slokum had pulled her off of it. And even afterwards….when she had called the task force out on him when he wanted to shoot Riggs….she had done it to protect him. Protect his job. Protect his reputation.

To protect him from himself.

So why the hell was he so angry at her? Riggs should be the one that was the target of all his rage.

Because of what she said. Don't leave me…please don't leave me. I love you, Woody. No…on second thought, maybe it wasn't what she said….maybe it was when she said it. Right when he was being wheeled into surgery…when he wasn't sure if he would walk again or not. She waited to tell him that she loved him when there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Jordan had played it safe with their relationship once again. If he had died, she could have an easy conscious…knowing that at the end, she had told him what he wanted to hear and in her own way, she had meant it.

But if he lived….and couldn't walk, she would still be safe because Jordan and he both knew there was no way he would let her be saddled with a cripple.

Ah…but if he could walk, which he did….eventually….she still might play the friend card….or ask that they still take things slowly.

And if things were anymore slow between them, they'd both be running backwards.

Woody grimaced at the memories. The near kisses and missed opportunities. No. She waited until it was "safe" for her to tell him that she loved him….at a time when she knew he was distracted…at a time when that emotion would take second place to him living and walking again.

That was her MO with their relationship. Safe. Slow. Distant. Friends.

And he had been damn tired of safe. Love wasn't supposed to necessarily be safe. It was supposed to be wild and passionate….it should make you feel vibrantly alive.

But when Jordan had told him that she loved him, all he could feel was the cold, dead weight of his legs coupled with the cold, dead weight of his heart – a feeling that was soon replaced with anger.

Anger at her. At her words…her timing….her lies.

She didn't love him. Not really. She had just wanted an easy conscious.

At least that's what he kept telling himself, even though her eyes had been filled with hurt then….and tonight when he told her not to fuck this one up. The hurt was there…along with something else he couldn't decipher.

He closed his eyes, determined to get a few hours of sleep before he had to go back to the morgue and review her reports. See her again.

But at least this time she wouldn't be wearing that dress.

Damn.