FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made.

It's all for fun.

A/N: Thanks for the great feedback thus far. This story is one I've kicked around for over two years (not with CJ characters) so it's fun to write it finally and see where it goes exactly.

Part Four: Firecracker

July 4, 2006

Despite a couple of invitations to barbecues and the like, Jordan was spending the evening of the Fourth of July at home. She was exhausted. Besides keeping up with whatever new cases came in, she and Nigel had been going back over autopsy findings, re-running samples, anything and everything they could think of to try to establish some connection between the three apparently unrelated homicides.

She had just sat down to watch the televised fireworks, a cold beer in hand, when there was a knock on her door. She muted the television and then, groaning, heaved herself up and, barefoot, padded to the door. She peered through the peephole. Surprise rocked her backward for a moment. She took another look. With a wondering shake of her head, she opened the door.

Woody's smile was nervous. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, no, it's – um – it's fine." Jordan ran a hand through her hair, tugging at a tangle here and there. "I'm just a little – surprised. Uh – Come on in."

Woody looked around. She hadn't changed anything that he could see, but he made a careful inventory anyway. He found he couldn't look at her. She was dressed for bed. Little shorts and a light tank top to fight off the heat of a Boston summer night didn't leave much to his imagination. And his imagination really hadn't needed much help anyway. Not in the last week. The memory of holding her, no matter how short a time it had been, had stayed with him.

"Beer?"

Woody held up the paper bag he held in his left hand. "I wasn't sure - I mean, you know… I just show up and…."

Jordan nodded. "Then would you like me to put those in the fridge for you?"

Woody knew he was acting like a high schooler, not looking at her, stammering out meaningless babble, blushing now as she appraised him, her honey-brown eyes weighed down by exhaustion and confusion. He gave himself a mental shake and handed her the six-pack, grabbing one bottle for himself. "Thanks."

He stood uncomfortably, waiting for her to return. In the kitchen, Jordan thrust the bottles into the refrigerator and then laid her head against the door. He's here to talk about a case her mind insisted. Her libido demanded to know why he was wearing old, comfortable denim shorts and a tight BPD blue t-shirt if he was just here to talk about a case. Jordan told her libido to shut up. It listened about as well as it had since the day in the viewing room when she'd found herself sobbing on his chest. She cursed under her breath.

She found Woody perched on the edge of the couch when she returned. He looked as comfortable as she felt. She forced herself to settle on the other end of the sofa and relax. After a long pull at the beer bottle she'd briefly abandoned, she spoke. "So, you've got something new about the homicides?"

He gave her a sideways look. "Uh – no."

"Oh."

"I know – I mean, I heard you'd been working a lot. I just thought I'd stop by and check- uh – stop by and thank you."

Jordan's mouth twitched and her eyebrows rose. "You're welcome." She took another sip of her beer, relaxing into his discomfort just a little bit. "So far we haven't been able to find anything new."

"Maybe there's nothing to find."

Jordan's eyes narrowed in alarm. "I thought you agreed there's a connection."

"No, it's not that." He met her straightforward gaze with his. Maybe if they talked about work he wouldn't babble. "I think you're right. I just mean the killer is obviously careful – really carefully."

She gave a slight headshake. "No one, Woody, is that careful. We're going to find something."

They both jumped when her phone rang. Jordan glanced at the device as though it had suddenly been possessed. She couldn't imagine who was calling. She murmured a quick apology and answered the call.

Woody watched her as the tension in her body uncoiled a bit. Her shoulders relaxed; she slid her feet to the middle of the couch. He listened to the tone of her voice drop. She spoke quietly and there as a – a purr in her speech. She smiled, the expression slowly curving up her lips and into her eyes.

"Uh," she was saying, "I don't know about that, actually. There's this case – it's – it's really big. Probably." She paused. "I know, I know." Her smile widened. "Okay, okay. Yeah. 'Bye." She hung up the phone and apologized again. "Friend," was all she said.

Woody's eyebrows arched up. "Yeah?" His voice was edged with disbelief and irritation.

Yep, I'm kind of enjoying this Jordan told herself. She nodded. "So, how's Lu?"

Woody coughed at the unexpected query. "Uh – she's – she's… not around."

Jordan nodded, her honey eyes assessing him. "Vacation?" Her tone was light and innocent. As if I really couldn't care less.

"Er – no. She's – She moved."

"Oh?" Jordan took another sip of beer. "Where?"

"New York."

She smiled. "Well, that's not far at all."

Woody gripped his beer more tightly, finally hearing the teasing note in her voice. No, he told himself. Mocking. Teasing was what we used to do. Mocking and sniping is our style now. He forced his voice to stay level. "It wasn't working."

Her eyebrows rose. "That's too bad."

He turned the tables. "What about that reporter – Pollack?"

She shrugged. "J.D.? It didn't last."

"Someone new, Jordan?" He sneered slightly as he continued. "Or someones?"

She hesitated, her palm itching to slap the expression off his face, while her mind told her to remain calm, not to rise to the bait. "Why are you here again?"

He muttered, "To thank you."

"Well," she said, her voice brisk now. "You said it, I told you that you were welcome, so if we're done…?"

"Want to call your friend back?"

Color spread across her cheeks in an angry flush. "Actually, yeah. It turns out I'd really rather talk with Danny than you."

That took a heartbeat to sink in. "Danny? As in McCoy? As in Las Vegas?"

"You got it, Detective. Good sleuthing."

He winced. "Come on, Jordan. Him? Why?"

"Oh, I don't know," her eyes flashed. "He doesn't ignore me unless he needs something. He's never told me I wasn't welcome in his life." She delivered what, in her anger, she hoped was a killing blow. "The sex is awesome."

It worked – Woody blanched. He stood up, his movements gangly and stiff. If she hadn't known better, Jordan would've sworn he'd just been kicked in the balls. Of course, if anyone was going to kick Woody Hoyt in the nuts, it had better be her. She was first in line as far as she was concerned. "I see. I think you're right – I should… what?" He followed the direction of her gaze.

Her eyes were fixed on the muted TV screen. She breathed out, the rhythm choppy, shocked.

Woody looked away for a moment, unable to bear the live video footage. The new anchor's voice sprang to life as Jordan turned the volume back despite the nerveless feeling in her fingers. "-say that the woman seemed to appear among them, a human torch…." Jordan muted it again.

Her phone rang. "Cavanaugh." She nodded. "On my way." She hung up and looked at Woody. "Garret wants me down there."

His phone rang. He answered it as Jordan raced to her room to change.

END Part Four