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: Sorry it's been a while. New computer (yay), working overtime (not so yay), deleting half a long fic (somewhat yuck), second bout of pneumonia in three months (yuck)… I promise the next part won't take so long.

Part Thirteen: Prints and Plans

August 29, 2006

Woody looked up when Jordan more or less threw open his office door. Without a word he held up the evidence of the connection. Jordan took it from him and began flipping through the pages he'd handed her. When she got to September, she looked at him. "Have you-"

"Her parents are coming in shortly. Her birthday – sixteenth – is on the twelfth. We'll keep her safe."

Jordan sat down, murmuring a heartfelt, "Thank God."

"Did you see…?"

She nodded, letting her gaze go back to the calendar Woody have given her. All the victims were there – all the "representative" of the month in which they'd been killed.

"It was done for charity," Woody explained. "On a tight budget, I guess."

"Which explains the variety of models?"

"Yeah."

"How'd you get it?"

"I called the sister of the July vic. The identical twin? She was out of town, got my message this morning. When she called back, I asked if she'd ever done any work for a calendar. She told me about this and offered to bring it down when I told her it might help us track the killer." Woody settled back in his chair, daring Jordan to criticize him, even in play.

"So, what's the connection? Photographer? Agent?" Jordan shook her head. "You ruled those out, right?"

"Yeah. I re-checked everything – two of the victims had the same agent and two more went through the same agency, but not the same person. At least seven different photographers took these photos. They were all submitted to the guy in charge of putting it together and – I called him – he didn't meet each of the models." He leaned forward. "But the connection is there, somewhere. I'm gonna get it, Jordan."

She flipped back to January and studied the picture. The female impersonator looked quite dazzling – and believable – in a silver sequined cocktail dress. Jordan's own wardrobe may have largely consisted of casual clothes, but it didn't mean she couldn't be impressed by such clothing – and its accessories. The blue-tinted drop earrings caught the light and brought out the blue in the model's eyes.

Jordan moved on to February, again admiring the way the woman (this time) was turned out. The clothing was more casual – pink jeans and a soft pink sweater. From the upswept hair to the unobtrusive make-up to the glittering cherry quartz earrings, everything went so well.

The M.E. looked up.

"What?" Woody had been watching her, telling himself he could see the wheels in her brain turning, but, in reality, just admiring the view.

"Just a minute." She turned to March and scanned the photo. April. May. June. All the way through the rest of the year. She stood up and brought the calendar around to him. Pointing to "Miss" January's earrings, she said, "Those are handmade, I think."

"Why?"

"Well, it's kind of the thing right now – a lot of people seem to be into it." Jordan waved an impatient hand. "I went shopping with Lily one weekend – she kind of likes this stuff. It's – I don't know – different? Personalized? Something. Anyway, that's not the point – look at the other pictures."

Woody flipped through the calendar as Jordan had done. He paid attention to the earrings in each, slowly realizing she might have something. "I'll call the sister of the July vic again."

Jordan's phone rang. She scowled as she listened to Garret's voice. "Okay. Yeah." She looked at Woody. "Bus crash. I've got to get back." She sighed. "I'll probably end up pulling a double, if not more."

Woody grimaced at her. "Want me to bring you some dinner later?"

"Hmm… I could take a dinner break." She smiled at him, the look sly and sexy. "Or I could call it a dinner break at least."

Woody flicked up his eyebrows. "I think I like the sound of that."

"You think?" She laughed.

"Okay," he grinned. "I know I like the sound of that."

Woody walked Jordan to the door. Before letting her leave, he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her, deeply and thoroughly. His hands found her hair and buried themselves in its deep waves. She moaned softly into his kiss, pulling him tightly against her until her back rested against his office door. He pressed against her, his mind far diverted from any case, focused only on the warm, pliant feel of Jordan in his arms, her body molded to his. His hands slipped down, along her arms to grip her waist. Only when he felt her tug at his shirt did he come crashing back to the reality of where they were. And the fact they were both still on the clock. "Jo, Jo," he panted. "We can't. Not right now."

She looked up at him, her eyes glazed, her mouth soft and moist from their kisses. Slowly, she nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

He groaned. "I can't believe I just said that to you."

Jordan chuckled. "Yeah, Farm Boy, pretty unbelievable." She straightened his tie. "At least one thing hasn't changed."

"What's that?"

"This tie is awful," she replied with a grin.

XXXXX

Woody found Jordan in trace when he arrived with dinner. Nigel looked up. "I hope you brought enough to share."

For a moment, Woody discomfiture was obvious and then he caught the exchanged wink between Jordan and the analyst. He relaxed, letting a wide grin split his face. "Sorry, Nige. I'm not sharing."

The Brit feigned a disappointed look before waving Jordan off to her office for her "meal." The way he waggled his eyebrows over the last word made even Jordan blush. The blush didn't stop her from her slipping into Woody's willing arms the moment her door was closed – and locked. For several minutes, they let their mutual hunger for each other override any other concerns. He dropped light, teasing kisses on her mouth, drawing away when she intensified the pressure. His tongue darted in and out of her mouth, sampling her with a frustrating delicacy. Only when her arms snaked around the nape of his neck and her hands pulled his mouth firmly to hers, did he give in. Grunts, groans and the almost inaudible sounds of clothing being shed paved their way to the couch. They sunk down together, hands roaming freely, breath coming in gasps. Jordan straddled him, working his belt buckle when his phone rang. They both made sounds of frustration and disgust, but Woody motioned that he had to answer it.

Despite the fact that the conversation was quick, Jordan stood up, her limbs shaking with desire. She considered the absolute lack of professionalism she and Woody had nearly engaged in. Tired, almost hostile, spur of the moment sex in the dead of night with no one else around was one thing; almost planned, on her couch, with a good number of day staff still here was another.

"Thanks." Woody flipped shut his phone. He sighed. "Sorry about that."

She shook her head. "It's okay. Probably better anyway."

He shrugged. "Yeah." He stood up and went to her. "I guess," he murmured into her hair.

She laughed a bit. "So what did you bring me?"

"Besides myself?"

She thumped him. "Come on, what'd you bring?"

He pacified her by bringing out Italian take-out. The fact he said nothing about the phone call put up her antennae, but the rush of the afternoon had left her hungry, so she let it slide for a few minutes.

When the food had dulled the edge of her hunger, she put down the plastic fork and watched him eat. She said nothing until he glanced up at her. He looked down at his shirt, guessing he had sauce on it or his tie. He found nothing. He checked the corner of her desk to make sure he hadn't dripped anything there. Nothing. Finally he raised his eyes back to hers. "What?"

"Nothing."

Woody checked his shirt again – just in case. He peered closely at his tie. After all, Jordan might think a little marinara was an improvement. "Come on, Jo. What?"

"Just wondering."

"I kind of got that. About what?"

"That – uh – disruption earlier. You haven't said anything."

He shrugged. "Just a lead that didn't pan out."

She hunched forward, sliding her food to the side. "A lead on the Calendar Girl case?"

He stammered his denial, then colored faintly at her look of utter disbelief. "All right. Yeah. But it didn't pan out, so forget about it."

"How can I forget about it? You haven't told me anything."

"And I'd like to keep it that way, Jordan."

"Why?"

He gave her an exasperated look. "Because I know you. You'll think you can find out something the Boston Police Department couldn't and – knowing you – you just might."

"And that's bad how, Woody?"

"Because after that, Jordan, you'd probably decide you could also catch this killer better than we can."

Her expression grew sulky, but she had to admit he had a point. "I promise. I won't do that."

He arched his brows. "Yeah. Sure."

"Hey! I keep my promises."

"I know you do." He sighed. "It's just that you usually find a loophole I never thought of." His strong blue gaze met hers. He gave another sigh. "All right. Fine." His voice resigned, he told her what the sister of the July vic had known. Yes, her jewelry had been specially designed for her outfit. No, the model had never met the designer before the photo shoot. Yes, it did seem a little odd for the woman to come to the shoot, but she was so nice, so interested in the model, so thoughtful. Yes, the designer sold her work to the public – on consignment at several local stores. Of course, she had the designer's name. Why did Woody need it?

"Well?" Jordan's eyes were wide in anticipation.

"The name was a fake. And – And-" he held up a hand to forestall her inevitable question. "We got a description. I had it circulated to all the kinds of stores that sell this stuff. No luck. That was what that phone call was."

Jordan's mouth pulled down into a frown. "What about pictures of the jewelry?"

Woody shook his head. "They weren't unique enough." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I did talk to one store owner who said a lot of these jewelry people put some symbol or something on their work – like a brand, sort of."

"A brand?"

"Yeah, you know. Some little something that attaches to part of the – the thing."

She smiled at his lack of familiarity with the subject. "Like a charm."

"Yeah!"

"Hmm…."

They returned to their meals, finishing in relative silence. As Woody was throwing the trash away, Jordan thought of something else. "Woody? Do you know if the models were given the pieces?"

His eyes widened. "Hold that thought." He had out his cell phone and called the precinct. "Yeah. This is Hoyt. I need you to get a witness for me and patch it through to my phone. Great. Thanks." He tapped his toe while waiting. "Hello? Hello? Hi, Miss Martin. Yeah, hi, it is Detective Hoyt." Jordan could hear the squawk of the girls' voice. Un-huh. Well, I do have one more question." More squawking. "Um, Miss Martin, the jewelry you wore – yeah, that jewelry – were you allowed to keep it?" Woody smiled. Briefly. "Oh. Oh, I see. I'm sorry to hear that."

Jordan was scrawling something on a piece of paper. She thrust it at Woody.

"Um, Miss Martin, I'm sorry, I know this is difficult, but can you tell me anything about the jewelry. Did it have anything – unique about it? Something personal from the designer maybe?" He listened again. "Okay. Thanks. Sorry to trouble you." He slapped his phone shut and looked at Jordan. "Well, it seems her sister borrowed the pieces the night of the – the murder. Cassie was wearing the earrings and the necklace. You didn't find…?"

The M.E. grimaced. "We found melted bits of silver and – and what looked like melted crystal. What about a charm or something?"

"She said there was one, but she can't remember what it was. It was on the necklace."

"Woody, there are four more women out there-"

"I know that, Jordan."

She ignored his interruption. "And four more necklaces."

He stopped. "And four more necklaces." Then his face fell again. "But we're still likely to have a fake name and appearance."

"But – it's a long shot – but we might be able to pull a print from one of them and then hope it's in a database. Or if you had the charm, symbol, whatever, you could show that around."

His speculative look gained strength, became more hopeful. "I'd better make some calls."

"Yeah?"

He stood up. "Yep. I've got four necklaces to get." He moved toward the door. "If I can get them tonight…?"

She smiled. "We can give it a try. I'll ask Nige to stay."

XXXXX

It was close to midnight by the time Woody made it back to the morgue. Jordan was napping and Nigel was playing away at when Woody burst into Jordan's office. She jumped up, startled awake. He gripped four plastic evidence bags. She was instantly alert. "Let's go."

Nigel looked up as they came through the door of Trace together. He rubbed his hands together. "I presume, children, that you've brought me presents."

Woody gave the Brit the bags. "Yes, Nigel, there is a Santa Clause."

"All right – pick a bag, any bag," Nigel offered.

"Start with October," Woody suggested.

"Any particular reason?"

The detective smiled. "Miss October hated her jewelry. She wore it at the shoot and tossed it into a drawer when she was done. And guess who fastened the clasp?"

Nigel dusted the necklace with powder. He examined it. "Well, the good news is there is a print. The bad news is it's very little of a print. Don't know how much I can do with it, but I'll give it a shot."

"Come on, Nige. This is our chance to get ahead of the killer," Jordan reminded him.

"Yeah, well, with as little as I have here, this is going to take some time." He looked at the two of them. "Why don't you go get some… coffee or something."

XXXXX

Shooed out of Trace by Nigel, Jordan paced in her office while Woody watched her. On what was her last pass by his place on the couch, he snaked out and arm and grasped her hand, halting her momentum forcefully, bringing her tumbling against him. "I can think of better ways to work off that energy, Jo."

"Woody," she purred. "Not here."

"Jordan!"

She dipped her head and pressed her palms against his chest. "I know, I know, but it was a good thing your phone rang earlier. The first time was – unintentional."

He nuzzled her ear. "We can pretend…."

"Nigel could walk in any minute."

"He said it would take a while."

"Probably," Jordan argued. "It could probably take a while."

"As I recall, that door does lock."

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'm serious, Woody."

"So am I," he murmured, kissing the crown of her head. "Very, very serious, Jordan. Maybe more serious than I've ever been about anything."

She raised her head and looked into his eyes. "We're not talking about sex anymore, are we?"

He shrugged. "We could be." He reached up and traced her cheekbone with his knuckles. "Or we could be talking – more."

She took a deep breath. A very deep breath. "You mean… like…." She gave a small toss of her head. "Like…?"

"Like you and me, together, Jordan. For better, for worse. Sickness and health. Richer and poorer and, I gotta warn you, on our salaries, it's not gonna be the first one…." He planted another light kiss, this one on her forehead. "Til death do us part, which I plan on being a long, long, long time away, Jo."

"Guys, guys, I've got something!" Nigel's voice carried well down the hall.

Jordan stood up, tugging Woody with her. He stopped her, his hands at her waist. "Say something, Jordan. Anything."

She turned and faced him, her eyes lifted to his. "Picket fence? Dog? Two-point-three kids?"

He smiled at her. "I've never figured out how you can have two point three kids."

She shrugged and bit her lip. "We'll have to see if we can work on that one." Her door opened. "After Nigel shows us what he found out."

"Come on, come on! I can't believe we got a hit, but we did… come on!"

As they entered Trace, Nigel waved toward the computer screen with a flourish. "May I present Amanda Holloway? Owner of our fingerprint and – unless I'm really wrong here – someone who looks a lot like all our vics – or the way all our vics ended up looking."

The M.E. and the Detective leaned in. Woody whistled. "Now we're getting somewhere."

Jordan stared at the picture. "Amanda Holloway? Why does that name sound familiar?"

"Because, luv, she was once one of Boston's up and coming models."

"Was?" chorused Jordan and Garret.

Nigel clicked one key and the screen changed. Now it showed an article detailing a horrific car crash that had left Amanda Holloway disfigured. The Brit looked up. "Well?"

"That was five years ago," Jordan pointed out.

"And no one's seen her since."

"Except our calendar girls," Woody stated.

"Yeah," Jordan agreed glumly. "Except our calendar girls."

END Part Thirteen