Chapter Five

It All Makes Sense

Woody stood outside her big, red apartment door a full two minutes before he finally raised his hand to knock. For the life of him, he still couldn't tell himself exactly why he was here. Was it because, as the waitress at Mike's had said, the temperatures were going to dip into the freezing range tomorrow and he hated the thought of her hands being raw and red from the cold?

Or was it because, deep down inside, he was really looking for any excuse to see her again? As much as he hated to admit it, the dinner at Mike's had whetted his appetite to see her without a dead body between them. Well, this was a new way to start the New Year's. Holding his breath and the hope in his heart, he raised his hand to knock….

Jordan had rushed home after the impromptu dinner with Woody….she had to get out of that diner before she did or said anything to let him know that she was his benefactor…that she had bought the robot. For if Woody knew that, she feared the joy he had over the gift would be gone. I simply can't ever let him know…she thought as she stood under a hot shower, hoping the spray would ease her tension and make her relaxed enough to sleep without a pair of blue eyes haunting her dreams after she stayed awake along enough to at least see in the New Year.

She hadn't lied to him on her Christmas card. She did miss him. More than she even knew until tonight when they were sitting across from each other talking about anything but work. She sighed as she began to comb out the snarls in her wet hair. She thought that time might ease the ache in her heart…time and two other men – Danny McCoy and JD Pollack. But neither did. Danny and JD just proved that Woody had taken her heart and left a void that only he could fill. And all time had proved to her was that reconnecting with her Farm Boy wasn't going to happen. He had moved on.

But tonight…tonight he seemed different. At least by the end of their conversation. She figured that he would be repulsed by her impulsive kiss on his cheek, but he didn't appear to be…at least as far as she could tell. To be honest, she was afraid to turn back around and look. That had been nearly an hour ago and she could still feel the texture of his beard beneath her lips and the taste of his skin on her tongue. Mentally, she shook herself. Such thought were better left unthought. It just made her life more difficult and would make the next time she had to work with him even more heartbreaking.

Satisfied with letting her hair dry by itself so it would curl around her shoulders, Jordan reached for her flannel duckie pajamas. It was cold and those would keep her warm through the long, frigid Boston night….but the woman inside her called out for something more…Discarding the pink bubbles and yellow ducks, she reached for a blue nightie…something she had bought at Victoria's Secret right before JD had left…but had never had a chance to wear it for the reporter. She might be alone, but there was no reason she had to feel like a reject at a Sadie Hawkins Dance. At least the lingerie would make her feel marginally desirable, even if she had no earthly idea who would want her now.

Wrapping the matching robe around her, she headed for the kitchen. If she was lucky, she'd find a cold long-neck in the 'fridge and she and whoever was filling in for Dick Clark would ring in the New Year together…but a knock at her door interrupted her mission. Who on earth … at this hour…it's gotta be Nigel… well, at least I'm safe in the lingerie…She opened the door.

"Woody…"

"Ummm….." his darted everywhere but on her. He sort of imagined Jordan might be ready for bed, but anytime he had seen her like that, she had sported a tank top and girl boxers…only marginally modest at times. But this….swallowing hard and praying his voice wouldn't crack like a prepubescent male, he went on. "You…you….left your gloves at Mike's. The waitress found them. It's supposed to be really cold tomorrow…." He handed the gloves to her.

"You came all the way over here to give me my gloves? Thanks…so much. They're my only pair…"

So much for my 'fifteen-coats-means-fifteen-pairs-of-gloves theory'. Evidently Jordan's fetish for outerwear doesn't include gloves or mittens… "You're…you're welcome." He said, finally meeting her eyes and trying to make his stay there. "Anyway…..well…good…good night, Jordan." He felt about as awkward as he did the night they worked on the Sickboy 23 case together.

"Wait…Woody…don't go. No one should be by themselves when the New Year comes in. Stay….it's only about an hour or so away…I have a case of long-necks in the 'fridge…"

"I really shouldn't…"

She tried to keep the hurt look out of her eyes. She really did. She tried to blink it away before he saw it. "I'd love to have you stay, but I understand…."

Oh fuck…I'm fucked…between her eyes and that outfit… "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"No…" The big, red door swung open and the next thing Woody knew he was back inside her apartment. "I'll get the beer," she called out over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen. "Make yourself at home…"

Woody did, going into her small living area, trying to casually glance over where the bloody carnage had littered her bed a few weeks earlier. She had changed her coverlet...and rearranged several items since the Aussie had headed out. As a matter of fact, the pristine arrangement of her bed made Woody believe Jordan couldn't bring herself to sleep in it and had probably been bunking on the couch. Whether this was because of the shooting or because she now slept alone, Woody wasn't sure.

But there was something else wrong…something he couldn't put his finger on….until he sat down on the couch and looked across the room….

Her original Louis Jefferies was gone. Woody had no love lost for the strange introvert that seemed to semi-worship Jordan for the changes she brought in the artist's life, but he knew Jordan loved that painting. So why… "Hey Jordan….where's the Jefferies print?" he asked.

Oh shit. God, I can't be busted right now. He'd never accept the Roby and would hate me for the rest of my life.

"It didn't get stolen did it? I mean there was that string of burglaries near here a few months ago…" Woody knitted his brows together. That was before the psycho broke into her apartment and wanted Jordan to kill her. He was at the crime scene…the painting was here then, wasn't it? He couldn't remember.

Buy time, buy time…Jordan frantically thought to herself. She grabbed the TV remote off the kitchen island and punched a button. "Ah…there it is….Times Square…look at all those people Woody…it's nearly midnight…"

"Should old acquaintance be forgot…" the sound of thousands semi-drunk singing people drew Woody's attention to the television, the Jefferies print momentarily forgotten as Jordan handed him a beer and sat down, her perfume wreathing around him, snagging him, and reeling him in.

"How much time do we have, Jordan?" he suddenly asked looking into the eyes of the woman who sat beside him on the couch. To some it may have been a rhetorical question. How long was it until New Year's?

To Woody, it was much more. And from the look in Jordan's eyes, he knew that she was aware of exactly what he meant. How much time do we have before we really do call this whole dance off…that it is truly too late….that the best we can hope for is only friendship?

And she felt it, too. It echoed in her face. "Just a few…seconds."

"Ten, nine, eight, seven…" the announcer droned.

"Six, five, four…" Woody picked up the count and gently cupped her face with his hands. "Three, two…one…" He lightly brushed his lips to hers. "Happy New Year's, Jordan."

Her lips had been softer than he ever remembered. Soft…tentative….but she didn't push him away. It had been all he could do to stop it at a New Year's kiss. As kisses go, it was chaste. A brush and then a brief cling to her lips.

It had rocked his world. He fought the demons that urged him to push it a little further…to stay a little longer. Instead, he had whispered good night and left her tiny apartment to go to his lonely studio one. He let himself into his dark home, and made his way to his bedroom without flipping on the lights. It wasn't until he had stripped off his shirt and was getting ready to drop his pants and crawl into bed that the roby caught his eye…He had put it on the nightstand with her Christmas card. He wasn't sure why he connected the two together…maybe it was because he received both the same day. Maybe because it did prove to him that at least two people out there in the cold world still cared about him – even if he had no idea who one of them was.

He picked the little guy up with gentle hands. Woody had promised himself that he would put the antique back into its box and display it properly, but somehow looking at it and her card helped him sleep without dreaming…of course after tonight, even though as brief as that kiss was, he had a feeling his dreams would return to what they were a year or more ago….him…her…her…

Her Louis Jefferies print. She never did tell him what happened to it. Carefully setting the robot back down on his nightstand, Woody turned out the light and lay back in the bed with his hands behind his head. He would check with robbery tomorrow and see if it had been reported missing. And if it had been found. Sometimes it took those guys a while to return stolen goods to the rightful owners.

Woody frowned at the report. The day after New Year's he had gone back into the precinct and asked robbery if Jordan had reported a Lewis Jefferies print stolen from her Pearle Street apartment. The answer had been negative. Jordan hadn't reported anything stolen other than her mother's locket from that robbery nearly two years prior.

It didn't make a whole lot of sense. Woody had them fax over to him a report of all the robberies in the past six months that took place within three blocks of her apartment. The list wasn't long and her name wasn't on it.

For some reason, that bothered him. Like most good detectives, once something had become a burr under their saddle, it was hard for them to let the hunch go unless it could be disproved.

And for Woody, his burr was that painting and Jordan's avoidance of the issue. She loved that painting…why wasn't it hanging in its usual spot? And it wasn't a small one, either. Unlike the numbered print she had, Louis had gifted her with a huge painting…wallpaper sized…she couldn't have had it anywhere else in her apartment or he would have seen it. Would Louis have borrowed it back for a gallery showing?

Woody tried to push the thoughts about the painting to the back of his mind as his post-New Year's assignments piled their way onto his desk. Three more homicides…but the painting refused to fade away. Finally, grabbing his coat, he took lunch…and went to find the only person that would really know what happened to that painting besides Jordan.

Nigel.

And if Woody remembered correctly, Nigel had been looking up recent sales of Louis Jefferies paintings on the internet when Woody had harassed him about helping him find out who sent him the roby.

He found the criminalist with his feet propped up on the desk, his head buried in a set of tox reports. "Nigel…"

The tall man held out his hand. "Just put the form here and I'll get to it as soon I can, Woody." He never took his eyes off the reports in front of him.

"It's not that…I need your help on something….personal, Nige."

The tone in Woody's voice perked Nigel's interest. "Perrrrsssssoooonnnnalllll?" He dragged out the syllables. "Just how pppppperrrrrssssoooonnallll do you want to get, Woodrow? I didn't know you swung both ways…."

Woody felt the heat rise to his ears. "Not like that…no…not me…Not that there's anything wrong…" The look in Nigel's eyes made him uncomfortable to the point he was nearly stuttering again. Clearing his throat, Woody regained control. "I noticed the other day…Christmas Day….when I was in here trying to get you to help me find who sent me the Roby that you were looking up Louis Jefferies sales…did you have any luck?"

Nigel quirked an eyebrow at him. "Why?"

"Because…because…" Sweat began to pop out on Woody's brow when he realized that Jordan may not appreciate his concern over the sale of her personal property. "Because I was over at Jordan's the other night and noticed that her Jefferies painting was gone…"

"I noticed that when I was over there at Christmas…"

"So….."

"Yes." Nigel suddenly dropped his feet to the floor and sat up. "Yes….Jordan did sell the painting…but I can't find out who bought it and I don't know why she sold it."

"That doesn't make sense…."

"She told me she was redecorating and the painting no longer belonged in her life…."

"Still….she loved that painting…."

"I know….the whole thing strikes me as funny…"

Woody nodded. "Thanks…I'm guess I'm just glad to know it's not stolen."

"Not a problem, Woodrow. I'm glad to help you with pppppperrrrssssooonnnalllll things anytime…"

So now I have two mysteries on my hands…. Woody thought as he climbed back into bed that night. He was still trying to figure out who had sent him the Roby…he needed to thank that person and make sure it was a square deal. If it had hurt that person too much financially, he would return the robot and make sure the gallery owner refunded the money in full.

He had called Mr. Sinclair that day…assuming that he was now open after the holidays. To Woody's surprise, Mr. Sinclair's daughter, Eva answered the phone. She said her dad had fallen on a patch of ice outside of his house the day after Christmas and was now laid up in the hospital with a broken hip. She was running the store and trying to make heads and tails out of orders, finance agreements, and inventory, bemoaning the fact her father had never seen the need to go computerized with any of it. She had no idea who paid for or had the antique robot sent to Woody. But when and if she could find out, she'd let him know.

Woody turned and looked at the items on the nightstand. If he had to name his two most treasured items it the world, it would be the dented little tin man and the Christmas card from Jordan. He ran a light hand over the robot and then touched the card from her.

And suddenly it all made sense.

Jordan had sold her painting to buy him the robot.