Good news: here's the next chapter! Yea! Bad news: it's the last of my pre-written chapters, so now I'm writing as I post, and so it'll take a little longer. There's only a couple more chapters to go. Thanks to all who read and review!

Chapter 7: Jordan

For once, Jordan, Nigel and Garret had all worked the same shift, the day shift. A slow day meant that they were able to go out for lunch together. Not that they purposely excluded their other friends at the morgue, but someone did have to stay on duty. And sometimes it was nice to be among their small circle of three. The only ones who knew Jordan's past problems and current trials. They could speak freely.

Today they were eating at Laszlo's, a fast-serve diner that worked well for both downtown workers who only had 30 minutes for lunch and tourists who had time to kick back for a leisurely meal. Tables for the latter ran around the side and to the back of the building, while a counter, a few booths and a handful of outdoor tables were usually occupied by the former. Being that it was now late September, and a cold front was sweeping across the city, they had decided to sit at one of the booths in front. There, the kitchen and door traffic meant that the temperature would drastically rise and fall frequently. The sound of hurried patrons and waitresses would occasionally drown out the sound from the two televisions, which usually alternated between news and sports, that were fixed to the ceiling above the counter.

There was nothing special about today, at least nothing other than the blue plate variety here at the diner. For once, the morgue was rather quiet. Jordan had actually managed to get most of her lingering paperwork done. Compared to three months ago, she'd changed a lot of things about herself, most notably how she interacted with other people. For the first few weeks after she joined Alcoholics Anonymous, Jordan analyzed every move she made, every interaction. It didn't take long to notice that others were noticing a change in her behavior. Eventually she had eased up, though she was still careful to take herself away from a situation whenever she felt herself getting hot headed. Yes, Jordan had been shown a mirror. Not liking what she saw, she had made a resolution to better herself. But she never could get in the habit of finishing all her paperwork. So today, like most days now, she had only gotten through about 75 to 80 percent of it.

Lunch had started with Nigel telling them about a new model of portable spectrometer – which was now smaller about the size of a couple of PDAs. When their meal was delivered, he was still talking about it.

"I can't wait to get my hands on one of those little beauties. I've heard tell that they need only a half dozen molecules of any given substance to identify it. And! And it can identify over a million and a half different substances. And if for any reason it can't identify something, it will store the data and you can link it to a larger database!"

"All of which won't do us a bit of good," Garrett pointed out.

"What are you talking about?" Nigel queried around a mouthful of tuna sandwich.

"I read the same article, Nigel. The whole thing is still in the experimental stage. They're still in the process of testing it in the field."

Nigel swallowed. "What are you talking about?" he repeated, his British accent more pronounced by his indignation.

Garret rolled his eyes, and Jordan popped a French fry in her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter. Finally, she couldn't hold it in any longer. Barely containing her mirth, she asked, "Nigel, did you read the whole article?"

"What are you talking about? Of course I read the bloody article!"

"But the whole thing… even those pesky little side bars and pop up detail sections…"

Nigel was silent for a moment. A sheepish expression crossed his face. "Fine. I'll admit… I don't quite read every word. There, you satisfied!" He grumbled, sticking his tongue out at her before taking another bite of his sandwich.

Jordan laughed harder. "Every time, Nigel! Every time! Whatever kick you're on, there's always something that you forgot. Isn't that right, Garret? …Garret?"

Jordan looked up at Garret, whose mind clearly wasn't on the inane conversation anymore. His eyes were fixed on one of the television sets. Both she and Nigel, who by now had noticed Garret's silence, followed his gaze.

A momentary lull in customers allowed all of them to hear what the newscaster was saying as shaky news footage from a busy crime scene popped up on the screen, the word LIVE in big letters in one corner.

"WBCA has just learned that a little over a half hour ago, a multi-jurisdictional task force made a major bust here at one of Boston's less frequented docking ports. While there have been no official statements made by any law enforcement agencies, witnesses and WBCA cameras have seen officials from the FBI, Boston PD, the New York Police Department and even one person wearing a Department of Homeland Security Jacket. We also have footage of several ambulances on scene, one of them speeding off, presumably to a local hospital. Our reporters have been told that a press conference will be held approximately 45 minutes from now. WBCA will bring you more on this story at that time."

Nigel whipped his head back around. "Bloody hell. I saw Jacobs in that mess."

Garret said nothing. He pulled out his wallet and tossed a couple bills on the table. Almost simultaneously, his pager went off. Three seconds later, Nigel's did as well. Nigel checked his, and then said. "Shit. It was Jacobs."

Jordan looked from one man to the other. "Okay," she said slowly. "Does either one of you want to tell me what's going on?"

Garret looked her straight in the eye. "Not here. I'll tell you when we get in the car."

Nigel immediately looked over at Garret, and Jordan caught the "Are you sure?" look that he transmitted to him. She also caught Garret's response, a silent look that said "I know what I'm doing, just do what I say."

She didn't say anything, though, as she followed the two men to Nigel's SUV.

Part 2:

Almost as soon as Nigel pulled out of the parking garage, Jordan, from her vantage point in the back seat, saw him quickly glance over at Garret and ask, "Do you think he's going to be there?"

Garret sighed and, still looking straight ahead, said in a deadpan voice, "I don't know, Nigel. He could still be in New York. Hell, he could be in Timbuktu for all we know."

Jordan leaned forward. "Who? Are you guys gonna start talking here, or am I going to have to guess? Who do you think is going to be there?"

There was a moments silence before Garret said simply, "Woody."

She blinked and then raised an eyebrow. Her mind raced with a million questions, none of them coalescing. Finally, she just said. "I think I need you guys to start at the beginning."

Garret straightened his coat, even though there had been no wind or anything to dislodge it. "You remember those floaters we were pulling out of the Atlantic and the Charles a few months ago?"

"No."

"No? Oh, sorry. That was about the time you were… well, erhm…"

"Drinking like the proverbial fish," Nigel finished for him.

Garret glared, though Nigel missed it since he was looking left for oncoming traffic. "Thanks Nigel."

"You're welcome."

Garret rolled his eyes. "Anyway, about three months ago, the Boston PD kept fishing these bodies out of the water. Five bodies in the course of two months. That's a little harsh, even for Boston. Nigel and I – strangely enough – ended up doing the trace and autopsies on all five. Apparently, between what we gave them and what they picked up from witnesses and such, the cops came up with a few suspects, all of which were linked to the Torretti mob.

"The Italian guys? I thought they were strictly New York?"

Garret shrugged as they pulled into the parking garage. "Apparently, they decided to move in on Boston. Boston PD wanted to put someone undercover, but most of their leads were local bad boys; if anybody from the vice squad went in, they'd be recognized in less than two seconds, and all we'd get out of it would be more bodies.

By now, Jordan had connected the dots. "So… so Woody went in undercover? That's where he's been these last three months?"

Garret didn't answer. The three of them were walking now walking to the elevator; obviously, Garret didn't want to discuss the subject in public. She waited for his answer as they went up, and then walked through the morgue to his office. Once the door had been closed and Nigel had closed the blinds, he answered her question."

"Yeah. He's been undercover for the last three months. As far as I know, he doesn't even have an aunt in Wisconsin."

She tried to figure it out. "But why Woody? He's had enough high profile cases that you'd think he'd be recognized?"

Nigel had gone around the couch, now standing beside Garret. "Apparently not, love. Believe it or not, he's still the newest guy in the homicide department."

"Wait, Capra and Santana are both newer than he is."

"I said guy, dear. Not person. There's no way the mob would accept a female into their confidence. There was also the fact that since Woody transferred straight to homicide from Wisconsin, he was never a beat cop or on the vice squad here."

She picked up his meaning. "So, none of the mob's local stooges would recognize him. He never would have arrested them for the usual things those guys get arrested for: loitering, petty theft, assault."

"Exactly. And from what I've been told, he looks completely different once he's out of those suits he always wears. A little grunge clothing, a goatee, a shaved head and Woodrow's like a whole new person."

"But how come no one told me? It's been three months?" Her voice was starting to take on the familiar firm tone. "Don't you think I'd be a little bit worried that he hadn't come back from Wisconsin?"

Nigel shook a finger in the air. "I had noticed that, yeah."

Jordan glared at him. "How come you two know about all this, but no one else does? Bug would never be able to keep something like that from me. Hell, I'm surprised you've managed to, Nigel. And what all that in the diner about?" Jordan didn't like being in the dark about things. So now, she was demanding answers.

Nigel shuffled his feet. "Yeah, sorry about the whole not telling you thing. But you'd be amazed at what threats from Ms. Walcott can do for one's secret keeping ability."

"Walcott's in on this?"

They both nodded. Garret explained, "Renee, Captain Fischer and Lt. Jacobs – the officer in charge of the Boston end of things – figured out pretty quick that it would be best if they kept Nigel and me in the loop about this, on the condition that we keep it just between us." He shrugged. "Apparently they've figured out that if they don't talk to us, we'll keep on digging and screw up their work. Plus, nobody wanted Woody's position compromised. So they had the two of us working the some of the evidence from the case, under strict orders that it be kept classified."

Jordan closed her eyes for a moment and then sat down on the couch. "So Woody's been in Boston this whole time?"

Garret shook his head. "No. From what I've picked up, he's been back and forth between here and New York, and he's only checked in a handful of times. Renee did tell us that they were hoping to make the arrests in a couple weeks, after some big meeting between the mob heads. But I don't think it wasn't supposed to be this soon."

"And you guys were paged because…?"

Nigel glanced over at Garret before addressing her. "There's bound to be mounds of evidence to process; Boston's CSU's always been understaffed. That's why they've been using the two of us to process evidence. And now, now that the media's got hold of the story, they'll be using everyone they can to get a fast answer. And… you saw the newscast. There was at least one tarp out… there were casualties."

Jordan didn't say anything. She just stared at the two men as everything sank in and as comprehension dawned and fear ascended.

And at that exact moment, her cell phone, clipped to her belt like usual, rang.