Woody mumbled irritably as he felt around on his nightstand for the cell phone that had aroused him from sleep. It was two thirty in the morning and sadly enough, he had only been sleeping for about two hours when his phone had begun to vibrate violently across the nightstand. He flipped the catch and answered, hardly checking the caller ID.

"This is Hoyt." He said grumpily, while rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He stifled a yawn as the voice on the other end identified themselves as a late night secretary from the station.

"Yeah? That still doesn't tell me why you woke me up so early."

There was a hesitation on the other end, and he could hear papers rustling before the secretary finally told him the reason as to why she called him.

"There was a call tonight for a home invasion and kidnapping. An officer on the scene called here and told me to get in touch with you, apparently the victim is someone you know."

That perked his interest. "Go on."

"Someone from the ME's office… I have the name somewhere…" More rustling papers. "Ah! Found it… 911 call from a cell phone at a Jordan Cavanaugh's apartment tonight at around 1:30 AM."

Woody sat up in bed, suddenly aware of the fact that he didn't know where his keys were and that he wasn't moving fast enough. "Was anyone injured?"

"Yes." Another long pause, as Woody clamored through his closet for clean clothes and a pair of socks.

"An older man was taken to the hospital for two gun shot wounds in the chest. A doctor, Garret Macey."

"What about Jordan?" He asked abruptly. He found his shoes and roughly slipped his feet into place.

"She was taken by the assailant apparently. No witness other than Doctor Macey, and the last update that I have is that he's still in surgery."

Woody didn't even say goodbye when he clicked the "end" button on his cell. For a split second he wasn't sure what to do with himself. How could this have happened? Was it simply a coincidence? Was this a random attack? Did the previous robbery that occurred at her apartment only months before have a connection? His heart hammered against his chest as he sifted through his thoughts and fears about this case. Like it or not, this was hitting far too close to home for his liking. But he was going to be damned if anyone at the station even considered him for reassignment. He'd tough this one out, somehow.

Twenty minutes later, Woody was pulling into Jordan's parking deck. He hurriedly punched the elevator buttons and seconds later he was stepping out into her hall. Some of Jordan's neighbors were speaking to officers, while others tried to steal a glance at the commotion. Bright yellow caution tape had been hung in front of the doorway. Woody slipped on his gloves as he walked under the tape. Cameras were flashing, the Crime Scene Unit was already taking evidence and samples of everything. Woody glazed over the unfamiliar faces of the investigating officers.

One officer, who had just been transferred to Woody's office about a week before his shooting looked up from taking a witness statement.

"Detective," he put down his pen, and slipped the statement into his coat pocket. "I notified the station as soon as I arrived."

"Yeah, I got the memo." Woody glanced around the familiar surroundings of Jordan's apartment. He felt a chill run down his spine. He had spent many evenings here watching TV and eating Chinese. But those nights had long since passed and it surprised him to know how many little details he had forgotten since he had been here last. Her place was usually kept neat and organized, but more from disuse than intentionally. The only time Jordan was ever here was when she was sleeping. Everything was just as he remembered it except for one thing. There was a new fern next to her kitchen window, it's leaves touched the glass with tips of green. The pot it was in was glossy black, fired clay it looked like. She always had a thing for plants. Woody was suddenly struck with the memory of his own plant that she had tried to give him after the shooting. But he had refused, and had then told her to get out of his life.

And now she was really gone. He had gotten his wish.

"What happened?" Woody asked, trying to shake off the guilt that had begun to bore onto him at the thought.

The officer led him down the hall. "There's no sign of forced entry. The intruder came in through the window and left the same way. Garret Macey claims that he returned to her apartment for his car keys, and heard noises from the bedroom. He said the lights were out ,and the curtains had been closed. The bedroom door was unlocked, and he opened the door to find Doctor Cavanaugh being held at gun point. He took two bullets to the chest and said that he heard three shots go off. We found blood spatter on the opposite wall that supports his claim."

"Blood spatter?" Woody interrupted.

"Yeah, we're not sure if it was the victims or the intruders. CSU already took a sample and sent it to trace." The officer opened the bedroom door, "Watch your step." He warned as he pointed to a large, red, moist stain on the carpet.

"Is that…"

"Where Doctor Macey was found? Yes."

"That's a lot of blood. How's he doing?"

The officer shook his head, "The last I heard he was still in the OR and had lost two pints of blood by the time paramedics got him to the hospital. Things are still up in the air as to whether he'll pull through."

Woody carefully stepped over the reddened threshold and started to survey Jordan's bedroom.

His voice was dead as he asked the next question, one he knew that had to be asked and yet dreaded to hear himself say it, "From what you found here, were there any signs of sexual assault?"

The officer shook his head again, "Nope. The room's already been checked for biological evidence, the team came up with nothing. But every piece of jewelry is gone, and her wallet's empty. Everything points to the theory that the guy was robbing the place, she caught him in the act, and for some reason he took her with him."

Woody stepped over the smashed lamp and shattered perfume bottles. He nearly tripped over a heap of laundry that lay on the floor. There were two vacant spots just above her night stand.

"Where are the pictures that used to be there?"

The officer pointed across the room, towards the window. "Right there."

Woody walked over towards the window whose curtains fluttered lazily in the early morning breeze. He prodded at the remnants of the frame and splintered glass.

"We figured he tried to take them with him and dropped them on his way out the window."

Woody shook his head, "No." He picked up one of the corners of frame and tilted it at an angle. "She fought back, threw these things clear across the room at him."

"How do you know?" The officer asked skeptically.

"Because," Woody placed the piece of frame in an evidence bag, and slipped it into is jacket. "This has blood on it, and it isn't spatter."

"It could have dripped from the gunshot wound." The officer suggested.

Woody shook his head, "No. She threw it at him on purpose; she threw it hard enough to break skin… She left this behind on purpose."

The officer still looked skeptical.

"You don't know Doctor Cavanaugh like I do," Woody hesitated, "did." He corrected himself.

"Did?"

Woody peered outside of the fire escape and looked down the staircase, trying to determine which direction the two may have fled to.

"We used to be friends."

"Used to be?"

Woody pulled himself back inside of the room and slid the window back into place. He flipped the lock for it to catch and quickly hedged the officers inquiry's into his fizzled out relationship with the missing ME. "Take an inventory of everything in here. This is my case. I want all the evidence you find here transported to the ME office where both Jordan and Doctor Macey work."

"But sir…" The officer began to argue.

"Just do it." Woody cut him off.

The officer didn't press further; instead he turned on his heel and proceeded to pass along the orders. Meanwhile, Woody pulled out his phone. He flipped through his phonebook until he found the appropriate number, a number that he hadn't called on his cell phone for a long time. He punched the "send" key. He waited.

"Medical Examiners Office, this is Nigel." The spunky brit answered on the other end.

Woody had dialed the examiner room's private line, something he used to do almost three or four times a week. But now, well, he just didn't bother.

"Nigel, it's Woody."

"Woody?" Nigel said with surprise, "Haven't heard from you in a while."

Woody could sense his indifference on the other end of the line. Detective Hoyt hadn't expected anything less.

"Nigel, there's been an incident at Jordan's apartment." More than troubled, Woody quickly explained the current findings before ending the conversation.

He wanted to collect as much evidence here as he could before sending anything to the morgue. He kept telling himself that it was his duty as a detective to persist through any case like this, to be as efficient and determined. The truth was, something else was driving him to solve this case.

It was six AM when he finally left her apartment. He loaded his own car with the evidence, and drove everything to the ME office himself. Bug and Sydney were waiting for him at the door. Lily was at the hospital with Garret and Nigel was upstairs, preparing the lab and subbing for doctor Macey.

Wordlessly, the evidence was spread out onto the lab table. Nigel was already checking for similar home invasions that had taken place in the last few months, not only in the city- but in the entire state. As soon as the last of the photographs of Jordan's apartment had been laid on the table, Bug entered the lab with fresh coffee for everyone. He locked the door, and for the next several hours no one left the room for any reason.

Jordan's co-workers hadn't been on the best terms with Woody since the shooting. But it had more to do with the fact that something between he and Jordan had been lost on that night in the hospital. Feelings were hurt and emotions had been running high. But that didn't change the fact that for the following month Jordan had become lost in her work ,and unable to get past whatever was said between she and the detective. Her friends had known something was up, and had kept their loyalties with her.

All of that had changed the second that Woody had made that phone call to the ME office.

Now they worked as a team, like they had before the shooting. They worked relentlessly and without rest for hours. Everything was just at it had once been months before, for the exception that Jordan wasn't on the case. In fact, as Woody realized after the sixth time of reviewing the crime scene photos and statements, this was the first serious case he had worked on without her since the day they had first met. As this thought drifted over him like a shroud of sticky cobweb, both haunting and unable to be brushed away easily, Sydney finally brought back the blood spatter samples.

"Trace just sent these over." He dropped his findings onto the table, adding it to the collection of puzzle pieces they were frantically trying to stick together.

"What did you find?" Bug asked, setting aside another picture of the bloodstained carpet.

"It's confirmed, it's Jordan's blood. From the looks of it, this was a "through and through" shot from close range."

"Consistent with doctor Macey's story." Woody nodded as he flipped through the pictures to find the one of the spatter. "What about the picture frame?"

"All I can tell you is that he's a male and he's white." Sydney handed over the file to Nigel. "Not enough blood to do a full tox screen to check for medications or drugs. I can tell you that this guy didn't pop up in the system for anything."

"That just means that he doesn't have a wrap sheet in Boston." Woody countered.

"I'll check out of state databases. It's going to take a few hours but may be we'll get lucky early on." Nigel said as he placed what was left of the sample into the scanner.

"I guess now, all we can do is wait." Bug said, defeated.

Woody shook his head, "No, I'm going back to that apartment. The team missed something."

"What do you mean?"

"No bullet was found at the scene. If this was a through and through, the bullet is still in that apartment somewhere." Woody downed the rest of his coffee, the fourth for that morning, and suppressed a grimace as his back screamed in protest to this sudden movement. He had forgotten his painkillers at his apartment, and in a couple more hours he knew he'd be paying for it.

"I'll come with you." Bug said, already taking off his lab coat and finding his jacket on the rack.

"No, stay here…" Woody protested.

"It wasn't a request." Bug pushed past Woody, unlocked the door, and made his way to the elevator.

Outside of town, in a country house that sat in the center of a field of uncut grass and next to a broken down hay barn, Jordan Cavanaugh was just realizing the severity of her situation.