Chapter Six

Sometimes Things Change

Jordan swallowed hard and wiped the sweat from her face with the back of her hand. Summer in Boston could be difficult enough, but coupled with a multi-car crash on the turnpike and you had total chaos, mayhem, death…and gut-wrenching humidity. There were currently at least seven victims that she and Nigel knew of. But the number was apt to rise as the Boston PD peeled the metal sheets of the wreckage away…like so many layers on an onion. And like an onion, the whole mess was apt to smell and bring tears to one's eyes.

"Love, we have a van full," Nigel said to her, taking her by the arm to lead her away to the SUV she had driven to the scene. "What's say you follow it back to the morgue and begin? I'll be there in a little while."

"Hmmm? What?" Jordan asked absent-mindedly, tucking in the sheet a little closer around one of the youngest victims. A little girl. Probably no older than four or five. Jordan felt the bile rise in her throat.

"Jordan, did you just hear a word I just said?" Nigel asked, looking at her closely. "Are you okay, love? Because if you're not, I can always call in Bug…"

Jordan shook her head. "No. No, don't do that. Bug's been busting his ass for a while now and deserves a few days off. I'm fine…just….a bad night, you know?"

Nigel nodded, still not convinced. Jordan had gone days without sleep before…and he had never seen her this rattled. He wondered if it could have anything to do with a late night call from the past…that damn tabloid reporter or Vegas Boy.

Or could it be the fact that she was still in love with Woody and missed him more than she let on? Jordan seldom mentioned the cases she and Woody worked when he was a detective. She never said a word about how much she missed him. Not even to Nigel…one of her best friends.

But Nigel knew. He would catch her in off moments, looking out the window at the Nineteenth Precinct with a far away look in her eyes. He imagined she was wondering what Woody was doing at the Rose and why he was doing it. And did the former detective know he was breaking her heart. Running his hand down her arm, he helped her in the SUV. "Go back and begin trace. I'll be in as soon as I can. Meanwhile, do not work past five o'clock, do you hear me? Go home and get some rest. I'll cover for you with Macy."

Jordan nodded, too exhausted to argue. She was tired. Last night had drained her physically and emotionally…and she imagined the nights ahead would be no different. Reluctantly she put the truck in drive and made her way back to the morgue on auto-pilot, letting her mind wander as she drove the familiar streets of Boston.

Not a word. She hadn't heard a word from Woody since that night and it had been three months since he had climbed into her bedroom window like some ill-fated scene from Romeo and Juliet. And like the star-crossed lovers, Jordan had come to realize more and more that their future had been doomed from the beginning. First both of them danced around each other…then Woody danced closer and she pulled away. Then she danced closer and he pushed her away.

And then the dance was over. He was gone. Sucked into a world she could not imagine him ever being a part of…and a world that she could in no way belong to, no matter how much she loved him. If he was a MILT, she couldn't have a relationship with him. He had made that clear…not that she needed him to explain why. If she thought her relationship with JD had been filled with professional conflicts, she didn't want to imagine what a ME's relationship with a mobster would be like. Complicated would be the most minor of the descriptions.

That's what she told herself…repeatedly. Through the long, cold, lonely nights when she would wake up and swear she could still smell him on the sheets that she had washed countless times since that night. She kept telling herself she was better off without him…even in the dim reckonings that occurred at that place just between asleep and awake when she would swear that she could see his shadow on her wall and feel his lips against her skin one more time. At least they both had one night of sweet memories to carry with them the rest of their lives. At least they both finally knew what it was like to make love with each other. Explosive. There simply was no other word to describe it.

That's what she kept telling herself. One night was all she needed. It was all he needed. And until she either quit her job as a ME or he left the mob, it was all they could have.

But it wasn't enough. She had to see him again. It wasn't a want…it was a need. A real need. She felt it to her bones. And tonight…just as soon as five o'clock rolled around, she was taking Nigel's advice and leaving work. But she wouldn't go home.

She was going to the Rose.

Woody absent-mindedly laughed at the joke that Little Johnny just told him. They both were behind the bar, making sure it was stocked for the evening. Weekends had always been the Rose's busiest time, but lately clientele had built during the week, too. Which was what Johnny had wanted. The more the Rose looked like a legitimate bar, the less trouble he may have with the police because the place looked like a typical bar.

That was one of the reasons Woody knew Little Johnny hired him. Woodrow Wilson, ex-boy scout from Wisconsin, had no mob connections…unless someone dug really deep and found out Cal owed the Albanian mob money. Woody, by all appearances was a clean-cut, all-American young man who was just out to get ahead – make good – the all-American way, right?

So now the bar looked legit, even if mob activity still swarmed around it. Woody had won Johnny's confidence by being dependable, loyal, and a hard worker. In return, Woody had found out more about the underground world of the Boston Irish family than he ever dreamed of knowing.

He had been so successful that Walcott and Freeman were begging him to stay on another three to four months to tie up as many loose ends as he could. He had reluctantly agreed…not because he necessarily enjoyed this assignment anymore than he did in the beginning, but simply because there was nothing else for him to do. He was still planning on going back to Kewuanne…he was just in less of a rush to do so. Time was kind of standing still for him right now at the Rose. He worked from late afternoon until nearly three in the morning, went back to his apartment, slept until noon the next day, and then did it all over again. Occasionally Johnny would ask him to attend a "meeting" with him, which Woody willingly did. It just meant more information for Walcott and Freeman. More ammunition to put these guys away.

It was going well…great, even. Until he heard the bell jangle over the door. Someone had come into the bar a full two hours before they officially opened for business. "We're not open, yet," Woody said, before turning around to see who it was.

"I don't want a drink." Her voice came out cool and calm…not sounding at all like the breathless pleas she had uttered to him three months ago. The same pleadings that haunted his dreams at night. It couldn't be. Not after he had asked her not to come back…and gave her valid reasons not to…reasons even Jordan Cavanaugh could understand.

But it was her. Standing in the middle of the bar, her hands tucked in the back pockets of her jeans, looking as hot and sexy as ever. Idly he wondered if she would still be as hot and slick around his…he shook his head. "Jordan. What are you doing here?"

He caught her quick glance at Little Johnny. "I need to talk to you."

"Sure…can I get you something to drink?" Buy time and get her out in one piece… "This is a surprise…I haven't heard from you in …months."

"Alone."

"What?"

"You heard me. I need to talk to you alone." This time her pointed glance made its way directly over to Johnny.

"No problem. There's a little work I need to see to in the kitchen. I'll be back there if you need me, Hoyt. Nice seeing you again, Dr. Cavanaugh," Little Johnny said as he made his way to the rear of the building.

Woody waited until he knew the mobster was out of ear shot. "I thought I told you never to come back here, Jordan." He kept his voice cold and professional.

"I know what you told me, but sometimes things change."

"That night…" he struggled to keep his voice soft, even, and menacing, "that night was just that…one night. Nothing more, nothing less. I know what you said, but it doesn't change a thing. Not one thing. So the best thing you can do is get out of here."

"Woody….look….I just needed to see you…"

"You've seen me. I'm fine. Now please go." He turned his back to her…willing himself not to turn and look at her one more time as she left the bar. If he did, he'd run after her and beg her to come stay. He knew he would.

But Jordan didn't leave. Instead she walked quietly walked up to the bar where he was standing, his back still to her.

"Woody…" her voice now held that pleading note that had been his downfall at her apartment that night. She had to leave. Now. Woody was sure that somewhere Johnny was watching and the mobster had to be convinced that Jordan now held no place in his life.

"Go Jordan. Get the fuck out of my bar and the fuck out of my life. Do you hear me? Now. Get out."

He heard her suck in a deep breath at this tone of voice. It was a cold as he had ever been with her. He curled his hands into a fist and prayed she would leave. A second later, he heard the click of her boot heels on the floor and the bell over the bar jangle again.

She was gone.

Woody breathed a sigh of relief and headed out the back door to make sure the alcohol deliveries had come in for that night. I can't wait until this is over and I can explain myself to her… he thought as he opened the back door and blinked against the bright sunlight of a late Boston afternoon.

From his place behind the bar, Little Johnny had watched the whole exchange between Jordan and Woody. She's really got the hots for him, he thought. Then the mobster even winced at the harshness of Woody's words to her. I'm lucky to have Patty, he thought. But Patty was an old-fashioned Irish girl. She had kept one blind eye to her husband's illegal dealings and as long as Little Johnny was explicitly faithful to her, she would ask no questions.

Johnny had no doubt that this ME would question everything Woody did right now. Woody was wise in putting the young woman in her place, even though it must have hurt like hell. Quietly the big man walked from the back room to the bar where Jordan had stood. She had left something on the counter.

Curious, Johnny walked over and picked it up, examining it closely. She obviously had left it for Hoyt to find. But this information could come in handy in controlling Hoyt in the future, should the need arise.

The mobster pocketed the positive pregnancy test and ambled over to his regular table at the bar.