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.

"Hello, Jordan," my father greets me in those familiar, broad Boston vowels, as if he'd only been gone to the grocery store and not from my life without a trace for over a year.

"Dad," I manage, my breath hitching in my throat at the end. I look at Danny. "You found him."

Danny nods. "And since it seemed important to you, I thought I'd make sure he got where he was going."

"Seems Mr. McCoy here didn't quite trust me either." Max's voice is light enough, but the slight reproach of the words is evident to Jordan and Danny.

I open my mouth to reply and find the acid comment that had been in my throat has dissolved. All I can do is shake my head.

"You still want to tell me you're okay, Jordan?" Danny keeps one hand under my elbow.

Max looks at the younger man. "She'll be fine."

McCoy looks at me. I return his questioning gaze with a small nod. "I – I need to talk to my dad. Alone." I put a hand on his arm, partly from gratitude, partly from the comfort it affords me and partly from the terror at facing the inescapable truth that Danny knows nothing about, but against which his very presence serves as protection.

His face is grim, his jaw set. "All right. Ed needs me back in Vegas anyway." He opens my office door. "But, Jordan, call if you need anything."

I nod and thank him in a strained voice.

After he shuts the door, I make my way to my desk and sit down behind it. I'm at sea, swimming in water so deep it may not have a bottom, so cold I'm numb and may never be warm again.

"Seems like a nice young man."

I nod. "He's a – a friend."

"Who wouldn't mind being more?" My father's observation is made with a sigh of familiarity.

I shake my head.

Max arches an eyebrow. Oh, really?

I blush faintly. "Well, wouldn't mind. But he knows it's not going to happen."

"Why not?"

I snort. "He lives in Vegas, Dad. I live in Boston. We like – Why are we talking about my love life?"

"So, you have one?"

I glare at Max. After a tense moment, he drops his gaze. "What happened, Dad?"

"When?"

I speak through clenched teeth. "You know when."

Max stands up. "I've told you, Jordan. No more questions about that. I don't want to discuss it again."

I stand, too. My voice lashes him with pain and anger. "I know, Dad. I know what happened. What I did."

"Then why'd you ask me?"

I gape at him in disbelief as the question, so seemingly casual, hits me like a punch to the solar plexus.

"You have all the answers, don't you, Jordan? Everything you wanted to know all these years?"

I can't speak; I can barely breathe.

"I never wanted you to know. And now you know why."

I find my voice. "And so what? You don't care? I kept searching and trying to find the truth and somehow I've gotten what I deserved?"

Max closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Don't be ridiculous, Jordan. Of course, I care."

"Then what, Dad? Now I know what happened and – and what? It's supposed to – to – to – I don't even know." I feel the tears start.

His expression is pained. "I don't know either," he tells me at last. "I didn't know what to do, Jordan. I did what seemed best at the time."

"Keeping it a secret from me?" I'm screeching at him, the thin thread of self control sliding through my grasp like a kite string on a windy day.

"Are you better off knowing now?"

I slump back into my chair. I croak out a difficult, "No."

The look in his eyes is eloquent without words. I think, for a moment, of all the accusations I flung at him over the years, and I know he didn't deserve them. He was trying to protect me. From myself. Always from myself. I put my head in my hands and let the sobs come. I hear the click of the lock on my door and then my father – my dad, the man I've loved more than anyone else in the world and the one I've mistrusted so deeply for most of my life – holds me, his hands stroking my hair and my back. When the tears begin to taper off, he hands me a handkerchief and tells me to dry my eyes and blow my nose. I feel like a child again. Almost.

Finally, I look at him. "Why did I do it?"

"I don't know, honey. I never knew."

I shudder. "You must have hated me."

"What?" His eyes search mine. "No, Jordan. I could never hate you."

"I took her away from you." I snort derisively. "And then I spent my adult life badgering you about all of it. No wonder you left Boston."

He hugs me tightly. "Jordan, listen to me when I tell you this: I never hated you. And I left Boston because I was afraid I'd end up telling you. I had a pretty good idea what it would do to you."

"My whole life – I've cost you everything."

He hushes me. "No, honey. No, you haven't. Don't think that way."

"Dad-"

"Jordan, don't do this. Don't say these things. Don't even think them. I've done the things I did because I love you. I love you more than anyone in this world. You're my daughter." He pushes a strand of hair out of my face.

"But-"

"No! Whatever you're going to say, don't."

We sit quietly for a few minutes, his arm around me. After a while, I rest my head on his shoulder. "I love you, Daddy."

"Daddy?" He looks at me, his expression one of mock suspicion. "I haven't heard that in a long time."

I give him a watery smile. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Come on, kid. Let's get out of here." He looks around. "I never told you this, but this place gives me the creeps."

I clock out early and spend the rest of the day with my father. We go for a walk on the beach. He asks me if I remember how I used to get knocked down by the waves when I was little. I laugh, the first real laughter I've managed in a long time. I admit that I never listened to him. He sighs and tells me I always had to do things my own way. All the heavier implications of that phrase remain unsaid.

He asks about my cases and I feel my energy, my interest renewing itself. I keep stumbling on the thought I killed my mother and it sends me spinning each time, but I realize I'm going to have to face it, to deal with it. I think maybe – just maybe – I will be able to do those things. I think that I may finally escape her.

I start to tell him about Mikey Supansich and the four murders we think he committed. Max listens attentively. He nods from time to time. I tell him about Lesa Warner, whose visit to Woody's office now seems like light years away. We stop walking. "How did she react when Woody blocked her way?"

I shrug. "She backed down. Immediately." I give him a conspiratorial grin. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I'd guess Caldwell was a controlling son of a bitch."

I nod in agreement.

"What did you say about his career in the military?"

I repeated what we knew about the four victims.

"They were in for about five months?"

"Yeah. Give or take. Why? What are you thinking, Dad?"

"And before that?" He may as well be a bloodhound on a trail.

"High school buddies. All enlisted together."

"Enemies?"

I shake my head. "The families all insisted they were popular, well-liked." I stop. "Of course, nothing says 'popular' and 'well-liked' are really the same thing."

"Big men on campus?"

"Yeah. I guess. Jocks. Two on the football team, all four played baseball, took the team to the state championships two years in a row."

Max nods. "There's an old expression, Jordan."

I wait for the enlightenment, letting him share his insights in his own way.

"Cherchez la femme. It's French."

"Yeah, I know. Search for the woman."

"Exactly."

I'm supposed to make sense of that. "I – uh – I don't get it."

"Think about it, Jordan. The high school big shots – hell, most of the big shots period – what do they get?"

I chuckle. "About anything they want." I pause. "Ah. I think I'm with you now. You're thinking… what exactly?" I guess I wasn't as with him as I'd hoped.

He shakes his head. "What kind of discharges did they all get?"

"Dishonorable."

"Ten to one, Jordan, those boys weren't used to not getting whatever they wanted, especially from the girls. You look in North Carolina and I bet you'll find a girl who didn't want to give one of them – maybe all of them – what they were hoping for."

I nod. "So they took it?"

"Yeah. Bastards."

"But then why weren't they prosecuted?"

"Might be she didn't press charges. Might be she – or a family member – went to the C.O. of the base though."

"A family member? Like a brother." I take a deep breath.

"This is all speculation, of course."

"Yeah, but it fits." I realize I've missed this feeling. The new lightness in my step isn't lost on my father.

"Been missing this?"

I shake my head at his ability to read me so well. "I haven't been in the best place lately. I think part of me expected to stop caring once I knew what happened to Mom."

"Nah. Your passion for helping people, Jordan, didn't come from that. It's always been in you."

I smile and murmur, "Crusader Rabbit."

"Huh?"

Now I laugh. "Something someone said to me a while ago."

"Someone?"

"A reporter named J.D. Pollack. He didn't really mean it as a compliment, but…." I shrug.

Dad changes the subject, though I suspect he knows he isn't really changing it much. "How's Woody?"

I let out a long, breath. "How long have you got?"

"For you? As long as it takes."

"Great." I link my arm through his. "But I need a drink if we're going to talk about all that."

"All that? Oh, dear. This isn't going to be good. Should we go somewhere for drinks or just get a bottle and go back to your place?"

I consider it for a moment. "Bottle would be cheaper."

He shakes his head.

XXX

Max stayed about a week, leaving me a forwarding address this time at least. It turns out he was right about the reason Mikey Supansich killed the four men. Lesa Warner's information – an overheard conversation between David and his buddies – led Woody to Supansich's sister in North Carolina. Or more specifically, it led him to the psych ward where she resides in a state of disassociation. About four months earlier, she'd suffered a psychotic break, unable ultimately to deal with the rapes that had occurred. Her brother had gone after her assailants, exacting a justice on them for which he never showed any remorse.

The night before Dad left, he told me what he'd found that morning so long ago. For once, I didn't have to ask. I suppose that slowly it would have all come back to me anyway, and he figured it was better to hear it from him. He'd clearly rehearsed his words, which was oddly comforting. I knew he wanted to get it as right as he could, so that I could begin to heal the tremendous guilt I was dragging around.

"There isn't much to tell, Jordan. You'd gotten ready for school and gone downstairs for breakfast. I assumed you were finishing up when I heard yelling. You and your mother had been having some knockdown drag-outs about little things." He smiled at me. "Ten years old and you already knew everything." He patted my hand at that. "I heard you scream 'Mommy' and a sound like a slap. Before I could move, I heard the gunshot. By the time I got downstairs, she was dead. You were holding the gun, sobbing, covered in her blood and, as it turned out, some of your own. She must have slapped you and cut your lip. Whatever happened, Jordan, I know it was an accident." He paused for a long time, his eyes distant. "I cleaned you up and told you not to worry about school and you looked at me."

"I didn't remember?"

Dad shook his head at that. "That was when I realized maybe I could protect you."

I nodded at that.

"I guess I didn't do so good a job, Jordan, but I tried."

I laid my head on his shoulder. "No, Dad, you did a good job. Really."

XXXXX

He's been gone a few weeks. I've spent that time thinking. I still haven't told anyone what happened. Danny McCoy called a few times and when I could finally talk to him I was able to assure him that everything had worked out. He iterated his invitation to Las Vegas any time. I said I'd let him know.

Today finds me at her grave. I trace the letters of her name, of the inscription, of the dates. "I think I hated you," I murmur. "I knew what you did – to Dad. I taught myself never to love anyone because of that." I swallow. "I used to think the way you cried sometimes, how unhappy you could be – I used to think that was all my fault. I convinced myself I made everyone miserable sooner or later. I think part of me was glad when you were gone and maybe that's why I spent years trying to figure out what happened to you – I felt guilty." I look down. "Of course, I had good reason to, I guess. I can't change any of it – you, me, Dad, James. But I'm putting it where it all needs to be, Mom. In the past."

I stand up and brush the earth from my pants.

My next stop is – strangely – more difficult. I tap on the door to Paul's tiny office at the rectory. He smiles at me and invites me in. He appraises me for a long moment. "Those look a lot like traveling clothes, Jordan."

I shrug and smile.

"Vacation?"

"I don't think so."

"Running again?"

I seesaw a hand. "Maybe. But it doesn't feel that way."

"Does this have to do with your memories?"

I nod. He gestures for me to sit down. "Max came home. He confirmed it, Paul.

I had some kind of fight with my mom and somehow picked up his gun." I lift one shoulder. "I didn't mean to."

"You really believe this?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Are you – How are you?"

"Better than you'd think," I tell him. "I got my dad back, for one thing. All those years, all the time I thought I couldn't trust him? He was trying to protect me. I don't know if he did the right thing or not, but I know he made that choice because he loved me. I'm going to be okay."

"So why are you leaving?"

"Because I've finally put my mother behind me. Dad once asked me if I ever wondered what my life would be like if I stopped spending half of it obsessing over her. Well, I'm wondering."

"You can't find out in Boston?"

I bite my lip. "Do you remember Woody Hoyt, Detective Hoyt?"

Paul nods.

"I – Uh – I could have had something – maybe the something with him – but I blew it. Or we both did, I don't know. He's moved on with his life."

"And you haven't?"

I shake my head. "Not really. But I think I have a chance at doing that somewhere else."

"Somewhere specific?"

"Yeah." I tell him about Pollack.

"You'll be happy with him?"

I nod. "It's not going to be the same. But, Paul, I've let so much of my life go by without taking the chances I've should have and jumping at the ones I shouldn't have…. This is a chance to – to have the things I always tried to pretend I didn't want."

He inclines his head and studies me. "This isn't spur of the moment?"

"Maybe a little," I admit with a blush and a smile.

He tells me to keep in touch and says he'll pray for me. For the first time in years, I thank him for that. I also ask that he hear my confession. I think maybe I've been a little hard on God these last few decades.

As I close the door behind me and descend the few steps to the sidewalk, I see that the cab I'd ordered has arrived. I give the cabbie my suitcases, which I had left outside Paul's door. I tell him Logan, international departures, please.

I cry silent tears all the way to the airport. I'll miss Boston, my job, my friends. I'll miss Woody, more than I can ever admit. I'm finally the woman he could have made a future with, but that future melted away on a morning in May, more than a year ago. He'll be happy with Lu Simmons. Pollack loves me and, a few annoying character traits notwithstanding, he's a good man. He's always taken me as is, and that means something to me now.

Some things just aren't meant to be.

END Part Three

One more part and I promise the WJ shippers will not hate it.