Hi all!

Big thanks to: kacie20, agel15, pol & Halie for the reviews. I appreciate it so much!

Heres Chapter 5, hope you enjoy!! :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Jordan and the rest.

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"So there's nothing," I said with a sigh.

"Not yet. We're still working on the phone records, talking to their acquaintances. But for now there's nothing to indicate that they were in contact."

"So what's their connection?" I said.

Woody shrugged. "They knew each other in high school. That's all we've come up with."

"Huh. What about the CSU? Did they find anything in the Beasley house?"

"Not yet. Several fingerprints, as yet most of them are still unidentified."

"Hmm. I don't suppose there's one there that matches that unidentified one in the Carlson apartment?" I asked hopefully.

Woody shook his head. "Nope."

"Damn," I said, shaking my head.

Woody sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Well, hopefully something will come up."

"Yeah. I hope so," I said, burning with irritation that there was nothing else I could do.

We had been hours scouring the reports, going over every detail to try to find any connection, any little minute detail that could lead us to the killer, and there was nothing. We had sketchy guesses, like that they both knew their killer, but that was a stretch. Just because there was no forced entry didn't mean they knew the killer. How many times had a killer posed as a deliveryman or something like that? True, the times were not those of normal deliverymen, but in the case of the Carlson killing, maybe she thought she was opening the door to the apartment super.

Woody stood up. "I'm done for the day. Nothing more to do tonight," he said.

"Yeah. I should get going," I said.

"Hey, you want to go grab a bite to eat?" Woody asked as he neatly stacked the papers on his desk.

I went to say yes when I remembered I was meeting Andrew in-I checked my watch-less than an hour.

"I can't, Woody, but thanks," I said.

"Are you going back to the office?" he asked. "I could meet you later."

I felt a little twinge of guilt, which I shoved down. "Nah, I'm not going back to the office."

Woody stared at me, confused. "What, not eating today or something?"

"I uh, well, I have other plans, Woody," I said, not quite catching his eye.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?" he said suspiciously.

"Yeah."

"Oh. Well, okay then. I guess I'll talk to you later," Woody said coolly. "Call me if anything new comes up."

"Yeah, you too. See ya."

"See ya," Woody replied, but he didn't look up from the pile of papers on his desk.

I hovered in the doorway for another minute before I turned and walked out. No doubt Woody knew my 'plans' involved another guy and now he was all upset about it.

Well, I told myself as I savagely pushed the down button, if he wanted to be anything more than friends he sure hadn't told me, so I couldn't worry about it.

A little over an hour later I opened the door to The Pogue, my dad's bar. I was wearing a pair of jeans and a low cut v-neck white tee shirt and a black leather jacket.

It was busy for a Thursday night, I noticed with satisfaction. I looked around and spotted Andrew's blonde head at a little table kitty corner to the bar.

"Jordan, what brings you here?" my dad, Max Cavanaugh, said in his thick Boston accent as he spotted me. He was behind the bar, towel in hand, drying a glass.

"Hey, Dad," I said as I walked up to the bar. "Just meeting someone."

"Detective Hoyt?" he asked expectantly.

"Nah," I said and my dad's face fell. "Just a guy."

"Jordan, there you are," Andrew said as he sidled up to me at the bar.

"Hey Andrew. How's it going?"

"Better now," he said melodramatically.

I snorted. "Oh, please."

I caught dad's eye. He was looking at me, eyebrows raised, obviously waiting for an introduction.

"Uh, Andrew, this is my dad, Max Cavanaugh. He owns this place. Dad, this is Andrew Lloyd."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Andrew said, shaking my dad's hand. "This is a great place you've got here. Jordan didn't tell me we were going to her dad's place."

Dad laughed. "That's Jordan for ya. Full of surprises, that one."

They had a nice laugh at my expense and I rolled my eyes. Andrew had already ordered a drink, so I asked for my regular and my dad handed me a Guinness. "C'mon, Andrew," I said. "Are you up for a game of pool?"

"Sure," he replied with a grin.

We grabbed our drinks and went to the back room to get a pool table.

X

Four hours later Andrew and I were sitting at a corner table, talking. It was after midnight and I should have been tired, but the beer was keeping me going. We had played three games of pool, which I had lost spectacularly. Turned out Andrew was some kind of pool shark.

"I used to play all the time growing up," he said. "We had a pool table in the basement."

"You should have told me you were a pro, I wouldn't have bet you," I said with a laugh. I had lost track of the amount of Guinness I had drank, but I knew it was up there.

"What's the fun in that?" Andrew asked. "Then I would have had to buy my own drinks."

"Cheater," I said.

Andrew laughed, but in the end he paid for all of the drinks, as well as the order of potato skins we had split. Healthy eating, I thought as I dipped a greasy potato skin in sour cream.

"Did you grow up here in Boston?" I asked.

"No, I was born in a little coastal town in Maine," he replied. He was slowly peeling the label off of his bottle of Heineken.

"What do you do for a living?" I asked around a mouthful of potato skin.

"I'm an accountant," he replied.

"Ahh. A bean counter, huh?" For some reason Andrew, with his long hair and leather jacket didn't seem to fit the profile of a nerdy accountant.

"That's right," he replied. "And where do you work, Jordan?" he asked.

There it was, the inevitable million dollar question. I took a swig of my beer. It never failed. Whenever that question came up, people reacted one of two ways. Either they were okay with it or else it weirded them out so much that they couldn't handle being around me. Usually the latter unless they were in a field that involved blood or crime like a doctor or a cop. How many grossed out looks had I gotten in the time I was an ME? I couldn't begin to count.

I sat my bottle down and leaned my elbows on the table. I leaned over. "I'm a medical examiner," I said.

Andrew was silent and his face was blank. "Really?"

"Yeah," I said, wondering if he would suddenly remember that he had somewhere else to be.

"So you cut up dead people?"

I sighed. "Yup."

"Huh. What made you decide to do that?" he asked, looking intrigued.

"Well, my dad was a cop, retired now, and I've always been interested in crime and forensics. But I knew I didn't want to be a cop, so I ended up at the ME office."

"Wow. I don't know how you could do it," he said, giving me an admiring look. "I couldn't do it, that's for sure."

I laughed. "It's not for everyone," I admitted. "But I love what I do."

"I'd think you'd have to or you couldn't do it."

I relaxed. It seemed like he wasn't going to bolt, so I took another swig of my beer. The bar was packed and someone was playing an old Depeche Mode song on the jukebox. It was nice, getting away from everything, even if it was just for a while.

We talked for a while longer, then Andrew finally said, "I really hate to say this, but I should probably get going. I have an early appointment tomorrow," he said, looking down at his watch. "I have to be up in about five hours."

"Oh, poor baby," I said with a smirk.

Andrew laughed and stood up. "Can I take you home?" he asked.

"Sure, thanks," I said, chugging the rest of my Guinness. I had drunk about double what he had and was feeling pretty good and buzzed.

Andrew helped me into my jacket and we walked to the bar.

"See you later, dad," I said.

"Good night, Jordan," he said, giving me a pointed look, one that probably meant he was wondering if I was okay leaving with Andrew.

I smiled and nodded my head a little.

"It was nice to meet you, Sir," Andrew said, shaking my dad's hand again.

"You too," dad replied. "Take care."

We walked outside, hit by the brisk night air. Andrew led us down the street a little way and stopped in front of a brand new, shiny red Harley-Davidson Sportster.

"Wow," I said admiringly. "Nice bike."

"Thanks," Andrew said with a grin. He handed me a helmet and put his on. He hopped onto the bike and I climbed on behind him. I'd always wanted to buy a bike, just had never gotten around to it.

He swivelled around. "Where to?"

I gave him directions to my apartment, and then held on as the bike roared to life and we sped through the mostly empty streets.

When we got to my building he pulled up to the curb and shut the bike off. We got off and walked to the door. Andrew looked down at me. "I had a good time tonight, Jordan," he said.

"Yeah, so did I. Even though you're a cheater."

Andrew laughed and then suddenly things went silent. He looked down at me, his blue eyes intense. It was obvious that he was going to kiss me and for a split second I was tempted to let him. I'd had one night stands before, it was nothing new to me. But that guilty part of me was saying, 'What about Woody?' and I took a step back. 'You were just making out with him not too long ago.'

Yeah, I'd had one night stands before and I always felt like shit afterwards and I was definitely too drunk to think straight. My life was screwed up enough and even in my drunken state I knew I didn't need another complication.

I gave a little laugh that sounded fake even to me. "I, uh, better get upstairs," I said. "I have to work early tomorrow ya know."

Andrew looked disappointed but smiled easily. "No problem. Can I call you sometime, Jordan Cavanaugh?" he asked softly.

"Sure," I said and fumbled through my purse for a business card. I handed him a kind of crumpled one. "My cell's my main phone," I said.

He tucked it into his wallet and handed me one of his. "Here's mine, if you want it."

"Thanks," I said. "And thanks for the drinks."

"Anytime," Andrew said. He stood there for another second and then turned and walked back to his bike.

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