AN: Wow, this is a shorty; I promise the next chapter will be longer! Sorry for making all of you guys nervous! Lol I got a kick out of all your reviews though such a lot in a short amount of time!hehe, well a special thanks to daynaa, jtbwriter, Cavanaugh-girl, WIWJ, Orlando-crazy and BoscoCruzCrazy! Here's the next chapter!

Take a Good Hard Look

Woody was not entirely sure why Officer Janine Grady insisted on tagging along. She was a Peace Officer, as in one that maintained the peace, she carried no weapon but he assumed that perhaps she had ways of getting him across the border that he could not accomplish alone. His predictions turned out to be truths. Upon arriving at the Trans Border, she revealed an identification card; Woody slowed to a stop and rolled down his window. Officer Grady showed the woman in the booth the card, telling the officer, "Detective Woody Hoyt of the Boston Police Department is apprehending a criminal trying to cross the border. He is an officer on duty."

Woody was instructed to produce his passport identification and his badge, which he did so without hesitation. The border patrol officer affirmed that Woody was, indeed, the same person pictured on his identification card and told him to proceed, "Welcome to Canada, sir," she said firmly, with the same enthusiasm a fast-food drive-thru window operator has when one receives burger and fries.

"Thank you," Woody mumbled, proceeding onward. "Now, Ms. Grady, where is the blockade you've set up?"

"Please, call me Janine," she said uncertainly in her French-Canadian accent. "It's a difficult situation because there are many roads that can take you many places here in Quebec. We assume, through previous experience, that your American fugitive will be heading toward Montréal."

"Why do you assume that, Janine?" Woody asked; his Canadian geography facts at a less than average level.

"Because going to Montréal allows him a greater choice. He can hide in the city if he prefers or he can leave the city and travel the remainder of Canada. I have told the police blockade to be on the look out on the intersection of the Autoroute des Cantons-De-L'Est and the Autoroute Transquébéciose west of Omerville."

Woody hadn't a clue what she just said but it sounded good to him, "Just tell me where to go."

"I intend to," Janine's cell phone began ringing; she reached to her belt and answered it, "Hello, Bonjour. Yes, this is her," there was a pause; her expression was flat, unreadable. "Thank you, I'll tell them." She flipped it shut and immediately opened it and began dialing another number. This time, she spoke rapidly in French. When she was finished with the person on the line she flipped her phone shut once again and turned to Woody, "There was an abandoned vehicle reported three kilometers east of Stanstead Village on a road near the border, ten minutes ago, the Canadian border patrol officer witnessed a man forcing a woman with a broken leg and arm into that same vehicle. He reported them driving north-east on Chemin Lagueux." She was perspiring slightly.

"Do you know how much time we have?" Woody asked.

"Well, that depends on which direction they take and how fast you drive. He obviously doesn't know he has anybody tailing him or he would not have risked crossing the border. I stand by my assumption that he is heading for Montréal"

Though he knew in his mind Jordan's fate, he couldn't help the weight lift from his heart, Thank God she's still alive, and he felt his foot apply a little more pressure to the gas pedal.

--- --- ---

Jordan was right; her sore hands gripped the upholstery tensely. She knew that these were her last moments in life, spent, handcuffed to the passenger's side of a car with a less than desirable psycho. She tried to calm herself down in order to think but her heart beat faster than if she was running and her breaths would only come to her in quick succession.

The road signs were in French. What little she knew about Canada was learned in grade school taught by a heavyset woman with no attitude for teaching. She knew that she was in the province bordering Vermont, which was Quebec, the majority of people in Quebec spoke French. Its major cities were Montréal and another one that was the provincial capital; she couldn't remember the name, however. All she knew was that she could not see a city or town whether it was blocked by trees or simply out of her vision, all she could see were farmlands and roads for miles.

Angler had a wide grin on his face, which sickened Jordan; he thought he had gotten away with all of this. She decided that keeping silent would kill her just as much as speaking out, "Where are you taking me?"

"West."

"West where?"

He sighed exasperatedly, "Did you learn nothing in grade school Social Studies? The rest of Canada is west of here."

"Well, you have to stop somewhere; you're tired and hungry aren't you?"

He glared at her, damning her for knowing too much of his mortal weaknesses. "I considered taking a break at Montréal, you know; get some French cuisine, like le McDonalds. Maybe do the tourist thing."

"Romantic," Jordan muttered.

"I wouldn't have our honeymoon any other way."

Jordan sneered, her mind working over time. What she knew of grade school Social Studies was that Montréal was not too far from the border. Perhaps her next opportunity for escape would come in the city. She sure hoped so.

He swerved onto another street, this one slightly wider than the last one and with a yellow line down the center. Ten minutes later they were on another street then another. Soon they found themselves on highway 55 with large green signs telling Jordan how far Magog and Omerville were, and that Montréal was slightly over one hundred kilometers to the west. The west, his freedom, her doom; a little bit of hope trickled away and her heart sank a little further.

The digital clock in the car read 6:30. She looked out in the distance, the rear end of cars traveling in the dawn to work. They sped passed them as if they were non-existent. Up ahead, going faster than all the other cars on the highway she saw a familiar black sedan with Boston plates. Her heart opened, though she did not show this to Angler. Nervously she licked her lips, she believed in second chances and she believed that she had just found hers.