Chapter 7: Stepping Over the Line

His stance may have been casual but Jordan had no doubts he wouldn't let her leave the room without any answers. He didn't press last night, but now in the harsh light of day, she didn't think he'd be so obliging.

"So sue me. I called you prematurely," Jordan said stretching the sleep out of her back. As casual as she appeared there was an unmistakable bite to her words. "I sorry there is nothing to take back to your shrink, partner, girlfriend...whatever...to hang me with Wood. You made the trip for zilch."

Woody ignored the insinuation of her words. He was past that. Way past that. "Is that so?" Woody said waving the micro recorder in the air.

Woody couldn't help himself. Jordan called him. His career, and possibly his own freedom, was in jeopardy with him being there and all she did was act like he was out to get her. So he searched her bag while she was asleep. It proved to be interesting.

And more that a little disturbing.

In a moment of panic, Jordan searched the bag herself only to find the lining empty. Not only was the recorder gone...but her notebook as well.

"You don't have any right to..."

"I'm not here as a cop, remember...?"

"Give them back," she said reaching out. Woody just held the recorder over his head. She knew it was probably already too late. He had plenty of time to copy, download...and send, everything she had. It was just a matter of time before there was a knock on the door.

"You had this when you called me," he guessed. "So why are we still here Jordan?"

"I'm not done yet."

"Yes. You are."

"Not yet. Tonight...I'll have the rest. I can feel it."

"How?" His tone told her that he had read everything; heard everything...even between the lines...but was hoping beyond hope that his gut was wrong.

"I have my ways."

Woody swore. Jordan stepped back.

From the second he found out The Chambers was a strip club, Woody tried to tell himself that was all Jordan was doing. Working. A means to an end. It wasn't like that was what she was.

He knew a few strippers. He was a cop. They were part of the territory. Eyes and ears. For most of the women it was a dead-end job just like any other. Just better money.

Most never stepped over the line. Ask any of them and they never said they wanted to grow-up and take their clothes off for money...but they had their reasons. Just like Jordan had hers now.

Only Jordan stepped over the line while hunting down her proof.

He snapped the notebook off the table and held it in her face. "Tell me I'm looking at this all wrong..."

Jordan could only bite back the tears.

"We're leaving right now."

Jordan winced. His voice lacked inflection. Whether with indifference or the effort to keep his disgust at bay. She didn't know which. She just knew that from that moment on he'll always look at her differently.

"I can't do that."

"Damn it Jordan! THIS!" he said coldly, tossing the book on the bed like it was poisonous, "...is enough for any good lawyer to get the charges dropped. It ends now."

Jordan bristled at his authoritative tone. "Just who the hell do you think you are telling me what to do?"

"The guy that is going to turn you in if you don't do as I say."

Jordan rolled her eyes. "And how are going to explain just... stumbling on me in a hotel off the DC beltway. It's kind of off your beaten path so to speak..."

Jordan had him by the shorthairs and she knew it. The only way to make this work to her advantage was to bring her back to Boston personally and willingly. He stomped to the other side of the room in frustration.

"There's got to be another way..."

"Probably...but this way works," Jordan said matter-of-factly. She'd come to accept what she had to do for information and live with it.

"What exactly do you do?"

"Do you really want to ask me that question Woody?"

He swore again and this time Jordan held her ground.

"What I meant is, what do you expect to get by going...there."

"His Honor, Clarence Gordon. Plain and simple. He ordered the hit of JD because JD was getting too close to discovering a definitive tie between Gordon's bench and the securities fraud story he was working on. I want that link," she said, trying to keep her emotions flat. Her heart was beating so fast she was sure he could hear it over the rattle of the AC unit keeping up with their heated words.

"So you've added investigative reporter to your resume."

Woody made the word 'resume' sound like the sludge you scraped out of the bottom of a dumpster outside an all night diner. The corners Jordan's lips turn up in sarcasm. She didn't expect him to understand. Woody may think he's open-minded but Jordan has felt the brunt of his hypocrisy before. She thought she was immune to the disappointment.

But it still hurt to see the real man behind those blue eyes.

"I asked you to make sure Walcott would see me sometime before the actual opening arguments of my trial. That's it Woody. I never asked for you to come here and I sure as hell didn't ask for your opinion."

With that she turned heal and, with as much dignity as she could, walked into the bathroom and shut the door silently behind her. It was only when she raised a shaky hand to tuck a lock of her bleached hair behind her ear she noticed she was crying.

A frigid January of fishing floaters out of the Charles River had nothing to compare to how cold that hotel room became over the next few hours. Only the fact that Jordan brought up the point that their voices might carry through the walls was the only reason they weren't at each other's throats anymore.

By night fall Jordan complained of hunger and Woody was in desperate need of fresh air. He told her to stay put and she waited until he was out of the parking lot before she slipped out.

Jordan didn't harbor any doubts that Woody wouldn't follow her. She just hoped that when he did show up he wouldn't make a scene. She showed up for her shift at the club an hour early. She needed the time to get ready. If fate was smiling at her this would be the last time she needed to put herself through this.

Woody sighed at the empty hotel room. He wasn't surprised. On the contrary, he would have been shocked to still find her there. He would have also been empty handed. A burger and fries would have gone to waste. All Woody brought back to the room could be found in the refrigerator section of any corner convenience store. He tossed his keys on the dresser and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He purposely let her go and it ate him up inside.

He reminded himself that he gave up any rights he had to tell her what to do when he left his badge on his dresser in Boston...and when he turned his back in her not only once...but twice.

"What in our past ever gave you the idea...'

If he wanted to be honest with himself, he'd admit he let her go because he wasn't man enough to stop her. He was staying away because he wasn't man enough to come face-to-face what she was going to do.

Instead, he was going to hide behind his own guilt and a cold case of beer.

He popped the top of his first beer and looked at his watch. Quarter past ten. She should be there by now.

And he was standing there in the dark, his balls affectively cut off.

Woody flung the bottle at the wall and felt a tiny twinge of satisfaction as the liquid sprayed in all directions, dripping down the headboard and into the pillow that still held the indentation of Jordan's head.

Jordan's blonde head.

She goes by the name of Brandy.

"Gordon or not, we fly out of here first thing tomorrow morning Jordan. Even if I have to cuff you to do it..."

Clarence Gordon may not be the man he claims to be, but he was honest about his fondness for The Chambers. He was just a visiting circuit court judge when he first step foot inside those polished brass doors. He'd been a member of high standing ever since. The perks of that membership only increased as his power in Washington did. One such bonus was reserving one of the best tables in the house with only a day's notice. It also was having the choice of the most captivating creatures the establishment had to offer to oblige him and his party exclusively.

He always had a thing for blondes. The younger the better; the brainless the better. He didn't care very much for the new one they called Brandy. Oh, she was accommodating enough. She had the grace of a true dancer and a body out of an adolescence's wet dream. She spoke eloquently, her wit was unmistakable, and she never over stepped the bounds of her position...

...but the way she looked at him.

Gordon was only too happy to share her company with his bodyguard. Santos was loyal. Gordon liked to reward that loyalty by letting him overlook his duties temporarily to enjoy some of the more intimate comforts that could be procured within the safety of The Chambers walls. Lately, those comforts have been coming exclusively from Brandy.

If it were anyone other then Santos, Gordon would be worried his protection was becoming too attached. Men got sloppy when they let their guards slip. He watched with guarded eyes as Brandy caressed her hand intimately over the ex-football player's body and whisper suggestively in his ear. He made a mental note to remind Santos about his the state of his loyalties when Brandy coyly told them to carry on without them and led his horny hired gun toward the back rooms.