Chapter Three
It Hurts too Much to be Your Friend
It was supposed to be the best of both worlds. A gala charity event. A time and place where the moneyed citizenry of Boston could assuage their conscious by donating funds to a worthy charity – The Red Cross.
Hence the name, the Red and White Ball. At $500 a plate, plus other pledges given by the attendees, the local Red Cross could raise a huge chunk of their operating budget in just one night, while the wealthy patrons could eat, hobnob, and dance the night away. A good time would be had by all.
Except for Jordan. She hated such events. Not that she hated the Red Cross…no, not by a far cry. But she would have been far happier sending in her check and sitting at home during the event, watching the BoSox beat the Yankees.
Fat chance.
Jordan had quickly learned that being her grandmother's sole heir came with a number of responsibilities she hadn't bargained for. And that included her presence at the same charity events that Margaret used to attend. She sighed as she sat back down at her table after another dance with Neil. "Can I get you another drink?" he politely asked.
"That would be great," Jordan answered with far more enthusiasm than she felt.
"What'll it be?"
She wanted to say a Guinness so badly it hurt. Instead she put on what she now considered her most charming smile and said, "Green apple martini."
"You got it. I'll be right back." Neil breezed off to fetch the required beverages, leaving Jordan to discreetly cross her left foot over her right knee and rub her arch under the table. Dancing with Neil was hard enough…he couldn't lead worth a damn…and in four-inch heels, it was miserable. She idly wondered if Garret had ever done an autopsy on anyone who had died from ill-fitting footwear.
"Here you are," Neil said, returning with her requested drink. "This should keep you busy for a while."
"Thanks." She flashed the charming smile again.
"Say, Jordan, Bill Haskins is at the bar … you know the attorney from Haskins, Brower, and Associates?"
Jordan nodded, vaguely aware she had been introduced to both partners at some dinner she had attended a month or more ago.
"He wanted to know if you could spare me for a minute to go over the Brown real estate deal…"
"Sure. Go ahead, Neil."
"You'll be okay by yourself?"
"I'll be fine. Go. I need to give my feet a rest anyway." Charming smile again.
"I'll be right back."
"Take your time…besides security is tighter than Christmas around here."
As Neil ambled off again in the direction of the bar, Jordan sank further down in her seat, plotting if there was anyway she could make a polite get away before midnight. A quick glance at her watch told her it was only ten…to leave before midnight for any other reason than the fact she was dying would be considered down right rude. She gave the room a once over just to see if there was anyone there she recognized well enough to start a conversation with while waiting on Neil…an intelligent conversation. These functions bored her out of her mind. How her grandmother, who Jordan always felt was an intelligent woman, put up with these things, she'd never know.
Then a familiar dark suit caught her eye. Woody…She thought she may have seen him once or twice, in the shadows when Neil and she came in tonight. But she wasn't sure. She thought it might have been her overheated lust taking control again.
However, he was there, working security. Damn, he looks good in a formal suit, she thought taking in his broad shoulders from across the room, nearly hungry for just a glimpse of him. She hadn't seen him in weeks. He was deliberately avoiding her, and she knew it. Jordan hadn't answered any of his homicides recently … and he never called.
This will never do, she thought, sliding her chair out and getting up. If I stay in this room, all I'll end up doing is looking at him…and that will just make things worse for me tonight…and in the future. I need to get away…at least for a few minutes. A quick look at the bar told her Neil was still there, deep in conversation with Bill Haskins. But it was a warm, spring night in Boston, and the doors were open onto the patio off the ballroom. Picking up her martini, she slowly and gracefully made her way across the room and through a set of the double open doors and onto the patio…on the opposite side of the room from Woody. She leaned against the railing and took in the night sky.
It was a beautiful night. Nearly perfect. Stars and martinis. Men in tuxes. Good music. She should be having the time of her life…
"I though I saw you come out here," a voice from behind her called.
Puzzled, Jordan paused a minute. She couldn't place the voice. Slowly she turned around. Joseph Brower. Bill Haskin's associate. "Mr. Brower," she returned politely. "Nice to see you again."
"Nice to see you, too, Dr. Cavanaugh. Did you get moved into your grandmother's house?"
Jordan nodded, noting that the man was moving closer to her. Something about the man made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up at attention. "Yes, I did."
"Good…are you finding your way around okay?"
"It's taken some getting used to, but yes."
He was beside of her then….slowly letting one fingertip trail up her arm. "So…why'd young Neil leave you all by yourself?"
Jordan backed away, making his hand drop to his side. "Neil is talking to your partner about the Brown real estate contract. I imagine you need to be in on that conversation. They're at the bar."
"Really? I let Bill handle most of the real estate deals. He's got a flair for that. But if he and Neil are at the bar, they're going to be gone for quite some time, Dr. Cavanaugh." Joseph closed the distance between them again.
Jordan cursed herself under her breath. She thought once she clued Brower in on the conversation about the multi-million dollar Brown deal, Joseph would high tail it off the patio and into the bar, leaving her in blessed solitude.
No such luck.
The only thing Joseph seemed interesting in pursuing was her…which at another time she might be flattered by. But Mr. Brower had a Mrs. Brower and Jordan wanted no part of him.
"It's been nice seeing you again, Joseph, but I really need to be getting back to my table," Jordan turned to leave after flashing him the charming smile again, only to feel his hand on her arm.
"Stay Dr. Cavanaugh. I have a feeling we have a lot in common…may I call you Jordan?"
"No…and I have to be getting back." She attempted to pull her arm from his grip, only to feel his fingers tightened around her. "Stop…you're hurting me…" she whispered.
"Stop resisting and I'll stop hurting," he murmured, pulling her close and whispering in her ear.
"No…stop…" She felt his other hand slide up her other arm and pull the strap down on her dress. "Mr. Brower…" She begin to push against him.
"I believe Dr. Cavanaugh said to stop," a cold voice from behind Jordan said.
Woody.
"This is none of your business," Joseph said, not loosening his hold on Jordan.
"I think it is," Woody countered.
"No, it's not. Go on or I'll report you to the head of security."
Jordan noted with satisfaction that anger glinted in Woody's blue eyes. "I don't think so," Woody replied softly. A person who didn't know the detective well wouldn't have thought his quiet reply to be the least bit threatening.
But Jordan recognized the repressed anger behind it. She smiled inwardly.
"Really?" Brower arched an eyebrow.
"I am security," Woody answered, and flashed his badge, "and Boston PD. Please remove your hands from Dr. Cavanaugh, or I'll be forced to take you in for assault."
"You wouldn't," Brower stuttered.
"Just try me."
"This is just a misunderstanding….isn't that right, Jordan?" Brower stuttered again
Jordan said nothing, but just kept looking at Woody.
"Jordan?" Brower continued. Finding that he was getting no help on her part, he abruptly let her go…so quick and sudden that she nearly fell. He stomped off in the direction of the bar.
Jordan caught herself, but found that Woody had caught her, too….his arm around her waist. For a minute she heaved a sigh of relief…and longing. It didn't take much for her to remember how good his arms felt.
"Are you happy with yourself?" The sharp tone of his voice brought her back to reality.
"What?"
"I mean you come out here by yourself, on the patio…in that dress."
Jordan looked down at her black dress … tiny straps, but a modest neckline. Sure it plunged a little in back and had a slit up the side, but it wasn't anything too showy. There were other women in the ballroom that had on a lot less. "What's the matter with it?"
"It shows a lot of skin. That, coupled with the fact that you've been drinking and your came out here alone on the patio was an open invitation to any man like Brower."
"I beg your pardon…"
"It was. What would you have done if I hadn't shown up?"
Whether it was his tone, or the stress of a long hard week, or just the fact that now she felt she needed to go home and take a shower, Jordan felt her anger rise. "I would have taken care of myself. Just like I have always done." Just like I always will do….
Woody snorted. "You need to go back inside and cuddle up to your rich boyfriend, Jo. Before something else happens to you."
The rising anger she felt now spilled over from feelings to words. "You have absolutely no right…no right at all, Woody, telling me how to live my life. What I do now is my business….who I spend my free time with….what I do…where I go…or how I conduct myself. You're the one who said you wanted our relationship to slow down…and it did. And now it's over. We work together and that's it. That's all it ever will be, thanks to you. If you don't like it, it's your fault. I'm over it. I've moved on. If you're angry at anyone, be angry at yourself. You walked out on someone that loved you with her whole heart. And that doesn't come along but maybe once in a lifetime." Jordan turned to walk back in the ballroom, but turned and said over her shoulder. "I'm not your responsibility, Woody. Maybe once I was, but I can take care of myself. I did for years before I met you. I can do it again now."
She was long gone by the time he had pulled himself together and walked back into the ballroom. Her place at the table was empty and her purse was missing.
Jordan had left the building.
Woody hung his head and slowly circled the room, sidling out the front doors in the vain hope that he could catch her as she and Neil drove off.
No such luck.
The lady had left. Later Woody would find out that she feigned a headache and had left in her own car, leaving Neil at the bar to continue his discussion with Bill Haskins about the Brown real estate deal. Impatiently, Woody glanced at his watch. A little after eleven. This shindig would be over with at midnight and then he would do what he needed to do.
Go apologize to Jordan. Try to make amends…somehow someway.
By the time twelve-thirty rolled around, Woody found himself pointing his old Chevelle towards Beacon Hill, hoping to catch a glimpse of a light on in the massive house. He lucked out. There were a few lights on in the downstairs. Swallowing his pride and pumping up his courage, he mounted the steps and rang the bell, fully expecting a butler to open the door.
Instead, Jordan herself opened it, after checking the peephole. "Woody?"
The tone of that one word said it all. What are you doing here? What else have you got to say? Won't you just please leave me alone?
"Can I come in, Jo? I know it's late and I won't take long…I know we both have work tomorrow."
"What else do you need to say? To chastise me on my sleeping attire? To nose around and see if I'm sleeping alone?"
Woody shook his head. "No…I need to apologize, Jo. Please…can I come in? It's freezing out here…" The shiver he gave was at least half-real.
Warily looking him over, but noticing his shiver, Jordan pushed the door open for him and walked ahead, leaving him to come in and close it behind her. "Come in, then. Would you like some hot chocolate?"
"No…thanks." For some reason he was having a hard time keeping up with her. She turned to the left…obviously some kind of living room. Woody believed his grandmother would have called it the parlor. "Nice place," he commented, keeping his tone light.
"Thanks. Now why are you here, Woody?"
Nothing like cutting to the chase… "I would like to apologize for what I said tonight, Jordan. It was uncalled for. You were right. What you do…where you go…who you spend time with…it's none of my business now."
"That's right."
Woody felt his throat grow uncomfortably tight at her response. – which was cold and still filled with anger. "But I was hoping…I mean, we still work together….I was hoping we could still be …" his voice faltered because her eyes were growing angrier by the minute… "friends." He finished softly.
Jordan eyed him up and down…her expression told him that she was tired of him playing the friends card again….but was still mulling the prospect over in her mind.
"No," she finally said, quietly.
"N…no?"
"No."
"Why?"
"I can't be your friend any longer, Woody."
Of all the words that had ever come out of her mouth….and all the words that ever might, Woody would have bet his soul that Jordan would never say those…words that would sever their friendship.
Words that would cast them apart…as if they no longer even knew each other.
"But Jordan…why?"
Jordan felt the tears come long before they reached her eyes…the all-too-familiar burning in her throat, the tightness as if her air was being cut off…then finally the warm, wetness behind her eyelids. "Because," she began and then took a deep breath to steady her voice. Because it's hard enough being in the same room with you, knowing how much I love you and that you've rejected me…because I love you and I know I'll never have you…that our relationship will always be too slow or too fast…just too damned imperfect for you to accept…that I'm too damned imperfect for you to accept… "Because it's over, Woody. Whatever we had or didn't have, it's over. And it was over long before my grandmother left me her money…It's just time for both of us to let go of the past and move on."
"So we can't even be friends?"
"Not right now. Maybe one day. But right now, it just hurts too much."
Woody sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets. "You're sure?" he quietly asked.
Jordan nodded. "I just can't handle getting my emotions stirred up again and then have you reject me."
"But Jordan…"
"You've done it three times, Woody. Three."
"So the three strikes rule applies to us, too."
"Hey…it works for baseball…" she attempted a grin, but failed miserably. "Come on. I'll walk you to the door."
The walk back down the hall seemed endless and he paused before Jordan showed him out. "If you need anything…anything at all…" It was just hitting him. She had finally rejected him…shut the door on any type of relationship with him … at least in the foreseeable future. His life would have to go on without her.
"I'm fine, Woody." She paused before she shut the door.
"Well…then…good night, Jordan."
"Good-bye, Woody." The big door shut firmly and the lock clicked.
"Good-bye, Jordan," he whispered into the cold, night air.
