Chapter Four
What We Don't Want to Change
Charles Van Guard.
The case that was seemingly so open and shut….man slips on train platform, falls in front of train. Dies. A horrible, awful accident, but just that, right? An accident.
Not according to the tox reports Jordan was finally holding in her hand. Mr. Van Guard had enough Phenobarbital in his system to bring down an elephant. So either it was a suicide…or something more sinister.
Jordan read back over the reports with a jaded eye. She knew that in the past she had been accused of being a conspiracy theorist, by both Woody and Garret. But what was in black and white in these reports didn't lie. It was no accident that Van Guard fell off the platform. He simply had too much of the drug in his system to stand up. So either he wanted to die or he was murdered. She sighed when she thought of the repercussions of either.
But her work with this case, for the most part was done. She needed to give these reports to Woody and let him be the detective. Let him do his job, her conscience prodded. That's all you two can have these days anyway is that professional relationship. You've made up your mind and it's a good decision. The dance has got to stop. No, it has stopped. You're at a new place in your life. A good place. Even if Woody thinks the money has changed you. Sighing she flipped open her cell phone and punched one on speed dial…his work number. It rang three times and rolled over into voice mail. "You have reached the voice mailbox of Detective Woody Hoyt…."
Jordan pressed the disconnect number with disgust. She was ready to get this case off her desk…the last open case she had with him. Hopefully, with a little maneuvering and switching off with Bug, she may be able to avoid him for a couple of weeks…buy her some time to make sure she could face him again with her resolve more firmly in tact. Hopefully her heart would have gotten the message by then that their relationship — or whatever it was —was over.
Gamely she called the front desk of the Nineteenth Precinct and asked the officer on duty if Woody was there. "Nope Dr, Cavanaugh. Hoyt clocked out about an hour ago. He's gone for the day."
Biting her lip, Jordan pushed two on speed dial…his apartment. Voice mail again. "Hi, this is Woody. If you get this message, you know what to do…"
Yeah, I know what to do… Jordan flipped her phone shut and weighed the possibilities. She could wait until tomorrow. Call him first thing in the morning and let him know what she found and lob the ball firmly in his court. Clear her desk of this case and move on.
Or she could take care of business tonight and start tomorrow with a completely clean slate. Take the file by his apartment and slide it under the door since he wasn't home.
Or course there was that risk of seeing him there -- that he would be home by the time she arrived. Nah… she thought. If he clocked out an hour ago and still isn't home, my guess is that he's out for the evening…maybe with Lu…or with some of the guys at a bar watching the game. And even if he is home by now, you don't have to go in. Knock on the door, hand him the file, give him a brief explanation and get the hell out of there. Your heart can handle that, can't it Cavanaugh?
The flutter in her chest gave her some doubts.
Still….starting tomorrow as a clean break sounded really nice.
Without waiting for any more thoughts the contrary, she grabbed her keys and the file. One quick trip by his apartment and then she was heading home to a nice, hot shower. And a cold beer. God knows after today she deserved it.
Woody crammed the vacuum cleaner back in the tiny utility closet in his kitchen. After work he had debated on going out with some fellow officers to O'Malley's to watch the game. But honestly, the game, even with the temptation of cold beer, wasn't enough to excite him. He was still reeling from what Jordan had told him a week ago. Good bye.
There was more than just the surface significance to those two words and he knew it. In her mind, she had relegated them to something in her past. Something that was over. Something that she needed to put behind her and move on.
"I can't be your friend any longer, Woody. Not right now. Maybe one day. But right now, it just hurts too much."
He knew he had only himself to blame. He had been ambiguous about their relationship for too long. After years of allowing Jordan to push him away, it was ironic that just when she was ready to let him in, he did the same thing to her. Pushed her away. Told her that he didn't need her.
Then he slept with her at the Lucy Carver Inn.
And afterwards, even after she had talked with Pollack, told her that he didn't want to be the rebound guy.
Jordan wasn't the type of woman to give her heart away easily and not without a great deal of thought beforehand.
He refused what she offered and now she was trying to move on…move past four, long, wasted years and all the hurt that they both had inflicted on each other.
Emotions can be a bitch. Dealing with them was even bitchier. So when the guys asked him if he wanted to go out tonight, he could honestly say he didn't feel like it. All he had wanted to do was retreat to his apartment and hide. So he had come home, threw a load of clothes in the washer and ran the vacuum, thinking that mindless activity might help him work off some energy and at least give him something to do while he thought things through.
Finally, getting the vacuum back in the closet, he slammed it shut and heaved a sigh. At least the apartment was clean now. He glanced around. The caller ID light was blinking. Evidently his phone rang while he was vacuuming and he didn't hear it. Reaching over, he pressed the button to see who phoned. She had called, but left no message. Puzzled, he picked up the phone to call her back with there was a knock at the door. Setting the phone back on its base, he opened the door.
"Jordan…"
Jordan's face paled. She honestly had assumed he wasn't at home. "Hi…" she began hesitantly.
"Come in." Woody pushed the door open a little wider.
Oh Jesus… "I'm sorry….I can't….I just stopped by to give you these final tox reports on Charles Van Guard…" She held the file out to him with a soft smile on her face. She would show him she could at least be civil.
Woody took the file and flipped it open. "Phenobarbital?"
She nodded. "So…"
Woody turned and walked back into his apartment, leaving the door open and her standing in the doorway. "Come in, Jordan. Let me read this and make sure I have the story straight."
Come in? I don't want to come in… "No… I think it's pretty much self-explanatory. I really have to be going."
"This won't take but a minute and I promise I won't make you late for Neil."
"Neil?"
"You're in a hurry to leave," he looked up at her from the tox report. "I assumed you have a date."
Jordan shook her head. "No. Just want to get home."
"Then come in and shut the door. I promise I won't keep you long. Scout's honor." He grinned…that adorable little-boy grin she had always had such a hard time resisting.
"You weren't a boy scout," she responded, coming in and shutting the door behind her, trying to ignore the full set of warning bells going off in the back of her mind.
"Details, details…" He paused for a moment, the results of the tox screen finally weighing in fully. "So Van Guard either committed suicide or was murdered…" he let out a low whistle. "So much for my man-meets-train theory."
"Yeah…but my job here is done. Now it's up to you, detective, to figure out which one it is."
Woody nodded, his nose still buried in the tox report. He walked over to the kitchen area and opened the refrigerator. "Beer?"
"No, no…I really have to be going…."
"Wait…what does this mean?" He pointed to a section of the tox report.
"What does it say?"
"Something about levels…hell, I don't know…you're the ME. Tell me what it means."
Jordan slowly walked over to where he was at, all the while asking herself why didn't she just wait until tomorrow and hand the report off to him at the precinct. "That?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"That indicates how much he had in his system…basically enough to bring down an elephant."
"Would a man knowingly ingest that amount if he was going to kill himself?"
"I think the real question is how did the man get that amount of Phenobarbital? What were his medical connections? And if he had none, then murder becomes a more likely scenario."
Jordan glanced up from the report and where Woody was pointing to look him in the eyes. She meant to say now it was time for him to go to work as a detective…to try to figure the whole thing out. But somehow the words got tangled on her tongue. So this is how it's going to be…just cases between us from now on…
The flicker in his eyes told her he was thinking the same thing.
It's better this way…for both of us.
Woody sat the file on the counter.
This is the only way for both of us to move on…
He reached for her.
No…
"Something just don't change, do they, Jo? No matter how hard we fight them…or how much we wish they would be different…" One hand stayed at her waist and the other slid up her back to pull her to him. "They just don't change."
"They need to," Jordan murmured back, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights of his eyes. "They've got to."
"Why?"
"We can't do this…or go there, Woody. It's not good for either one of us. It's over."
Woody let his lips lightly brush hers. "You're right. It probably should be over…but every time we're together like this, I forget what should be…and what is right. All I can think about is the Lucy Carver Inn….and this…"
His lips claimed hers then…first demanding, nearly ruthless in their assault on her senses, then turning softer and more coaxing when he realized she wasn't fighting him…instead, even though all the warning bells were going off in full alarm in her head and her mind was screaming for her to run, her arms wrapped themselves around his neck and she melted into him.
The coaxing lips persuaded hers to open, giving him full access to her mouth…and suddenly the time and place they were at melted away. Jordan felt him slip her coat from her shoulders. Woody felt her questing fingers find the buttons on his shirt.
Two people that have been in love and made love have little trouble re-establishing moot points. As his kisses quickened and then moved over her face, Jordan found herself having difficulty breathing, much less thinking coherently. The moot point that was re-establishing itself in her mind was that she wanted to be in his arms again.
Even though everything in her knew it was wrong. Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong man.
But she had been wrong before and lived through it. It would end again. She knew that. But at least she'd have one more memory.
And this time with no weird murder mystery between them.
So when Woody ran his hands under her shirt, rediscovering his already claimed territory, she swallowed a moan and pressed her breast closer in his hand.
Her shirt came off seconds later. Her bra wasn't long behind. A trail of kisses across her jaw line, down the column of her neck, and a soft lick to the hollow of her throat made her catch her breath.
When he leaned her back against the counter and took one stiff peak in his mouth, she got her breath back, but only to let out a sound of pure gratification as familiar ripples of pleasure shot through her.
That broke him. With a ragged sound, he pulled her into his arms and headed her towards his bedroom.
And to Jordan's chagrin, even though her mind was screaming at her to stop, her body was blocking the signals. It wanted him. Badly. Now. No matter what the price was she had to pay.
The bed soon became a mass of tangled sheets as she willingly yielded to him…his hands moving over her, eliciting responses out of her that made the night at the Lucy Carver Inn pale in comparison. All the pent-up frustration, and masked longing coming out. "Woody," she heard herself beg, "please…."
He chuckled against her lips. "Now?"
Wordlessly she nodded and felt him urge her legs around his waist before he slipped slowly inside of her, letting her feel every inch, every sensation before he started moving in her.
He took his time and made her take hers, too, until she was nearly cried for release.
And when it came, she felt as if she had been swept away by a tidal wave.
Woody felt her clinch and then shudder around him, greedily drinking in her sigh of satisfaction. He smugly smiled to himself. Some things not only won't change, some things we don't want to change, no matter what we tell ourselves and each other. He curled her body – now completely limp and relaxed – around his and pulled thesheet up over both of them. They needed to do some sorting out, he was sure, his fuzzy brain was telling him. But that could wait until in the morning, when their minds and logic was clearer.
