"It's not real," Jordan proclaimed, brushing aside her tears but still clinging onto Woody. "It's not."

"Jordan," Woody said, his voice holding a silent warning. "Look at this picture. All that blood. She's gotta be dead," Woody said quietly, his voice raspy and uneven.

"No, Woody look," Jordan said, sitting up and holding the picture directly in his line of vision. "Her eyes are red. They don't do that when your dead. This picture was taken when she was alive."

"She's right Woody," Garret said, leaning over the back of the couch to examine the picture.

"But even still ..." Woody said, "All that blood. Even if she was alive when the picture was taken, doesn't mean she still is now," Woody said, his voice cracking with the realization that the daughter he had barely gotten to know was quite possibly dead. He hung his head low on his chest and waited for Jordan or Garret to say something ... anything.

"No but Woody," Jordan started again, her voice gaining more confidance by the second. "See here," she pointed to a spot on the picture where a line of blood was running down the side of Emma's plain white t-shirt, staining it the crimison red that was forever burned into their brains, "it's a blood clot. That means that the blood was withdrawn, by the looks of the size, about a month before it was placed on her body. It may be her blood Woody, but it's not recent," Jordan said, a small smile of hope creeping across her face.

"She's right again," Garret said.

Jordan smiled that same smile she always got when she was right and waited for Woody to say something. When he gave her an unconvinced smile, she continued on her rant.

"her hands?" Jordan asked, And plus, see what she's doing with pointing to her small hand which was resting beside her head, a trail of blood leading down to her fingers. "See how she she has two fingers curled down to her palm, two fingers held up, and her thumb resting on top of the two down fingers?"

Woody gave her a questioning look, wondering where she was going with this whole crazy finger thing. He wondered if it was another one of her unconventional, unethical, totally absurb theory's that had an uncanny way of coming true.

"The signal," Garret said, his jaw dropping in awe and amusment. "You guys have got one smart kid."

"Huh?" Woody asked, his head snapping back and forth between Jordan and Garret like a tennis match, trying to figure out the code they seemed to have been speaking in.

"It's a sign we have," Jordan said, deciding to finally clue Woody in. "Last year she got in some touble, I won't go into details, but when it happened we decided to make up a secret code for when she was in trouble. It's her way of telling me that she's fine," Jordan smiled.

"Besides," Garret said, gently taking the picture from Jordan's hand and placing his glasses on his nose to take a better look. "The blood is wrong. The wound, though very well done, is nothing but makeup. I think the blood is real but there's no spatter and the wound shows stippling."

"Stippling?" Woody asked, his head still bobbing back and forth between Jordan's sad but slightly hopeful face to Garret's deeply concentrated one.

"It means the shot was fired from a close range. But if Em really was shot, it definatly would have been a through and through. But there's not a drop of blood behind her. And even if she had been shot somewhere else then moved there, a wound like that would have been pouring blood. She wasn't shot. At least not for this picture," Garret said, his voice carrying a finality that held comfort for both Woody and Jordan.

They turned and looked at each other, smiles playing across their faces. Woody grabbed Jordan's hand and squeezed it, using his other hand to brush stray pieces of her dark hair from her eyes. While gazing somewhat longingly into the others eyes, Jordan's home phone rang. One of the officers who had just finished installing a tap nodded to Jordan who hesitantly picked it up and answered.

"Hello?" she asked, her voice far more confidant than she felt.

"Dr. Cavanaugh," a deep, heavily simulated voice answered back.

"Don't piss him off," Woody whispered from beside her, clamping earphones over his ears to listen, still holding tightly onto her hand.

"Where's my daughter? I know she's alive," she said, her voice firm and demanding.

"Don't worry, we'll get to that soon enough," he said, his voice holding a hint of a smile.

"I wanna talk to her," Jordan said, biting her tongue to keep from saying anything that would result in the harm of her daughter.

"Tut tut Dr. We can't have that. However we do need to meet. 12:15 am tonight in the park across from McKullen road. You can bring that charming detective of yours with you, but no one else," the menacing voice said.

"Let me talk to Emma. We know the picture's a hoax." Jordan said again. "I'm not doing anything you want until you let me talk to her."

"Fine," the voice huffed. There was a scuffling noise on the other end as the phone was passed from one hand to another.

"Mummy?" Emma's uncharacteristically quiet voice answered. Jordan's eyes immediatly filled with a fresh wave of tears at the fear in her daughters voice. Woody squeezed Jordan's hand a little tighter.

"Hey baby," Jordan answered, hiding the fear in her voice for Emma's sake. "Are you ok?"

"Ya but I'm scared," Emma said. Jordan could hear her tears spilling quietly over her eyes and silently down her smooth, pale cheeks.

"Sweetie Mommy needs you to hang on just a little longer. I'll be there really soon, I promise. I need you to be brave for me ok? Emma can you do that for me?" Jordan pleaded.

"Ok," Emma sniffled.

There was another scuffle as the phone changed hands again.

"Enough love," the gruff unnatural voice answered. In her head, Jordan could picture a man with evil in his dark eyes, bald, lots of tatoos, wearing a wifebeater and baggy jeans with a shotgun tucked into the back of his jeans and a 9mm semi-automatic in his hand, handeling her daughter. Gripping onto her arm far too tightly and roughing her up, yanking her about the room and throwing her against walls. The thought made her head spin and stomach convulse. She clenched her jaw to prevent herself from throwing the phone against the wall in frustration and anger.

"Again, 12:15 tonight, park across from McKullen road, by the swingset. You and detective Hoyt. No tricks or your daughter dies."

"Ok," Jordan answere nonchallantly.

Across the table, the officer with the tap motioned for her to keep him on the line.

"Oh and by the way Dr Cavanaugh," the man said again. "I hope your having fun with that tap. But let's save you from future hassel. There's no way in hell your going to fin us here," he said. The phone clicked on the other end and the line went dead. Jordan slowly lowered it from her ear an placed it down on the cradle, looking in scared anticipation to the officer with the tap. He shook his head sadly, removing the phones from his ears and shutting down the equpitment. Jordan sighed deeply and ran her fingers through her long hair, the urge to throw the phone stronger than ever.

Woody wrapped one of his strong arms around her shoudlers, allowing her to lean in and be wrapped up in the warmth of his body. "We'll find her Jo. We will. I promise."