Chapter Eight

Talk to Me

Jordan jumped at the sound of her ringing cell phone. She reached for it in the clip on the side of her belt while at the same time casting dull eyes on the alarm clock on Woody's night stand. Two fucking a.m in the morning…who in the hell... "Cavanaugh," she managed to get out of her dry mouth with a coherent mumble.

"Where are you?" His words came out in a slur and Woody knew it. Too many beers had fogged his brain and numbed his tongue. But damn it, after that case, everything in him needed to be numb…or lost in her. He figured the phone call would be a compromise they both could live with.

"Woody…" Woody…Christ, he finally calls and he asks me where I've been at.

"Where are you? I've been calling your apartment all night. No damn answer." This time the words were slurred and sharper than he wanted.

He knew he had no claim on her, despite Matt's words rolling through his head "She obviously wants to be with you, man. You're one lucky dog, Hoyt." But his ring wasn't on her finger and no words of commitment from either one of them had passed their lips—only softly whispered "I love you's" in the cold, gray dawn of too many Boston mornings right before she would leave his apartment to go back to her own. A thought that suddenly rankled him.

If she loved him, why did she leave him alone so often?

Maybe she was just going through the motions. That would be like her, his drunken mind processed.

"I'm….I'm at your apartment."

That sounded weak, Woody thought. "At…" he paused to stare blearily at his watch for a minute and calculate the difference in time. "Two in the morning?"

"I got take out and ate it here after I fed Elmo. I must have fallen asleep…" If he only knew…

"Oh." Her meek confession effectively took the stormy wind out of his sails. Still…he had a point to prove. He paused for just a moment too long.

"Woody….are you okay?" Concern laced her voice

No…after what I've seen these past several weeks I don't think I'll ever be okay again…and there's no way I want to tell you what I've witnessed. You don't need to know…now or ever. This is one thing I will protect you from, Jordan. He blew out a deep sigh. "Yes…no…I don't know. This case….this case, Jordan….I swear…killing is too good for some people…"

"Woody?" More concern.

"Anyway, we did all we could. It's in the Feds hands now." He steadied his voice.

"So it's wrapped up?"

"Yeah. Our end of it anyway." Another deep breath. "Matt and I are flying home tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Oh, good." He did hear relief and excitement in her voice. But why?

"Umm…yeah. Our flight should be around three your time."

"I'll get off work and meet you at the airport."

Breathe again… "There's no need, Jordan. My car's at the airport, I can drive myself…"

"But I've missed you, Woody. So much. You said you'd try to call, but you never did, and I worried. A lot I know no news is good news as far as the department is concerned, but you don't know how much you stayed on my mind….."

"Jordan…I need to go and get some sleep. We've got an early day tomorrow…Matt and I still have to tie up some loose ends and…"

So…this is how it is, Jordan thought to herself. A few weeks apart…and it's gone. Whatever it was we had…it's gone. He didn't even miss me. She swallowed the lump around the tears in her throat. "Oh," she managed to get out in a whisper. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean to keep you …it's just that I haven't heard your voice in so long…" She swallowed again, trying to dissipate the hurt that tightened her chest. "Anyway…have a good flight."

"You, too." Dumb ass, she's not flying…"I mean…I'll see you."

But his words were spoken to the dial tone.

Flight 488 was the flight from hell. If there was a patch of turbulence from Kansas to Boston, Woody was sure the pilot hit it. On purpose. It was God working through the pilot to bring wretched retribution to Woody for drinking himself into hangover hell.

The only thing that had gone right was that there were no delays…no long layovers. Woody found himself on the Logan concourse with Matt at 3 p.m. on the nose. "Do you need a ride?" Matt asked groggily. If possible he was more hung over than Woody. When Woody finally stopped drinking beer last night, Seeley was still four ahead of him.

"Nah, I have my car."

"Good. I didn't feel like dragging your sorry ass home anyway. Besides, she's probably waiting for you between the sheets. Go home and enjoy, Hoyt."

Woody nodded gingerly, careful not to move his head too suddenly. Matt had no idea that the conversation with Jordan had ended so disastrously last night. Woody had picked up the phone a half a dozen times to call Jordan back before the last beer kicked in with an easy tide and lolled him into unconsciousness. "Yeah … see you tomorrow."

"If you're lucky. Or unlucky. If you're lucky, Cavanaugh will have you handcuffed to the bed …"

But Woody was already walking away and Matt's words drifted off on the afternoon Boston breeze. He didn't want to confess to his partner that he had probably screwed up the best thing in his life. Resolutely he walked through the gate to where his Chevelle was supposed to be.

Only it wasn't there.

Instead it was her waterlogged El Camino with her propped against the side. "Hi, detective. Going my way?" she asked, her voice purposely silkily seductive.

It didn't hurt she had on a skirt that was split up to a place he was trying not to think about and a shirt that barely covered the essentials. He mentally shook his head. No…until I find out where she's going with this relationship….what….wait… "Jordan, where the hell is my car?"

She smiled then. A slow, seductive curve of her lips as she reached for his bags and tossed them in the back of her truck. "Nigel. The man is a miracle worker."

Woody groaned. Nigel must have located his extra set of spare keys…or found another set through his computer voodoo. "Okay…so where…"

"Don't worry. Your baby's safe. Now…unless you want to walk, I suggest you get in," she purred.

Woody swallowed hard as she held the door open for him. "Jordan…why"

"You said you'd see me when you got back. But you didn't tell me when. I decided to make it now." She pulled out of the parking deck and onto the freeway. Woody leaned back in his seat and tried not to pump the imaginary break on his side of the car as she weaved in and out of traffic. "Christ, Jordan…you're gonna get a ticket and get us both in trouble."

Silence from her side of the car.

"Jordan?"

More silence. I have screwed this up more than I imagined…oh shit. I am in deep shit…what the hell? The turn off for his apartment came and went at her blinding rate of speed. "Jordan…where are you taking me?"

Still silence.

His answer came only when she pulled into the parking lot of her Pearle Street apartment. Woody blew out an irritated sigh. "Jordan….I'm tired…"

"And hung over." Her words broke her silence.

"And that. So I don't think I'm really up to spending the day with you. I want to go home, take a hot shower, and sleep for a week…"

"This is not about you, Hoyt," she snapped as she unbuckled her seat belt, got out of the car and walked around to his side, jerking the door open. "This is about me. Get your ass out of the car. Now."

He had no choice. Jerkily he got out of the car, his anger barely contained beneath the surface of his skin. "If you think after all I've been through that I want to talk…"

"Believe me, talking is the last thing on my mind."

Still fuming, he followed her inside the door of her apartment. "Then what do you want? Sex? That's the only thing this whole relationship has ever been about," he said, nearly shouting after her as she walked into her bedroom. "I've been away for a few weeks chasing one of the worst perverts that ever walked on the face of God's earth and when I get back all you want is sex? Well let me tell you one thing, Jordan Cavanaugh…"

"I want you to take as shower," Her soft reply wilted his wrath when she walked back into the living room with two fluffy towels. "Alone, for your information."

"A shower?"

Jordan nodded, swallowed, and looked down at her feet. "I don't know everything, Woody, but Renee' told me this was a hellacious case. The worst." She raised her eyes. "I just want you to relax…let me take care of you for a change." She held the towels out to him with a pleading look in her eyes. "Please…"

"A shower?" he repeated. She nodded.

She wants to take care of me… Woody shook his head, mentally trying to sort all of this out. "Okay…" He stumbled into the bathroom, noting that Jordan had fleeced his apartment of his shaving kit…his shampoo…everything he normally used. For twenty minutes he stood under the hot spray and tried to take stock of why she was doing this…why did she want to take care of him for a change…do something for him that he was so good and accustomed to doing for her?

Try as he might the puzzle pieces didn't fit. Wrapping one of the towels around him, he emerged from the bathroom to find her bedroom quiet and dark…except for the scented candles she had lit. "There's a pair of your sweatpants on the bed," he heard her voice call out from the kitchen.

"Thanks. But Jordan…why…I need to go…"

"You need to stay right where you're at. Don't go anywhere. Don't leave the bedroom."

"Jordan…"

"What?" This time her voice came from the bedroom doorway. He turned at the sound and swallowed hard. Two glasses of wine and a short black robe. And if she had on anything under that, there wasn't a lot of it. She handed him one of the glasses before polishing off what was left in hers. "Lie down," she ordered.

"Lie…lie…down." Christ, she's got me stammering…

"You heard me. Lie down. On your stomach."

Woody breathed out a sigh of resolution and stretched out on her bed…that she had already turned the sheets back on. He wrapped his arms around one of her pillows and breathed in her scent that still lingered there. A shower…soft sheets…the comfort of knowing she was with him…his eyes closed against his will and he felt himself begin to relax.

"This might be cold, but it'll warm up in just a second." He felt and then smelt lavender oil. "It's supposed to help you unwind." Jordan began to knead the oil into his tight neck and back muscles, straddling his hips with her legs.

For long moments there was no sound as she worked…feeling the muscles and sinews begin to unkink and uncoil themselves. An involuntary moan escaped his lips. "Feel good?" she whispered in his ear.

"Oh God….you don't know how good."

"That's what I'm going for. Now where else do you need it?"

"Over to the right….under the shoulder blade…"

Another moan. Evidently she had hit pay dirt. Just the effect she was after.

Woody continued to direct her as her hands worked their way down his back, with Jordan feeling the satisfaction of him relaxing more and more under her touch. When the last muscle was finally worked, she rubbed the oil in one more time and slipped off his hips, kneeling beside the bed. Running her fingers through his hair, lightly massaging his scalp, she looked him in the eyes. "Now tell me what happened, Woody. Don't try to spare me the details or try to candy coat it. You need to talk. I want to be the one you talk to."

"Jordan, it was awful…I don't want you to hear…"

"I'm a big girl, Woods." She ran her hand down the side of his face. "Talk to me."

Woody turned over and sat up. Reaching over to the side of the bed, he pulled her up out of the floor, back on the bed facing him. "You're sure?"

"Yes. Whatever was out there affected you. And that affected me…us…I love you too much to let you deal with it alone."