Disclaimer: I do not own Crossing Jordan.

Note: Ok, this was intended to be much shorter - three or four paragraphs, and to serve as an introduction to the 3rd chapter. However, it somehow grew to be much longer and eventually became the 3rd chapter itself. :)) I don't know how things like that always happen to me... Anyway, although it's (almost) pure romance, it's not completely useless to the plot as it foreshadows some events.

Thanks to all the readers, but - as always - special thanks to the reviewers. So, thank you: BugFan4Ever, Mexwojo and lbcjfan! :)

Jordan closed her eyes, relishing the smell. It smelled really good. Way more than good. Fan-freakin'-tastic, in fact. She smiled somewhat smugly. She had done it! She had managed to cook a decent meal. Wait a minute, not a decent, but an absolutely fabulous meal. She congratulated herself. To tell the truth, those dangerously good-smelling lasagne al forno weren't quite finished, but they would be soon. She checked the timer – only eleven more minutes.

Still smiling, immensely proud of herself, she proceeded to the bathroom. Taking the towel off her hair and tossing it carelessly onto the hamper, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She grinned as she was distributing a small amount of styling mousse all over her hair, which was dark and curly again. "This does look good," she thought, satisfied. Woody was bound to like it. That was her surprise number one. They had been working different shifts for the last couple of days, so he still hadn't seen her old-new hairstyle.

Her surprise number two, naturally, was the dinner. Well, it wasn't really much of a surprise since he'd kind of figured out she would be cooking when she had refused the usual takeout and asked him to bring just a bottle of wine. But he still didn't know what exactly she'd be preparing. He only knew it'd be Italian. And, of course, the fact that she had actually made a meal which wasn't consisting only of lettuce and cheese was going to be one big surprise in itself.

The surprise number three was currently lying on her bed. It was a little something from Agent Provocateur. She couldn't help giggling at the name.

She only hoped that those little surprises would make him feel better. Things between them were fantastic, better than Jordan ever hoped they could be. It seemed that their relationship was a blend of just right amounts of friendship and passion, of compromises and those little quarrels that only make the heart grow fonder. Things at work, on the other hand, weren't so great. For Woody, that is. More than two months elapsed since they had found Madison Moore's body. The trail had long gone cold. The ex-boyfriend had a rock solid alibi. The only thing Nigel had discovered about the soap was that it was homemade and that it contained dahlia extract. There was simply nothing that police could do. But that fact didn't stop Madison's father from calling his friends in high places on a daily basis. They were pressing Woody's Lieutenant hard to do something about it and he was pressuring the detective in return. Woody was having a really hard time and went around looking worried most of the time.

The doorbell took her by surprise. Tightening her robe, she opened the door. There stood Woody, holding a bottle.

"Hey, you're early," she said, giving him a quick kiss.

"Yeah, well..." He entered the apartment and proceeded rather quickly to the kitchenette. "There's been a blackout in my neighborhood,… mmmm, something smells really good in here… yeah, so I figured out I may as well come now. Hope you don't mind," he said putting the wine in the fridge and stashing a paper bag, which he had been trying to keep out of Jordan's sight, behind a carton of milk. Just in time, as it seemed, because she appeared in the kitchen.

"No, no, of course not." She smiled. "It's just… I didn't have the time to get dressed."

"Even better," he said, pulling her in for a kiss. He ran his fingers through her hair and twirled a still damp curl around his index finger: "I like your hair."

She only grinned in reply. He released her curl and traced his finger across her cheek before claiming her lips one more time. Resting his forehead against hers, he whispered, "Why don't we make smart use of this extra time we've got?"

She kissed him lightly, but freed herself from his embrace.

"Because this isn't really extra time," she said, glancing back at him as she turned towards the cupboard. "I have to finish the dinner and set the table," she continued while opening the cupboard to get some plates.

"I can help you with the table," he threw in, taking the plates from her.

"And get dressed," her list wasn't over yet.

"As I said," he grinned, "you don't have to. Not because of me. As a matter of fact, I'd rather you undr-"

"But I wouldn't," she interrupted. "For now, at least," she flashed him a small lopsided smile. "You see, I had this little surprise," she added significantly.

"Oh, yeah?" His eyebrows raised and his grin became even bigger. "What is it?"

"Now, now," she teased, bringing the cutlery, "if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise any more, wouldn't it?"

"Well, you've kinda already spilt the beans," he retorted, putting the forks to their places, "so you may as well tell me."

"Or not," she wasn't convinced. "After the dinner," she concluded mercilessly.

"Oh, c'mon, Jordan," he was persistent. "Can't I just sneak a peak?"

She shook her head playfully.

"Oh, but it's not fair," he still wasn't giving up. "Now you've already mentioned it, I can't wait all the way to dessert to see it. C'mon, you know me, I won't let it go till you show me," he said. "Just a sneak preview, I promise," he added.

She sighed in mock-irritation and rolled her eyes as she took his hand. She led him to her bedroom and opened the door, letting him see what was on the bed. He just stood there and grinned, imagining those… thingies… from Agent Provocateur hugging her curves. She waved her hand in front of his face.

"Earth to Hoyt, Earth to Hoyt," she said teasingly. "I believe that was your sneak preview," she nodded, taking his hand to lead him out of the room.

"You know what?" he replied, his arms clasping around her. "I believe I've changed my mind."

Not knowing quite how or when it happened, Jordan found herself on the bed, next to her new lingerie, but she was far from protesting it.

"We… can… make a break… for dinner… later," he managed to utter between kisses.

"You know," she succeeded in gasping the words out when his lips moved on to her collarbone, "I think you're totally right."

He was undoing her robe in order to enable his lips to investigate every single micrometer of her body when the sharp, continuous sound startled them both. The cop in him woke up and he rushed to see what was going on. Tightening her robe, she closely followed.

Jordan's hand flew to her forehead after her sudden realization. "But how?" she wondered. "The timer never beeped." She ran to the window and flung it open. During the same time, Woody turned the oven off, took at one point very promising and now completely burnt lasagne out and threw them into the trashcan together with the baking dish. Fortunately, there wasn't much smoke, so the alarm went silent shortly.

"We're lucky that at least your smoke alarm works properly." Smiling, he turned to Jordan, who was still beside the window. "Your timer is broken. Obviously," he pointed at the flashing four zeros. "God knows when the countdown stopped."

She was still silent. She looked pretty shaken up, her face drained of color.

"Jordan?" He approached her, worried.

"It seems I can't do anything right," her voice was filled with unshed tears.

She was in his arms before even knowing it. "Jordan," he gently whispered. "It's not your fault, baby. How could you have known?" he was confused. He felt there was something else here, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"I'm not her. I'm not her. I'm not her. I'm not her. I'm not her," was the refrain playing in Jordan's head, always louder and louder, faster and faster until she finally felt her brain would burst, her head explode, if she didn't say it out loud.

The words frightened him although they came in a low and seemingly decisive tone. Possibly, they frightened him even more because they were spoken in that fashion. It sounded as though they had been uttered many a time, practiced over and over again. He knew too well that there was only one 'her' in Jordan's life. He thought that Jordan had surpassed her obsession and her fears concerning her mother and the heritage she might have left her. But now he wasn't sure. Would she ever be able to escape her? Would they ever be able to escape the shadows of Emily's illness, of Emily and Max's turbulent and unhappy marital life, which left the only woman he ever loved convinced that it wasn't safe to love anybody and kept her running away and playing hide-and-seek with him? And this time it seemed they were doing so well. He wasn't going to let a woman who was dead for almost thirty years ruin Jordan's future, his future, their future.

"Of course you're not her, Jordan." He was rubbing her back tenderly. "Of course you're not her. You're Jordan," he whispered soothingly, placing light kisses onto her hair.

She seemed to have regained her composure. Making an attempt to smile and stifling a tear at the same time, she said in what she hoped to have been a lighthearted tone, "Sorry, I thought I was so over it. Old habits die hard, I guess."

He wasn't very satisfied with what she had said. He had a bad feeling that Jordan was about to hide again. To build up her wall.

"You know you can tell me everything, don't you?" He lifted her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

She nodded, wondering why he loved her - cuckoo, messed up, and being grateful to God or devil, whoever made it happen.

"It's nothing, I promise," she said. "It's just… well, my mother had a penchant for leaving all kinds of electric appliances on. There were more than a few occasions when it became, uh, considerably worse than this."

"You know this wasn't your fault." He pulled her even closer in an impulsive attempt to shield her from all bad memories. For some time they just stood like that. He felt her tension slipping away and he thanked God that, of all people, he was the one whom she allowed to hold her a little tighter. "As a matter of fact, if this was anybody's fault, than it would be mine," he said, trying to lighten things up.

She opened her mouth to protest, but then she changed her mind. Stepping back, her eyes narrowing, she said:

"Why, of course it was your fault. But it's your loss, too." She shrugged. "Hadn't you been all over me, you would just be eating the best lasagne in your greasy-donuts-and-mushu-leftovers life," she tapped her finger against his chest, smiling.

"Oh yeah?" He smiled back. "And does my 'being all over you,' as you so nicely put it, have - by any chance - anything to do with the fact that you're absolutely gorgeous?" He nibbled her lip. "Or with that bad-girls lingerie you showed me although you're a doctor and know full well it could have given me a heart attack?" His lips brushed hers.

"Oh yeah, about that lingerie…," she started, giving him a small half-apologetic smile, "How 'bout it waits for another occasion? Right now I'm only in the mood for snuggling on the couch with something from Yang-Chow's and watching a movie."

"I couldn't agree with you more," He caressed her cheek and kissed her on the forehead.

He let her go and she picked up the receiver to call the Chinese place they loved.

"Wait a minute, Jordan," he suddenly said. "I believe," he continued, entering the kitchen and retrieving something from the fridge, "you don't have to call Yang-Chi's," he said showing her a white paper bag with red Chinese letters.

She was puzzled, but only for half a second.

"Wow, look who's got trust issues now!" She was about eighty percent annoyed and twenty percent amused. "So, you didn't believe I could cook a proper dinner?" she deliberately sounded more hurt than she really was. Her track record in mind, bringing a spare dinner was probably a clever idea.

"I admit I had my doubts and I'm sorry," he replied. "Scouts honor, it won't happen again!" he raised his right hand.

"What are you sorry for?" She took the bag from him. "It's not like I've managed to cook it. I mean, unless you count burning into cooking."

"You would have cooked it hadn't it been for your timer. And I must tell you it smelled mighty good," he said as she was examining the contents of the bag. "Which is a good thing since in my town we don't marry girls who don't know how to cook."

"Okay," she raised her eyes from very inviting spring rolls, "I'll pretend I didn't hear the M-word if you let me pick the movie."

"But Jordan…" He wasn't exactly overjoyed. "You picked the last three movies we watched together," he protested, but she was already rummaging through DVDs.

"Well, this time blame it on your big mouth." She flashed him a case, a look at which made him groan. "Hope you brought a supply of Kleenex."

Smiling, Jordan tenderly looked down at her lap, or rather at the person who rested his head there. She ran her fingers through his hair again. His eyes were closed and breathing deep and even. He didn't make it even to the half of the movie this time. She caressed his face. Love might have been more than a little bit hard on her, but it seemed to be ready to make it all up to her now.

When a minute later his phone started ringing, she groaned. It was the time for mission impossible: waking Woody up. After her gentle and then not so gentle nudges failed miserably, she decided that desperate times required desperate measures. She pinched his arm so hard that he jumped immediately.

"What-" He looked around, disoriented.

"Sorry," she murmured and gave him a quick kiss as an apology, handing him the phone.

"This is Hoyt," he said drowsily. When twenty seconds later he finished the conversation with: "I'll be right there.", he was wide awake.

"There's been another one," he turned to Jordan just as her cell started to ring. He didn't need to be more specific for she understood perfectly from his tone what had happened: another dead girl with a dark dahlia in her hair.