DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Willing, ready and able to stage a coup.

NOTES: I've only been working on this for six months now. The upcoming premiere motivated me to get it done! Oh and the police work and forensics is incredibly unrealistic, I know. Call it creative license which, were I being paid for this, I wouldn't do, but given I'm not…well, do the math.

DEDICATION: Those of you who so kindly feedback my stories. I appreciate it tons and tons. J/W fans will like the way this one turns out – after a lot of twists. Scout's honor!

I Know You're Out There Somewhere: The Mists are Slowly Lifting

Nigel glanced yet again over his shoulder. It had been five days since his conversation with Dr. Macy and it wasn't that he didn't trust his boss – he did, implicitly, it was that it had added to his already healthy paranoia, which was why he'd gone out to Braintree to find a public access computer terminal. Whistling softly, he walked into a place aptly named "The Geek Isles." One look at the dim interior, the vast array of techno toys and the distrustful looking kid behind the counter and Nigel thought he'd reached paradise. He'd be willing to bet a year's salary that he could get these guys to set up an untraceable relay, erase any trace of his presence here and then easily claim a hundred blokes matching his description came in the shop in a month if Lu Simmons and her less-than-stellar-detective skills ever even got a whiff that he'd been here. His assessment proved correct. A quick word about "the man" (amazing how that still worked) and Nigel was set up.

When Jordan's mail came up, he was in the most relaxed frame of mind he could reach these days. True, he wished he had more to write back to her beyond Dr. M's reassurance that they'd find out – Sweet Nancy! He sat forward, nearly spilling the espresso he'd picked up next door. Then he reread her mail.

He nibbled on his lower lip, wondering exactly how he could get a hold of that police report, but vowing he would. He also couldn't imagine what had impelled her to think of it. Had she even known about Pollack's car accident? Still deep in thought, Nige paid for his time on the machine, grabbed a business card, which listed a few other locations and blessed his luck at finding this place.

XXXXX

Two days before that, Jordan had done her own deep thinking. From the time she had dropped Vicky at American University, as she had navigated D.C. traffic, she had planned what to say, how to wheedle out the information she needed. She'd also spent a lot of time hoping against hope that enough time had passed that even if her description had circulated this far, the D.C. precinct where she was going would be too busy to have noticed much or to remember. Truth be told, she couldn't have supplied a rational reason for her decision to walk freely into a police station. "You see, I had this dream and I just knew…" was going to sound pretty dumb if she ended up explaining it to Nige, Bug, Lily and Garret when the D.C. cops brought her handcuffed back to Boston. She couldn't even think about the Boston cops – Lu Simmons especially.

But she had had this dream. Almost nightly since Pollack's death, her mind seemed to need to remind her that it might never have happened. She'd find herself in the hotel room with him – before the rehearsal and dinner. They'd be flirting, circling each other warily but ever closer, attraction still fierce, the possibilities reawakening. He'd kiss her and she'd respond. He'd say whatever it was he'd said about just staying there and she'd remind him of her maid of honor duties, knowing deep down it was nerves, that Lily would have understood if Jordan had skipped out. She'd add her "Besides, we have all night" and he'd reply in that silky tone "More than that I hope." In her dream she'd remember perfectly the way her heart had clenched, then fluttered as she tried to sort out what it meant, how he'd kissed her to emphasize his continuing desire for her and how she'd begun to believe there was hope for them. More – how she'd begun to like that idea. And then she'd wake up. Every night. Her heart thudding with some unnamed fear, her eyes wet with tears for what could have been, her soul shriveling with the certainty that she was missing some important moment in their exchange.

Then that morning – early – the dream. But when he'd said "More than that I hope" and kissed her, she had responded more ardently, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him closer. He'd groaned and pulled back, trying to grin.

"What is it?"

Wave of a hand. "Nothing."

"Pollack." Voice all but a growl.

A shrug. "Car accident. Last week. My ribs're just a bit bruised is all."

"What happened?" Her heart thudding now with identifiable fear.

"Some idiot. Ran a light." Brows creasing down. "Well, more like went out of turn. Then took off."

"Where?"

"Ah, right near the paper. Look, luv, not worth talking about, okay?" But his eyes. His eyes cutting away from her. "Give me five minutes to get cleaned up."

Jordan hadn't gotten back to sleep. It meant something. He'd never said anything to her. She'd only known about the car accident because Nigel had mentioned it as being a dead end in an e-mail. She'd sighed, knowing it could still be a dead end, but also knowing she had little to lose at that point. And her dreams had helped her before.

Now, two days later, Nigel had read the results of Jordan's foray. He could only imagine what ruse she'd tried on them. He did chuckle to himself, wondering if Jordan pulled the weepy girlfriend/sister/mistress on some poor unsuspecting bloke. Maybe she'd played the wronged wife, claiming to need the information for some marital reason. Perhaps she'd bluffed her way in, asserting her nonexistent authority to be there so strongly that she'd been believed. Her chimerical personality made it almost too easy for her. Sometimes Nige pitied the luckless souls who faced her. Most of the time it just amused him though and he could use the laugh.

Tapping his fingers on the break room table, he muttered, "Now, how to get the official copy of that police report."

"You've considered requesting it, right?" Lily, heretofore unnoticed, smirked over at him as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

"Not from B.P.D., I'm afraid," he replied, not really thinking.

"Where then?"

That brought Nigel back. "Uhhh… nowhere."

Lily nodded. "Ah, yeah. I hear there's a real crime problem in 'nowhere.' Terrible."

"Lily…."

She cocked her head and sat down across from him. "Nigel, come on. It has to do with Jordan." She met his gaze steadily. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're wrong." His voice was too miserable though.

She snorted. "Where does this report that you need come from?"

"Can't tell you that."

She nodded in understanding. "Why do you need it?"

"Shouldn't tell you that."

"Can't you just – phone in an anonymous tip?"

Now Nigel snorted. "Yeah. And the first thing Detective Simmons will do is rush over here to figure out which one of us did it."

Lily grimaced at the truth in that statement. She fell silent, thinking, sipping her coffee. After a moment, her eyes narrowed. "Nige?"

He looked up.

"Can you think of anyone in this office who might know someone else who could get that report, some way you wouldn't have to go through Simmons or Walcott?"

The Brit thought for a moment and then his eyes gleamed. "Brilliant! You're bloody brilliant, luv!" He leaned across the table, captured her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. "If Dr. M comes around, tell him I needed to take care of something personal."

Stunned, but grinning, Lily nodded.

Twenty minutes later found Townsend with a pre-paid disposable cell phone calling an old friend. The man came on the line and Nigel explained, with minimal detail, the situation.

"You're joking! Come on, Nigel. You're kidding me! They think Jordan killed someone?" He snorted loudly. "If she didn't kill Woody after the way he was acting toward her… well, yeah. Jordan!"

"So, um, Danny, you're willing to get me what I need?"

"Hell, yeah!" came Danny McCoy's impassioned response. "Give me what you need. I'll have the report in the Boston Morgue by tomorrow morning."

"And Danny?"

"Yeah?"

"Not a word, okay?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

XXXXX

Emmy brought Nigel an overnighted package which he tore into greedily. The contents were what Jordan had related, but now he had official documentation. He had the statement that would make the hearts of everyone at the morgue sing. The man suspected of crashing his car into Pollack's was being sought by the D.C. police.

For attempted murder.

END Part Two