100+ reviews Wow! Never in a million years did I even wish that would happen with my first fanfic. Thank you so much to everyone for reading and reviewing. Your ideas and thoughts have truly kept me inspired.

Dedications:

- For all you WoJo fans out there.

- For jtbwriter – thanks for hanging in there. I promised you this wouldn't be a 40's movie plot . . . here's your proof!

- And for wjobsessed - Happy Birthday my friend. Hope you had a good one!

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just trying to focus my frustration on creating a complete ending for our beloved characters.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Eleven - Danger

She didn't think. She just reacted.

Throwing her weight behind the door, she tried her best to slam it shut before he could gain access to her apartment.

But he'd anticipated her move and stuck his foot against the frame to prevent to door from latching.

She looked around frantically for something to drop on his foot but before she could find anything the coldness of steel was pressing against her cheek.

She heart landed in her throat, but she kept her body pushing against the door.

"Open the door, Jordan." He spoke quietly, but his voice was cold as death.

"Go to hell." She whispered harshly.

The gun barrel dug deeper into her soft skin. "Don't make me tell you again."

She closed her eyes, sending a silent prayer that he wouldn't get to Woody, and eased the door open.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Woody threw the cell phone onto his passenger seat, whipped the steering wheel around to pull a U-turn, and hammered his foot down on the accelerator.

"Hoyt! Hoyt! What the hell is going on?"

He snatched the phone off the seat. "That's Jordan's building!" His heart was slamming against his ribs and it took every ounce of his concentration to stay on the road while his car careened through Boston's neighbourhood streets.

"Shit." He heard Haley barking orders into what was probably a hand held radio.

"Keep your men down, Haley! You get that place crawling with agents and he'll kill her!"

"Hoyt, this is out of your hands now, let us do our jobs."

"The hell I will!"

"Detective Hoyt, don't make me restrain you at the scene. I know you want to protect her but you can't just go barging in –"

"You don't get it, Haley! He doesn't care if she dies! He'd take great pleasure in killing her for the simple reason he knows she matters to me!"

Haley was silent for a moment. "He's baiting you, Hoyt."

"I know," Woody said quietly.

"How far away are you?"

"About two minutes out."

"Go in. See if you can talk him down. I'll get my men in place as backup."

Woody snapped the phone shut and prayed Jordan was still okay.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Drew Haley slammed his fist against the desk he sat at in his temporary office at the Boston FBI office. He wasn't sure who he was angrier with: Jordan for being vulnerable to the Albanian Mob or himself for allowing her to be.

He quickly decided he was not just angry, but furious with himself. He'd promised Jordan not twenty four hours ago that he wouldn't put her in danger again. And once again, she was in a life threatening situation because he'd trusted the information contained in someone else's report.

To top it off, he was going to catch hell for allowing a BPD detective to be lead man in, instead of using the FBI task force that was allotted to him for situations such as these.

He tipped his head back, wondering how on earth he had missed knowing Jordan had been a sitting duck to Samson for hours. Something wasn't connecting with this case.

He thought about Hoyt's statement: "He doesn't care if she dies!" Why did that bother him so much? He knew Samson would go after Hoyt; in fact he expected it. But why Jordan? Yes, the man was a cold blooded killer, but there was no evidence pointing to Samson killing unnecessarily; every man he'd killed had been a means to clean up the dirty work of his mob business. It wasn't his style to take a human life with seemingly no provocation.

Haley had no reason to even think Samson would go after Jordan. Did he?

He snatched the reports from the 2005 Boston Albanian Mob case. Quickly, he scanned through them again. Nothing jumped out at him. He tossed the folder on his desk in frustration and that's when he noticed it. A piece of paper had come loose from the report and instead of reattaching it in order someone had tucked it inside the back flap of the folder where it couldn't be seen. Haley's eyes flicked over the words on the page and he stared in disbelief at the new information. Suddenly everything made sense. He clenched his jaw and let his mad roll over him once again.

He glanced at his watch, saw five minutes had passed and he knew Hoyt would be on scene, and probably entering Jordan's apartment.

It was time to call in his task force.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She'd let him in.

Why the hell had she done that?

'Cause he stuck a gun in your face, that's why!

And she knew if he was there with her, he couldn't be with Woody. Which meant Woody was safe. For the time being.

He closed the door gently behind them and forced her at gunpoint to the middle of the room. She had her wits about her enough to notice he hadn't locked the door and the knowledge of why made her blood run cold. Somehow, he knew Woody would be back to her apartment and he was making it easy for the detective to walk into his trap.

She could feel her skin crawl with fear and disgust and she willed her brain to come up with something to say to get him talking and keep him talking.

She could think of only one thing.

"Why are you here?"

He looked at her; flashed her that same sick smile he'd shown that night at his club. "Come, now, Jordan. You are a smart woman. I am sure you can figure out the answer."

"I want to hear your answer."

"Now, now, let's not ruin our little reunion with such talk. We both know you are not going to leave this room alive, let's leave it at that, shall we?"

"Don't play games with me! We know all about your connections with the Hamberi brothers and your plans for the Charlestown Bridge. Too bad your little expedition failed, Albie. There's no way you'll escape going back to prison now; not with the FBI and Homeland Security involved. So just answer then fucking question: Why are you here?"

His face turned cold and his mouth twisted into a sneer. "Because it is more fun to watch Detective Hoyt watch you suffer, than it is to just kill you both."

She swallowed hard.

"And I've failed at nothing, Dr. Cavanaugh. Everything, from the Venezia crew perishing, to your morgue handling the D-mort, has gone off without a hitch. The only thing I hadn't counted on was your plane crashing, but it worked to my advantage; it gave me a few more days to perfect the remainder of my plans."

She felt as if she'd been kicked in the gut. She'd been trapped with would-be murderers before, but she'd always been able to talk them down; convince them taking someone else's life wasn't the answer. Albie Samson was different. He was a cold blooded killer with no conscience and she knew he'd die before he went back to prison. He had nothing to live for, so nothing was going to stop him from carrying out his plan.

"How did you know the Venezia crewmen would let the bomb go on-board ship?"

"Fakhir Hamberi has a big mouth. I knew once he had overtaken the ship, he wouldn't be able to refrain from taunting the crewmen with his plan; letting them know exactly what was to happen. I did my research. This was not the first time those two crewmen risked it all to save a life. I counted on their sense of duty to carry out the part of the plan I could not trust Fakhir with: letting the bomb go at sea."

She stared at him in disbelief. "So this was all just a ruse to gain the attention of the Boston P.D.?"

He shook his head, chuckling to himself. "So smart, and yet so naïve. Not the Boston Police Department. Detective Woody Hoyt."

"You've got my attention, Albie. So let's say you let Jordan go and we finish this once and for all?"

Samson turned slowly, grinning his sick smile. "Detective Hoyt. How nice of you to join us."

"You okay?" Woody flicked his gaze toward Jordan, his gun still trained on Samson.

She nodded. Her heart had leapt into her throat at the sound of his voice and it was all she could do to keep from yelling at him to run.

"Albie here was just telling me how his plan to blow up the Charlestown Bridge and release the nerve gas has, so far, gone off without a hitch." She watched Woody's face for any flickers of confusion. There were none. She breathed a little easier knowing he'd been listening for a chance to enter without putting her in more danger. In the process, he'd gained more information than he'd bargained for.

"Yeah, I heard. Pretty impressive stuff. I have only one question for you: how did you know you'd be out of prison in time to oversee the remainder of the 'plan'?"

Samson shrugged. "That was the easy part: my lawyer had been working on the 'technicality' since I'd been remanded to prison. He knew exactly when I needed to be out of jail, and I pay him enough to make sure he followed through."

"Only now you're here. Cornered in a room with a cop who has no problems making sure you don't walk out of here. How do plan to get out of this one, Albie?" Jordan's eyes blazed with anger and resentment.

"That's easy." He moved so fast neither she nor Woody had time to react. "I don't plan on leaving any witnesses."

She felt the steel barrel of his gun pushing against her skin again and she closed her eyes.

"Jordan. Jordan, look at me."

She opened her eyes and found Woody's. He held her gaze as he promised her, "I'm going to get you out of this, Jordan. Okay?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She licked her lips. "Then do it fast, Farm Boy."

"Isn't this cozy? You know, Detective, you're making your death much more entertaining than I had ever dared to hope." Samson's eyes turned cold and his voice dripped with venom. "Now drop your weapon." He moved behind Jordan and pressed the barrel of his gun to her temple. He cocked his weapon and the click resounded like thunder in the room.

"Let her go, Albie! She hasn't done anything to you!"

"Oh, but she has detective. You see, if she hadn't poked her nose into your brother's business, you wouldn't have come after her. And you wouldn't have shot me while trying to protect her. I underestimated the power of your love for her. I won't make that mistake again."

"This place is surrounded by FBI agents, Samson. You won't get out of here alive, even if you do kill us." Woody kept his gun trained on Samson, but the man was smart: he kept his body well protected by Jordan. His head and gun hand were the only body parts open, but Woody couldn't risk firing there – if his shot was off by an inch . . . .

He became aware of Samson's voice. "This whole building is loaded with nerve gas, ready to be let go at the touch of a button. You see, Detective, while your friends at the FBI were watching me, I was watching my men. It seems there are still a few members of my organization I can trust." He tightened his grip on Jordan, making her wince painfully. "Detective, I won't tell you again: drop your weapon."

Woody hesitated a split second; just long enough to look into Jordan's eyes and see the pain and fear barely contained there. He hated giving up his weapon, but he knew if Jordan had any chance of survival, he had to do what Samson demanded. He could only hope Haley had his men in place and were ready to intervene.

He stepped forward slowly and laid his service weapon on the floor.

"Kick it under the couch."

Woody gave his gun a nudge with is foot and sent it skittering across Jordan's living room floor and under the couch. He knew now even if there was a struggle, he was going to have to rely on something other that his police issued protection. There was no way anyone in that room was getting to that gun fast enough to protect themselves.

He looked up in time to see a single tear leak from the corner of Jordan's tightly closed eyes and he felt his heart break all over again. He couldn't protect her. What on Earth ever made him think he could?

He heard what sounded like a soft scratching outside the apartment door and he willed himself to stay calm. He saw Jordan's eyes flick open, and he knew she'd heard it too. He had to keep Samson talking so he didn't hear it as well. But how? He looked at Samson and a sudden realization hit him.

"Now what, Albie? How do you plan on getting out of here unnoticed to let the nerve gas go? Shooting us will make noise and draw attention to yourself; after all, there's no silencer on your gun."

Any hope Woody'd had of throwing Samson off was crushed when the Albanian began to laugh. "I never planned on shooting you, Detective. That's too quick, too easy. And certainly not painful enough. That's what the nerve gas is for; a slow, painful death is what you deserve."

Woody's blood ran cold. If Samson wasn't planning on shooting them, then how did he plan on escaping the apartment to get to his nerve gas? To get to the door, he had to get past Woody, and there was no way Woody was planning on letting Samson slide past him.

It happened with lightening speed.

Woody heard the sickening crack of metal against bone and before he could blink, Jordan crumpled to the ground, blood rushing from the wound on her temple.

And just like Samson had planned, Woody rushed toward Jordan, allowing Samson to slip out of the apartment. Samson didn't plan, however, on the FBI being right outside Jordan's apartment door for the takedown.

Woody heard the commotion, but was too busy tending to Jordan to take notice of what was happening. He sat beside her, cradling her head in his lap. He whipped his shirt over his head, pressing the material into the wound, trying desperately to hold pressure on it and stop the bleeding. "I need some help in here!" He yelled to the agents and officers in the hallway.

He looked down at her unconscious form, willing her to wake up. "Jordan, come on, wake up, this isn't fair. You've survived being framed for murder, a brain tumor, and a plane crash; I'm not letting you die now. You have too much to live for." He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. "Besides, we still have some things we need to work out." He put his fingers to her throat and breathed a sigh of relief upon feeling a pulse. It was weak, but it was there.

"Hoyt! You okay?" Haley came rushing into the room, stopped dead at the sight of Jordan lying in a pool of blood.

"We need an ambulance." He looked up at the agent; didn't miss the fear playing across Haley's face. Woody knew he was reliving the 'Digger' case, but now was not the time for self pity. "Now, Haley!" He caught the agent's gaze. "She's going to be okay. Just go get her some help." He watched Haley move away and bark orders into his hand held radio. He returned his attention to Jordan.

The blood was starting to seep through the fabric of his shirt, so he folded over more clean fabric while still keeping pressure on Jordan's wound. I can't lose you; I won't lose you, his mind chanted over and over again. "Jordan, come on, wake up. You can't bail on me now, you still owe me a backrub, remember?"

She groaned softly then and reached up to touch his hand. "Too loud," she whispered.

"Sorry," he whispered back. "I wasn't sure if you could hear me."

"Hurts," she mumbled. "W'happened?"

"Your head got in the way of the butt of Samson's gun."

"Better thanna bullet," she slurred. "Can't open m'eyes, Woods. Dizzy."

"The ambulance is on its way, Jordan. Just hang on a few minutes more." He was getting desperate now; she was exhibiting signs of a serious concussion, and his brain scrambled to remember his first aid training. Keep her talking. But what did he say?

His mind flashed back to the morning they'd gotten off the mountain. He'd been sitting with Garret, watching Jordan, wishing he could stop her pain and tell her all the things he longed for her to hear. Garret had looked right through him and offered a very Garret-esque piece of advice: "Stop analyzing it and just go with your heart. Don't think about the perfect place, or the perfect time; just do it, the first second you have the chance."

"Jordan. Jordan?" He shook her gently. "Wake up sweetheart. You have to stay awake, Jordan. Please."

She mumbled something incoherent.

"Jordan, I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?" He heard her grunt and almost laughed with relief. "Remember what you said to me on the mountain? Remember you told me you had to say it because you didn't want it left unsaid?" She squeezed his hand. He took a deep breath. "Open your eyes," he whispered. He watched her eyelids flutter and one eye cracked open. "I don't want it left unsaid either." Both eyes popped open. He took a deep breath, moved his head so his lips were hovering just above hers and he was looking directly into her eyes. "I love you, Jordan. And you are not leaving me, okay?" Her eyes fluttered closed again and fear curled in his gut. "Okay," she whispered. He brushed his lips with hers, kissed the tip of her nose. "Okay."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------