Author's Notes: As always, thank you all for the wonderful reviews. It's your feedback that keeps me writing. :) And now, on with the next chapter (where the real plot finally comes out to play)…

xXx

Wonderland

Chapter 3

xXx

"Can't you tell me anything?"

"I'm sorry, detective," Doctor Skinner said, annoyed, "but unless you are her husband or have a court order, my lips are sealed."

"But you have to understand," Woody tried once again. "Something is going on with her. I just want to make sure she's okay."

The doctor sighed at the other end of the line. "Is she fatigued?"

"What?" He was taken off guard at the random question and it took a moment to register. "No, she's not. Well, no more than usual."

"Has she been seizing?"

"No, but -"

"Violent mood swings or strange changes in behavior?"

"Yes!" Woody jumped on the last one. "Well, not violent mood swings or anything, but she's been more emotional than what's normal for her. Does that make sense?"

Skinner was quiet for a second before he asked, "Is it her time of the month?"

The detective fumed at the arrogance in the man's voice. "I don't know," he said through clenched teeth. "But I do know that something is wrong and you won't help me!"

"I am sorry, Mister Hoyt, but there is nothing I can do."

Woody slammed the phone back in its cradle and leaned into the cushions angrily. Bastard, he thought. Early morning sunlight streamed through the large windows in the downstairs living room, seeming to ignite the burgundy carpet under his feet. The contents of Jordan's purse were spilled across the coffee table before him. He'd woken to find her still passed out in his arms and took the opportunity to do some digging. She would kill him if she knew, but Woody was concerned.

Marshall Skinner's number had been scrawled across a piece of paper at the bottom of the bag. Apparently, the doctor she had been seeing before – the one who had performed her surgery – was offered a job in New Jersey, so Jordan was referred to this new man back in Boston. A poor choice, in Woody's opinion, but who was he to tell her what doctors to see?

Deciding it would be very bad if Jordan came downstairs and saw her belongings scattered everywhere, Woody leaned forward again and returned each object to the small purse. A tube of lipstick, her wallet, a little package of tissues, various papers and pens. The bottle of pills. He had stared at the label before he had placed the call to Skinner, but the product name stirred nothing in his memory; he had no idea what it was for.

Her sudden break last night had scared him senseless. It was the last thing he had expected, but seeing her sitting there in the dark broke his heart. He had never been good around crying women, and Jordan only made him all the more nervous. She was Jordan, after all. The woman who had an answer for everything. The master of hiding emotions and running when it got too hard. He felt that if he did one thing wrong now, she would be gone forever.

The floorboards creaked above his head, bringing him quickly back to reality. He hastily dropped her purse on the coffee table, trying to make it seem like she had left it there herself.

"Woody?" Jordan's soft voice echoed through the vast foyer as she descended the stairs. "Where are you?"

Woody got to his feet and walked to the doorway. "I'm over here." He smiled up at her, taking in the image of her rumpled clothes from the day before and her messy bed hair. No matter what she wore, what she looked like, she was always gorgeous. "Good morning."

She returned his smile, her cheeks turning a light shade of red. "So," she said brightly, "what's for breakfast?"

"Um…" He'd already searched through the kitchen again, finding no more than he had last night. "Well, I was going to take you out for breakfast. And since there is absolutely no food in the house, maybe we could go to the grocery after we eat?"

"Sounds like a plan." She stopped on the stairs and made to turn around. "I'll go put on some…clean clothes. Is there a place that makes French toast around here?"

xXx

They found a restaurant close by that not only served French toast, but pretty much every other breakfast food known to man as well. The meal had passed with easy banter and chatter. Woody was afraid to bring up anything from the night before, and Jordan seemed quite content to keep quiet about it. A thing of the past, he mused as the check was paid and they got up to leave.

"What were you doing up so early?" Jordan asked randomly once they were in the car. "I thought I heard you on the phone. Who were you talking to?"

Woody threw a quick glance at her, alarmed, but was able to assure himself that from the look on her face, she was genuinely curious and not suspicious. "A detective back in Boston. Asked me for an opinion." Not exactly a lie; he had called his friend to thank him again for the keys, and his friend was a detective…

"Ah." She nodded, staring out the window. "What was the case?"

"I don't know," he supplied quickly. "I told him I was on vacation and didn't want to think about a homicide. Do you see a grocery anywhere?" They had come up to a strip mall with a variety of stores, but a grocers' was conspicuously absent. From their position on the road, anyway.

Jordan leaned forward and peered at the large sign with store logos. "There should be one in there, but I don't see it." She continued her search as Woody slowed to turn into the parking lot. "Oh, there it is! Off to the left, on the corner."

Woody pulled into a spot and cut the engine. "Do we have a list or anything?"

"No." Jordan laughed. "We're only going to be here for a few days. We don't need a list." A thought occurred to her as she was opening her door. "Do you know how to cook?"

He shrugged and locked the car. "Out on my own by sixteen, remember? Yes, I know how to cook."

Jordan studied him for a moment, not so much surprised as impressed. "Can't wait to find out just how well…" Her eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Excuse me!" A high pitched voice broke through their conversation. "Excuse me!" The owner of the voice, a tall blonde woman, probably around her mid-forties, rounded on them with a huge smile plastered across her face. "I saw you moving into Will Huntington's place yesterday evening. I live next door – the green one. Holly Whitaker." She held out her hand.

"Jordan Cavanaugh." Jordan shook the woman's hand obligingly. "And this is Woody Hoyt."

Holly stood back and continued smiling. "Are you friends of Will's?"

"I am, yeah." Woody shook her hand as well but didn't have the heart to grin back. "We're on the Force together."

"Oh, another detective! How lovely!" Her blue eyes bore into his, seeming to read him like a book. "How long are you here for?"

"Only a few days," Jordan cut in, placing her hand on Woody's arm. "Needed a little break. I'm sure you know how it is, work getting to be too much to handle."

"Oh, no, dear." That smile only widened. "I don't work. Don't need to."

Jordan was at a loss. She glanced up at Woody, but he was just as quiet. "Oh, well -"

"We were just going to get some food and head back to the house," Woody interjected before his companion could say something rude. "It was very nice to meet you." He put an arm across Jordan's shoulders and they began to turn away.

"Jordan, dear?" Holly reached out and touched her shoulder. "It is Jordan, isn't it? Are you a detective as well?"

The M.E. just stared for a moment, trying to decide what was best to divulge. "I…you could say that."

"Well, that's just dandy!" Her eyes widened as an idea came to her. "You know, it would be wonderful if the two of you could join my husband and me for dinner. Is tomorrow night okay?"

Woody hesitated, his body tensing at the awkward situation they had found themselves in. "Um, sure."

Jordan switched her stare to him as Holly said, "Seven o'clock fine with you?"

"Perfect."

The woman clapped her hands excitedly. "Great. I'll see you folks then. I know Paul will just love to meet you both." She waved goodbye and sauntered off to find her car.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Jordan rounded on him as soon as Holly had left hearing range.

"What are you talking about?" Woody's eyes were wide, startled at her sudden outburst.

"Getting us invited to dinner, that's what!" She hit his arm.

"Ouch!" He pulled away from her, even more surprised. "I was just being polite. You know, that thing where you're actually nice to people? You'd be amazed at how well it works sometimes." He rubbed his arm, watching her warily. Those violent outbreaks were not fun. At all. Doctor Skinner's questions ran through his head, but he quickly pushed them away as he readied himself for her retaliation.

None came. Instead she walked away and toward the glass doors of the grocery, ignoring him completely. Woody hurried after her and grabbed her shoulder, whipping her around to face him. "What is going on with you?"

Jordan's expression was one of resentment, but not resentment for him. More like resentment for the whole world. "I don't want to have dinner with that woman and her husband."

"Why not?" He released her shoulder in the hope that she wouldn't hit him again.

She huffed and pursed her lips. "I didn't like her." His laugh startled her. "What?"

Woody shook his head, gazing off over the building. "You don't really like anyone you don't know, do you?"

That stopped her. She bit her lower lip, seriously considering his question, rhetorical though it may have been. "I don't want to talk about it," she finally mumbled. "I'll go. Okay?"

"I'll stop by their house when we get back and cancel."

"You're sweet." She paused again, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "But you really shouldn't give in to me like that. At least, not all the time." Her wavering gaze leveled with his. "Although it is rather endearing."

"Endearing, huh?" He could almost feel the barricade around her falling and took a slow step forward before she could spring it back up. The skin of her cheek was soft under his palm as he reached out to her. "You have no idea just how convincing you can be; makes it kinda hard not to give in." He leaned down so his lips just brushed her ear. "Don't we have some shopping to do?"

Jordan's gasp sent a sharp pang of longing through his body. She was all he wanted, all he could remember wanting for years. Even though, he was also terrified of losing her. One wrong move and she'd be gone. A promise of things to come – and a reminder of what she had with him – was all that she needed to keep her there. But how long would that last? Commitment was the one thing he wasn't sure if she was able to give, and was the one thing he needed more than anything. Woody pushed the concerns as far from his mind as he could and pressed a kiss to her neck, another to her lips for all too brief a moment.

She pulled away to look at him as though sensing his unease. "Are you okay?"

"Perfect." A car starting in the parking lot brought them back. Public places and displays of affection didn't always go well together. "So, shall we shop?"

Jordan gave him a broad smile and took his hand tightly in her own. "We shall."

xXx

They're coming. I know they're coming. Coming for me. My money. Money. They want my money. They want to kill me. Conspiracy. It's a conspiracy. Everything is a conspiracy. Always.

Bright stars. The moon was shining sulkily… Walrus. Because she thought the sun had got no business to be there. Stars. Sea. The sea in the moonlight. The sun was shining on the sea, shining with all his might…

Must stop them. Put out the sun. Let the moon shine. The moon was shining sulkily… It is nighttime. No sun. Conspiracy. They took the sun. Kill. I must stop them. I must kill them. It's very rude of him, she said, to come and spoil the fun. Carpenter. The Walrus and the Carpenter. The sea. The conspiracy. My money. Must kill them.

Must kill them all and take back the sun.

xXx

It was late afternoon by the time Jordan and Woody returned to the town home. They had decided to walk around the strip mall for a while, enjoying the time out together, before heading back to get the food. The food they were now hauling inside. There wasn't much, but there was enough to be a hassle.

Jordan set the last bag on the counter and peered inside it. "You still haven't told me what you're going to make for dinner." She pulled a loaf of bread and a box of crackers out of the bag and set about putting them in the cupboard. "You're not gonna try and surprise me, are you? 'Cause I'd hate for you to go to the trouble of cooking something I don't like."

Woody smirked at her as she slid past him to put the orange juice in the refrigerator. "Well, you like pasta, don't you?"

"Okay, fine." The plastic bags crinkled loudly as she crushed them together and shoved them in the recycle bin. "I guess you know me well enough to know what I do and don't like to eat. Sorry." She stepped over to where he was leaning against the island counter and put her hands on the countertop on either side of him. Her body was warm against his as she relaxed into his chest, moving her hands to clasp behind his neck. "You know, we have a while before dinnertime…"

"What exactly are you suggesting?" He wrapped his arms securely around her waist and pressed his face into her dark hair, planting small kisses along the line of her neck. The scent of her was thick around him, making his mind reel. It was still hard for him to really believe that he was finally able to take Jordan into his arms and have her respond to his touch. In a good way, though. None of that spooking and running off.

"Well, let's see…" Her hand slipped into his hair and she gently stopped his exploration of her jaw. Before he could protest, she grazed her lips over his, smiling as she did so. "You." She kissed him again. "And me." Another kiss to the bridge of his nose. "Alone."

Just about put up with her teasing, Woody took her face in his hands and kissed her forcefully on the lips. She gasped against him, sending pangs of need down his spine. All worries – worries for her, for her health, for her behavior – disappeared as she met him stroke for stroke.

Until, as fate would have it, someone started pounding on the front door. A faint yelling could be heard outside. Jordan pulled away, frowning into the foyer. "What the hell?"

Woody followed her as she rushed over to open the door. It was Holly Whitaker, doubled over on the stoop, her eyes wide and terrified.

"He's dead!" she screamed, losing her footing and lashing out to grab the railing by the stairs. "You have to help me! Please!" Tears streamed down her face, her expression one of pure horror. "Someone murdered him!"

"What?" Jordan stepped outside to help steady her. "Who's dead?"

"My husband!" Holly's fingers dug into Jordan's arm. "Someone murdered Paul!"