Soulless
Chapter Eight: You Have a Place in Life
Rating: PG-13 (I think)
Word Count: 1,251
Disclaimer: I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Well, I do, but I don't possess them yet. (Curse the slowness of mail. :P )
Summary: A serial killer takes a twisted interest in a certain detective.
Pairing: Woody/Jordan
Author's Note: While my previous fics were more humorous than dramatic or suspenseful, this isn't. It's a pretty big divergence from the others. And my life is unbearably busy, so I won't be able to update as often as I have in the past.

frowns I seem to have given readers of this fic an impression that I never meant to give... I don't see it so much myself (but then again, I didn't intend it that way, so maybe that's why I'm blind?) shrugs I never really meant for the killer to have a rhyme or a reason. She is soulless, devoid of any morality. That's all.

Oh... And I don't think I really answered any questions this time. Not sure if that makes me evil or just annoying. :P

You Have a Place in Life

"Why should we believe her?" Nigel demanded. "For three weeks, she's been telling us that Woody's dead and we'll never find his body. Now she says that he's alive, and we have to find him quickly? I'm tired of being her little lapdog who has to jump when she says."

"We can't afford not to," Garret cut in quietly. "Yes, this woman has harassed and taunted our office for over a month. She has made us a part of her game, and whether we like it or not, we're still playing. Because if there is a chance, even a remote one, that Woody is alive, we have to do everything we can to bring him home."

Garret watched his staff carefully. He hated giving them false hope, but he knew that he was right. If Woody was out there, alive, then they had to find him. If all they were going to find was a body, that was what they had to do. It might not be what they wanted, but at least they would have closure. Jordan would have closure, and that was what she really needed.

Nigel nodded wearily. He had been up all night working a double before they arrested the Quince woman, and he would be here until it was all over. There was no point in telling him to go. None of them could. None of them would. "I'm sorry, Dr. M."

"Don't be, Nigel," Garret told him. Nigel smiled slightly and shook his head. Garret turned towards Bug, who had just reentered the room, a paper in hand and triumphant smile on his face. "What's that, Bug?"

"We were finally able to track down a series of dummy corporations to one owned by Harold Quince, which as we now know, is really owned by Mrs. Quince. And this company owns several commercial buildings in the greater Boston area, including three in the ten block radius where we believe Quince was taking her victims," Bug explained.

"Call Seely," Garret said as he started out of the room. He grabbed his own phone and hit the speed dial for Renee Walcott. As he listened to it ring, he told his people, "I want those buildings searched, now. Preserve the crime scene if you find it, but I want us to focus on finding Woody. Or his body."

There was a click, and Walcott picked up. "Renee. I need you to get me search warrants on buildings owned by Quince."

"You'll get them," Renee promised. "Have you seen Cavanaugh?"

"I sent Lily over to her," Garret said, frowning. "What, she's not there?"

"No, Garret. Ms. Lebowski is here, but no Cavanaugh. No one has seen her since she left Quince earlier. She was pretty shaken up, but she asked for a minute alone, and I gave it to her. I'm guessing that was a mistake."

Garret cursed. "Damn it, Jordan. Where are you?"

Despite Quince's claim that Woody was, in fact, alive, Jordan felt like she was trespassing on a shrine as she entered his office. The precinct hadn't reassigned it yet. Everyone was still waiting for the official word—a body—to declare him dead. Another detective worked his caseload, but this office was still his. His shirts in the bottom left hand drawer, his photos on the desk, notes scribbled down in his handwriting. She lifted the top sticky note and smiled slightly. Call Jordan. NOT the same place again.

It was funny. She even liked arguing with him.

She sat down gingerly, silently apologizing to the ghost the room seemed to harbor as she booted up the computer and waited impatiently for it to work.

"Why are you doing this?" Jordan demanded when she found her voice again. "Why me? What did I do to you? I don't even know you."

Quince snorted indelicately. "You think this was about you, Dr. Cavanaugh? That is where you are wrong. It was never about you. It wasn't even about him."

Jordan stared at her. No one was that heartless. There had to be some reason for all of this. "I don't believe you."

"Torment yourself if you like," Quince grinned again sadistically. "But the truth is, it could have been anyone who held the door open for me that day. It happened to be him."

Stunned, Jordan shook her head. None of this made sense. The taunts, the threats. They seemed personal. Quince was trying to claim that they weren't. "That was why you chose him?"

"He was nice," Quince explained. "I hate people who are nice."

"You singled Woody out, harassed him, kidnapped him, possibly killed him...because he opened a door for you?"

"Naive people have no place in this world, Dr. Cavanaugh. Haven't you seen that by now? I have. I know my place in the world. It is a shame no one else does."

Her place. That was what Jordan was looking for now. Ten blocks. Six condemned buildings. But only one scheduled to be demolished tomorrow. That was it. It had to be. Even if Woody wasn't alive, Jordan knew that Quince didn't want his body found.

Jordan wrote down the address and rushed to her car. She drove through the city, heedless of the traffic surrounding her, oblivious to the shouts and honking of horns. She had to get there, now.

She parked her car in front of the building. She stared up at it for a moment. How had people missed a red Miata zipping in and out of here? This was not a neighborhood anyone would take a decent car into, not a place they would go alone. She shouldn't be here alone, but she hadn't wanted them to try and stop her. Not this time. She'd gone along with their banning her from the case before Woody was taken, and she shouldn't have. She should have fought them every step of the way. Maybe she couldn't have changed it too much. But she would have felt a hell of a lot better right now.

She slammed the door shut on the car, hearing the echo in the faulty steel of the building's frame. This was a deathtrap. No wonder it had been condemned. Still, she didn't have a choice.

She made her way carefully through the debris and rubble. The dirt didn't seem to have been disturbed recently. Maybe she was wrong about this. She should turn around and go back to her car, to a safe position, and call Garret.

She didn't stop. She pushed past a closed door, hearing rats or something worse scurrying away from her. "Hello?"

A thunk. That was not a rat.

Or, if it was, it was a damn big one. She shuddered a little and wrapped her arms around herself as she stepped over a broken pallet. "Hello? Is someone here?"

She stumbled over a broken board in the floor and saw light where it shouldn't be. A sliver, just enough to be from a small crack in what seemed to be a sealed room. She studied the wall, running her hands over it until she found a gap and started to pry it free. The nails held tight. This was new, even if the rest of the building was collapsing.

Wedging a piece of wood in the gap, she pulled the panel free and light from the exposed roof flooded her eyes. She blinked a few times to adjust.

Her mouth fell open in a half-scream. "Oh, god. Woody."