A/N: I've never been to Boston. Keep that in mind if you have, and are offended by my lack of geography knowledge. :)

Disclaimer: Not mine. ::le sigh::

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"Let me make sure I've got this straight," Woody said slowly. Garret had called and insisted that he come over to the morgue post-haste, and when he'd arrived the other man had dropped a metaphorical bomb on his head. "Jordan's not dying of brain cancer. She just thinks she is. So now we have to find her and stop her before she does something stupid, like kill herself."

"That's pretty much the situation."

"This is insane. This is…what are the odds that something like this could happen?"

"Very low," Garret admitted. "But it did happen, and now we've got to find Jordan. Do you have any idea where she'd go?"

Woody shrugged helplessly and Garret sighed.

"We put out an APB on her," Nigel interjected from behind them. "Lily and Bug are out searching all her favorite haunts. Unless she's left Boston entirely, I have no idea where she is."

"I don't think she'd leave Boston –"

"I saw Jordan!"

All three men turned toward Lily, who was standing in the doorway, breathless and windswept.

"Where?" Garret demanded, going over to her.

"On Broad Street, leaving the Wyndham Hotel. She was hailing a cab. I tried to catch her, but I lost her in the crowd."

"I'm going to the Wyndham," Woody informed them, jumping to his feet. "Maybe the desk clerk will recognize her picture, be able to tell us something helpful. Nigel?"

"Right behind you, mate."

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"Sure, I remember her…the brunette with the cute a–" At the icy glares both men shot him, the concierge cleared his throat nervously, looking down at his computer. "Room 1412. She checked out early this morning."

"Have the maids gotten to the room yet?"

"I wouldn't think so," he said, shaking his head. "They start at the ground floor. That room probably won't be cleaned before one this afternoon; check-in isn't until two."

"Right," Woody said, extending his hand to the concierge. "I need the key. Now."

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The hotel room was merely nice, but the view was absolutely amazing. The entire city was laid out in a beautiful panorama, the Charles winding through it like a sparkling ribbon. Nigel took a moment to appreciate it, understanding why Jordan would have wanted to experience this. Woody, however, had already zeroed in on what he hoped would be the hint they needed to find Jordan. A sheet of paper lay discarded on the queen-sized bed. Woody grabbed the piece of paper off of the bed, scanning it quickly.

"Nigel, I think I've got something."

Nigel looked away from the window, inquiring, and Woody held up the paper.

"It's a list of random stuff, and it's in Jordan's handwriting."

Nigel came over to stand next to the young detective, reading over his shoulder.

" Fenway Park, St. Cecelia's, the old house, the Wyndham hotel…they're all places. And they all have check marks next to them."

"So do these," Woody added, pointing. "Talk to Garret, say goodbye to Mom, tell Woody –" His voice caught in his throat as he read the words and knew, suddenly and terribly, what he was holding in his hands. "This is Jordan's to-do list. She thinks she's dying, and this is her list of everything she wants to do before she…"

Nigel patted the detective's shoulder tentatively as Woody dropped the paper, burying his face in his hands.

"We'll find her, mate," he assured the other man. "Look, the things she's done are checked off, right? So we just find what she hasn't done yet, and that's where we'll find our girl."

"Right," Woody agreed, exhaling sharply and rubbing his eyes before picking up the list again. "…here. It's the last thing on the list. 'Swann's Way, Tisch.'" He frowned, glancing at Nigel. "What's that?"

"I have no bloody idea," the Brit replied, pulling out his cell phone. " But Dr. Macy might."

Woody returned his attention to the list as Nigel spoke with the chief ME. There were smudges through some of the words on the paper – tear tracks, he realized. It tore at his heart that Jordan was suffering so much anguish over a lab mix-up. He could only hope they would find her before it was too late to save her from herself.

"It's a book," Nigel informed him as he hung up with Macy, dragging Woody out of his introspection.

"What?"

"Swann's Way, by Marcel Proust," Nigel elaborated. "A French classic. Personally, I never had the patience to read French literature –"

"Where can she get it?" Woody interrupted. Nigel sighed, running his hands through his hair.

"According to Dr. M., pretty much any bookstore or library in the greater Boston area."

"Damn," Woody swore, looking back to Jordan's list for some sort of clue. "Wait. You said the book was by a guy named Proust?"

"Right."

"Then who is this 'Tisch'?"

"Not who," Nigel replied, his eyes widening in sudden recognition. "Where. Tisch is a library at Tufts University. Jordan went to school there."

"Where is it?"

" Medford, off Boston Avenue."

"What are we waiting for? Let's go!"