Disclaimer: If the show were mine, Nigel would've been getting a whole lot more action.

Jordan

I'm still staring in disbelief at James and the woman sitting next to him. Woody gets over his shock before I do and comes over to whisper to me without Walcott overhearing.

"Jordan? I thought your brother was a fugitive. What's going on? Does he work for the ATF?"

I finally look away from the tableaux on the other side of the two-way mirror to blink at him.

"I have no idea. I never thought –" Never thought he might have a real life? the nagging voice in the back of my head demands. Never thought James might mean something to someone other than you? "I don't know," I finish lamely.

I'm saved from further awkwardness by the shrill ring of a cell phone. Walcott and Woody both glance reflexively down at their phones, but on the other side of the glass, the blonde is answering hers.

"This is Ingram," she says, and on some level I'm not surprised that she doesn't go by 'Cavanaugh', despite the fact that she's married to James. For all I know, James may not use the surname either; he's probably got a dozen aliases. Woody found three different fake IDs in my brother's wallet, and I'm sure there are plenty more where those came from.

"That's good news," Ingram is saying into her phone. "Nice work, Jack…uh-huh. Nope, James and I are fine, thanks…no, I'd really prefer it if you didn't stage a reenactment of the Boston Tea Party as a distraction…no, no one's blowing anything up…yes, if we do, we'll call you…I know, I know, you're the king of demolitions. I'd be more impressed if you were the king of filing your PMA reports on time."

James snickers at this and then winces, and I surmise that Ingram probably kicked him under the table.

"Thanks, Jack. See you tomorrow."

She snaps the phone shut and immediately shoots a glare at James, which effectively quells whatever sardonic comment he was about to offer.

"How's Jack?" he asks instead, settling for 'interested and helpful' when I'm sure he wanted to shoot for 'obnoxious but lovable'. I'm beginning to realize that 'obnoxious but lovable' is my brother's usual state of existence.

"Mission complete," she says, clearly satisfied with the fact. "And our team actually didn't shoot any of the hostages, which is a good thing."

"Damn," James sighs, drumming his fingers on the table. When she raises an eyebrow at him, he shrugs. "That means I owe Jack a beer."

"I'd be wasting my breath with a lecture about illegal gambling or making light of life and death situations, right?"

"Right."

"Just checking." Ingram pauses, starts to say something else, and then stops abruptly. James notices her hesitation and shakes his head.

"You want to know what happened."

"I want to know what the party line is, James. Your word is the last word on this one."

There's no catch in her voice, no waver. She's clearly willing to take whatever version of events James gives her and back it up one hundred percent. From the expression on his face, he expected this, although he doesn't look particularly happy about it. It's his turn to pause, clearly considering his options.

"I want the truth out there for everyone to hear," he says finally. "Too many people have lied about this, about every part of it they could. People deserve the truth. My sister deserves the truth."

"Okay," says Ingram, leaning back in her chair even as I move forward, stepping past Woody and Walcott and my father to press my palms against the two-way mirror. I want to hear what James has to say. "Tell me."

He starts out slow, summing up his activities over the past few months, which mostly seem to entail casing my neighborhood, following me around, and generally skulking about like a character out of a Tom Clancy novel. I'm surprised to hear that he was in California when I was. He followed Woody and me to Herman Redding's place, and I have no doubt that if Woody hadn't shot Redding, James would have.

When he gets to the events of last Tuesday night, he hesitates, looking at the two-way mirror.

"I'm not sure my sister should hear this," he murmurs to Ingram, just loud enough for the speaker to pick up. "I mean, I want her to know everything, but…it's not a nice story, Evie. I know Jordan, and I know she's back there. She's going to hear it."

"You've told me about her," Ingram reminds him, and my eyes widen. He's told her about me? Told her what? Clearly it was something other than, you know, "Hey, you've got a sister-in-law." "If she doesn't hear it now, she'll just beat it out of you later."

"True," he agrees, still looking reluctant. "All right. She went to Malden's office to…you know, now that I think about it, I'm still not sure why she went. To threaten him, maybe. To get a better understanding of our…convoluted family dynamic."

"Well put."

"While she was there, he drugged her."

"With what?"

"Methylhexital and scotch."

Ingram clucks her tongue. "Naughty, naughty. Methylhexital is a class-A controlled substance."

"Used by several terrorist cells in interrogations," James agrees.

"As far as NAIACO is concerned, you were officially off the hook for killing him as of right then," she informs him. "Use of any controlled substance –"

" – on a NAIACO agent or knowledgeable family member or associate for purposes of interrogation or torture allows appropriate interfering action by any NAIACO agent, with appropriateness of the action determined by a superior in the chain of command." He smiles at the startled look on her face. "Sometimes I listen when you talk."

"Such an obliging boy," she replies drolly. "As the AD for the Eastern Seaboard, I'm giving you the thumbs up."

"What's NAIACO?" Woody murmurs behind me. Walcott says something I half-hear, about North America and terrorism, but I'm busy watching James. He looks uncomfortable, shifting in his chair, and Ingram has noticed it too.

"So you shot him in his office?" Ingram is asking.

"I didn't actually shoot him then," James hedges, and Ingram gives him a questioning look.

"Why not?"

"I observed the interrogation, and I would have shot him if it had looked like Jordan was going to reveal sensitive information."

"But she didn't?"

A proud smile crosses his face. "She didn't tell him a damn thing."

"Then she's definitely your sister," Ingram informs him tartly. "What happened next?"

"Malden had his driver take the both of them to her apartment; he was looking for me. I observed from the empty apartment next door."

"With what? Don't tell me you swiped a fiberoptic scope from Supply. Danziger will have you killed."

He looks sheepish. "I'd gone into the adjoining apartment the week before and drilled a hole in the wall."

"James Cavanaugh, king of low-tech surveillance. And then?"

"Jordan was completely out of it," he says evasively. "She probably won't remember anything that happened after they left his office."

"I don't need corroborating testimony," Ingram says calmly. "Your word is good enough for me."

He runs a hand through his hair again, obviously struggling with the words.

"I had a bead on him; if he'd tried to kill her, I could have taken him down before he had a chance to pull the trigger."

"But?"

"But he didn't." James sags back against his chair, looking weary. "He put down his gun and took his coat off. Then he took off her coat and dragged her over to the couch."

Ingram and I both hear the strange tone in his voice. She leans toward him and I shudder, a sudden flash of memory hitting me. Malden's hand is on my neck, holding me down; I swing my arm up blindly, trying to get him off of me, scratching him –

"He held her down with his hand on her throat. He –" James pauses, clearing his throat. "He started taking off her clothes. She woke up enough to try and push him away. I should've shot him then, I know, but I just – snapped."

"You were after Malden for information," Ingram murmurs, her voice soft and full of understanding. "If you'd killed him then, he wouldn't have been able to tell you anything."

"That's true, but it wasn't what I was thinking."

"So what were you thinking?"

A strangled laugh escapes him. "That she was my sister. That my father was trying to – to rape my sister. That's it. That's the last thing I remember thinking, and then I was in the apartment and I'd shot him." He hesitates, toying with Ingram's pen. "While he was dying, he admitted to killing my mother."

Ingram stills and so do I, both of us staring at my brother. Twenty-three years of wondering, of praying and fighting and searching for the truth, and here it is right in front of me.

"James…" she begins softly. He shakes his head.

"You know the funny thing? It didn't even seem that important anymore. Jordan was crying; that was all I could think about. All of the time and effort, all of those years of trying to prove that Malden killed my mother…less than five seconds of having to watch my little sister cry, and all I wanted was to make her pain go away. Nothing else mattered." He looks up at Ingram, a wry smile dancing across his face. "Thank God you aren't a crier. I would've had to kill myself years ago."

"That makes two of us," Ingram agrees. "What did you do then?"

"I helped Jordan put her shirt back on, and then I called the paramedics. And then I called you."

"Well, I'm glad I finally occurred to you as a good person to contact, since I am your AD."

"Nag, nag, nag," he mutters, but when she pins him with a hard gaze, he backpedals. "I mean, 'Sorry, Honey, you know best.'"

"Better," she acknowledges with a half- smile, laying her hand gently on his shoulder. "Jamie, are you…"

"I'm okay," he says simply, reaching up to squeeze her fingers. She nods, apparently taking his word for it.

"Okay," she agrees, sounding obscurely relieved as she stands, pressing a kiss to his forehead and reclaiming her pen from his grasp. "I'm going to fax this in. Hang tight for a few minutes?"

"Sure." James rubs his hands over his eyes. "Is Todd going to get me out of this?"

"Of course." She sounds offended that he'd even ask. "That's what we pay him for. And even if it weren't, I'd get you out of it."

As Ingram leaves the room, I realize suddenly that my knees have gone weak and I'm clinging to Woody's arm like it's a life preserver. He turns toward me, questioning, but his reflexes aren't fast enough to catch me as my legs give out entirely and I find myself sitting flat on the floor.

"Jordan," Woody breathes, dropping down next to me. "Jordan, are you okay?"

"I remember," I whisper, horrified. My eyes are wide open, but I'm not seeing the room in front of me. All I can see is my brother pulling Malden off of me. Malden tries to hit him and James nails him with a right hook. Malden reaches for his gun but James is faster, whipping out a handgun and shooting Malden in the stomach. Malden collapses and James takes his gun. Malden grabs James' hand, saying something I can't hear, but James shakes him off. Tucking both weapons into the waistband of his jeans, he comes over to the couch. I'm lying there with my shirt undone, trying to find the strength to sit up and crying like a baby. He sits down next to me, swiping clumsily at the tears on my cheeks.

'Don't cry, Jordan,' he says softly, reaching down to re-button my shirt. 'Please don't cry. He can't hurt you anymore. I'll protect you.'

"Jordan?" Woody demands again, and I snap out of it.

"He saved me," I choke out through my tears. "Malden – I couldn't – he drugged me and I couldn't move. I tried to fight him, but he was on top of me…but James came and he saved me. And my mother - Malden - oh, God, he killed my mother!"

"Shh," he soothes me, wrapping his arms around me, and in his voice I can hear stark terror competing with relief that I survived. "Shh. It's okay, baby. You're safe now. I've got you, Jordan, and I won't let anyone hurt you."

"You have to let him go," I plead, burying my face against his shoulder. "It's my fault. You can't arrest James. He did it for me."

"It's not your fault, Jordan. None of this is your fault," he says firmly, tightening his hold on me. He glances over at Walcott, who's still glued to the scene in the interrogation room, and my father, who's standing a few feet away looking helpless, and lowers his voice. "And between you and me? With an international antiterrorism organization on his side, your brother could have blown up the entire precinct and we still wouldn't be able to prosecute him. I think Walcott's going to have to let him off."