Ceremonial Killer (Haruchai x BeauteousDeath)

Once Cross wrapped his arms around her, she clutched his shirt and pressed her face to his chest more, breaking down. Uncontrollable tears fell from her green eyes and streaked her cheeks and his shirt. Alice had come to them in flannel pajamas and a fleece bathrobe, ashen faced and in shock. Jordan in the mean time, just couldn't stop her crying, once she started, she wouldn't start until she exhausted herself. She leaned into Cross, wrapping her own arms around his torso and clutching at his shirt again. She knew she would have fallen if he hadn't been holding her.

Eventually, Alice came closer to the couple and biting her own lower lip, she hugged them both to her, more Jordan than Cross, since she was directly behind Jordan.

The letter at some point had fallen to the floor, it's spidery scrawled lettering face up and pointed toward the ceiling.

Cross stayed true to his word and called in the favors he was owed, finding that a favorite tactic, and probably who had taken Sam, was a gang out of South America. The script and dialect used only backed up that theory. Within 24 hours Cross was on a plane. He'd left Jordan and her mother to take care of one another, and grabbed the first flight he could, using military lines and hopping onto the C-10 with a bunch of gear. No suits, no fucking around. No records of his leaving on commercial flights, and he was labeled as 'cargo' by his Agency.

Intel had pointed Cross, much like a loaded gun, and he was off. A shipment of 'flesh' had arrived in Buenos Aires, and Cross was right behind. Of course, a day could make all the difference. The big plane touched down on the airstrip - a government contracted piece of land paved over and used by the military and other government agencies. He grabbed his bag and exited the plane, speaking briefly with the other men on the ground, he was handed a map and the keys to one of the black SUV's. Nice, but not too low-profile. Still, it was better than walking.

Cross was gone. On a plane. She couldn't leave New York. She still had her case, and beside, she had no jurisdiction anywhere outside of the U.S.A. Still, Jordan found that she couldn't concentrate on her job. She couldn't focus. Her thought continuously trailed to Sammy. And to Cross. Worried about the both of them. Sitting at her desk, in a charcoal gray suit pants that flared out, the matching jacket draped around the back of her chair, the pale green button down blouse had their sleeves rolled up to her elbows, the top two buttons were undone. She was leaning over the dest, her elbows propped on the edge, her fingers in her own hair as she fought through the migraine that was threatening to consume her. Worried lines were at her eyes, along her forehead, around her mouth.

The poor woman looked as though she'd aged ten years in a matter of days.

Green eyes were closed, she had been attempting to look through a book, cross checking with the files pulled up on her computer, and other books. She'd given up about an hour ago. It really was all she could do to not curl in a ball or writhe on the floor in pain. Her neck and head just hurt so much, and most of the pain seemed to be concentrated just behind her left eye.

The lights were dimmed, and no sound was heard, except for the muffled goings on outside of her office. Blinds were closed over the windows, further providing more darkness for Jordan.

Consumed with worry and agony over her daughter and the man she loved, and consumed with pain. She couldn't function. Not right now, but she couldn't do much of anything else. Jordan had sent her mother away packing to go visit Aunt Judith. Alice hadn't seen her in ages, and though Alice fought with Jordan about this, worried for her own daughter and granddaughter, Jordan won. Saying that she couldn't be worrying about her mother when her daughter was already in danger.

So Agent Owen was alone. And Jacob's haunting words circled around and around her head. Her ex-husband had been an asshole, still was.

"It's your fucking fault that Samantha is gone, there's no getting her back you bitch," he'd told her over the phone when Jordan called him up, "I hope you pay for this in spades, remain alone like the worthless woman you are, hell.. you're worthless as an agent too, you haven't even caught the assholes who have ended up taking Samantha," he continued to berate her.

At some point, Jordan stopped listening and just let him vent. She never told Cross about it, figuring that the reaction wouldn't be all that great, besides, he'd been too busy collecting his favors and getting a trail established to find Sammy.

Jordan's face screwed up in pain as she rubbed fingertips against her scalp in a feeble attempt to rid herself of at least the edge of the pain.

Jacob was right. It was her fault that Sammy was gone now, and she was as worthless of an agent as she was a woman.