Not knowing where to turn, Sr. Rachel tore off through the rows of desks and stations, cutting off several people on her way out of the workroom.

Feeling something pull inside his chest, Danny lumbered behind her, trying in vain to move against the current of officers and detectives. "Rachel," he called after her.

She never halted. The nun's retreating back grew further and further away, until she disappeared completely around the corner. Exasperated, Danny breathed a curse and ran to catch her.

Danny ran throughout the entire station, desperate to make things right, desperate to say something, anything to lessen the blow. Unfortunately, he quickly lost her trail to the chaos surrounding him. The agent spent the next twenty minutes stalking around the precinct, searching in empty interrogation rooms and even asking a woman to check inside the woman's bathroom. He was about to go outside to check the parking lot, when he felt Frank's heavy hand upon his shoulder.

"Any luck?"

Danny only shook his head.

When Danny turned to face Frank, the detective was holding a post-it note in his hand. From the looks of it, he had just gotten off of his cell phone. "Word just came. She's going to be held in a placement site inside the city. Northeast Detention Center." Frank kept eye contact with him. "She'll stay there until she goes before the judge."

For a moment, Danny had to pause. He was pissed, pissed beyond repair. But, he still had a job to do. He had to remember that Frank was one of his only links to the inside of the system.

He spoke in a calm, clear voice. "Can I see her before then?"

Frank nodded. "Your badge'll get you in. I'll put your name on the clearance list."

The comforting thought kept him sane. Okay, he thought. They still had a chance. There were things a person could do before trial. Deals could be made. His status as an FBI agent could be used as clout. Even after everything that had happened, Jordan's future wasn't over, and for that matter, neither was the orphanage. Not yet.

His sigh was a breath of frustration. "I'm not happy with the way things turned out, Frank."

The detective's words were simple. "I know. I'm sorry."

Danny's mouth opened to make a crude comment about the department's continued lack of cooperation with the FBI…but he stopped himself. It was far from the time to rekindle grudges deeper than the Hudson. Perhaps instead, it was time to mend the bridges. "Let me ask a favor," he said.

"Name it."

"Keep in touch with me on this case."

Frank lent him an obliging nod. "Fair enough. I'll give you a call when we know more."

The two exchanged cell phone numbers, and Frank handed him a card with Jordan's information. At the end of the exchange, Frank extended his hand, and Danny shook it.

"We'll be in touch," Frank said. He turned around once more to arch his neck around the corner, before walking away. "Good luck finding your friend."

Reminded of the shattered look on Rachel's face, Danny frowned as the detective left. "Thanks," he murmured.

With Frank gone, Danny continued his search through the police station. Finally, in the parking lot, he found her. As predicted, Rachel stood outside leaning against the side of the brick police building. Her eyes were closed and her neck arched up towards the sky in what Danny could have only assumed was a prayer. As she stood there, the wind blowing back her habit, a single tear crept out from her eye.

Other men in Danny Taylor's position would have undoubtedly moved to comfort the woman. However, Danny knew her far too well to ever treat her as anything but a stable, independent woman…who just happened to be a very close friend. Out of respect, he waited a few moments, and then in small movements he reached where she was standing.

"You ready to go?" he whispered.

Rachel's eyes slowly opened to show the ragged eyes of a woman plagued with worry for her children and her home. She swept the single tear back, collecting herself with a nod. Without ever making eye contact, the two returned to Danny's Stratus.

The trip back to the convent was fifteen minutes long. They sat there and spent their time as they had the entirety of their morning. Neither knew what to say and both knew they hadn't the strength to say it. Not a single word was spoken. It was one of the longest car rides of Danny Taylor's life.

When they came upon the convent, Danny offered a few last words of comfort and promised to give her a call. She barely responded. The car door shut, and Danny watched her disappear back into the orphanage.

With nothing left to say, he returned back to his apartment building. Finding his number, he opened the door and let the keys fall with a 'clink' on the kitchen countertop. With thoughts of Rachel and Jordan burrowing through his mind, he walked over to his kitchen table, collapsed into a chair, and held his pounding head in his hands.

It wasn't over yet…but it certainly did feel like it.

- - - - - -

In a small law firm in Bangor, Maine, Lenny Larson was buzzing on a caffeine high. The hotshot lawyer had just closed two cases and walked away with immunity for one of his prize witnesses. If things turned out right, he'd have the third case in the bag by sundown. He was smiling to himself and whistling a tune as he copied the formalities. It was a good day.

Lenny was about to leave the room with his good fortune, when the fax machine next to him sputtered to life. Taking a sip of coffee, he watched and waited to see what information the machine would regurgitate for him.

He immediately recognized the fax as one from the NYPD. No big deal. He'd heard from them before. He grabbed the paper and held it to his eyes.

It was one from their juvenile department. Jordan Coliandri. Lenny's breath grew shallow. Arrested for trespassing in the greater Manhattan area.

As he stood there reading it, Lenny almost dropped his coffee cup. In a dead run, he bolted from the copy room out into the law firm's main office area.

"Mike," he called to his associate. "Go home. Pack your suitcase."

A big man with muscles that belonged to an NFL linebacker looked up from his client's paperwork. "What?" he demanded. "What's going on?"

Lenny shoved the paper into his associate's hand and immediately opened up the screen to his computer.

Mike's mouth gapped open.

"You're going on," Lenny let him know, typing furiously. "The next flight into New York City."

Mike stared at the fax, barely trusting his eyes. He began searching hurriedly for his passport. Unbelievable. After all these months…they had her.