Gravity Pulls You Down Ch 18: CG Returns ;)

[cgoddess]

It's up on ff.net, but can I post it here?

CG

ETA: I change the title of the post now whenever chapters are updated.

[Psyche]

I just read the first chapter at ff.net, and it is sooooo good! You should definitely post it here!

[§hannon]

You have ever right and reason to post it here.
You have my administrative approval. Haha.

[Psyche]

OMG! I just got done reading the 10 chapters and you must MUST update soon!! It is amazing!!!!!!!

[cgoddess]

shannon said:

You have ever right and reason to post it here.
You have my administrative approval. Haha.

Hee. Thank you.

And thanks, Psyche. <3 Chapter 11 will be up today or tomorrow, I think.

[cgoddess]

Gravity Pulls You Down - Chapter 1: Speak of the Devil

Disclaimer: Red Eye is not mine. I write this for fun, and because I can’t get the idea out of my head.

.-.-.-.-.

There had been a part of her that always expected him to come back someday.

The feeling had been aided, of course, by the fact that Jackson Rippner never actually made it to trial. He had been taken to the hospital, alive—barely, but alive—and then one day, just before he was to be released into the hands of the law, he had simply disappeared. No one had been hurt or killed, oddly, and there had been officers on duty at the time. It was as if he’d just opened up a rift in space and stepped through, leaving nothing behind but an empty hospital bed and a half-eaten tray of food. The police were stumped, the FBI claimed they had no leads, and after a while, his presence in Lisa Reisert’s life was reduced to seeing him on the occasional Post Office ‘wanted’ posters.

She had a breakdown shortly after her harrowing encounter with him, a few days into her emergency time off from work. At her father’s insistence, she finally joined a group that supposedly helped victims of crimes deal with the trauma in their lives. She walked out during the third meeting, partly because she didn’t think she was really cut out for group therapy, but mostly because she had an epiphany.

She had survived.

Not only that, but she had survived twice. First her rape—God, but it was hard in the beginning to even speak that word aloud—which had made her retreat into herself for two years, and then the fateful flight from Texas to Florida, seated beside a madman who threatened everything she loved.

So now, here she was, alive, whole, scarred but healing. She had gone home the night of that last support meeting and fixed dinner, eaten, turned on the television to watch whatever was on. Fifteen minutes into that, she broke down for the last time. Lisa wept loudly, angrily, unabashedly for the pain she’d suffered. For a solid hour she sobbed, drenching her sleeve and a throw pillow from the couch.

But when she was done, she was done. The movie was still on; she watched the rest of it without seeing or hearing. She would never be able to recall later just what it had been about, but she did come out of that night with a single thought:

She had won.

The next day, Lisa got up, took a shower, dressed comfortably, and called the hotel to announce that she was quitting. She would not, could not let herself fall into the old routine again, would not bow and scrape to abusive guests, would not deal with the myriad problems a highly-rated hotel managed to have, all while keeping a smile on her pretty face. That same day, she contacted Charles Keefe’s office in Maryland and applied to work on his staff. He spoke with her himself and hired her before the end of the phone call.

It had been hard, leaving her father, her hometown, for the far colder, far older city of Annapolis. Still, she realized that she needed a true new start. Miami would simply not do. There were too many things that would remind her, weaken her, when what she really needed was a way to put it all behind her for good. Then, and only then, would she return to the place she’d been born, stronger, sturdier, more able to face her demons.

.-.-.-.-.

Two months passed, then five, then nine, then suddenly it was a year, two, three. Lisa returned to Miami from time to time, visited her father and had lunch with Cynthia, caught up with them and then went back to work up North. She turned twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, spent her birthdays in different places, with different people; her father, her mother, her job.

That last birthday, it had been necessary for her to stay in Maryland. Keefe had become very popular in his time as Director of Homeland Security; somehow he had become nominated to run for President. His party supported him wholeheartedly, and he was usually found somewhere at the top of the pre-campaign polls as the top pick for the upcoming race. Lisa went from coordinating his office and staff to coordinating dinners, speeches, public appearances. She would smile to herself from time to time as her skills in hotel management were translated into soothing ruffled feathers of disgruntled lobbyists, visiting dignitaries who barely spoke English, and endless media personnel. Instead of draining her, however, she loved the job. She felt like her presence on the team of hundreds actually made a difference, both to Keefe and to the world. After all, she was coordinating the campaign for the race to America’s highest office. His success would be her success.

In the years since her breakdown, Lisa ceased to think about Jackson Rippner entirely. Her life was too full, her work too busy, her time to precious to waste on self-pity and worry. In fact, she might have gone through the rest of her life without ever thinking about him again, save for one very big, very terrible event that threw a wrench into her new plans for her life.

Her father was found in his home, murdered.

Lisa came very close to losing it once more. Instead, she channeled her grief into anger, fury at the people who would do such a thing to such a good man. She allowed herself to cry, to be upset, but only for a moment. Once the police who had come to give her the bad news had left, she began to pace the floor of her living room, thinking of what she would have to do next.

She would need time off from work, that much was a given. She would fly down to Miami, meet her mother for the funeral, would have to go through his house—her house, she realized. The thought nearly sent her back over the edge into despair, and it was only by the strength of her will that she held it together.

As she packed, she went over things in her mind, her hands almost absently reaching into her closet and neatly folding her most somber clothes into her suitcase. Someone had murdered Joe Reisert quite deliberately; a single shot to the back of his head and a complete lack of any sign of struggle confirmed that he had been taken by surprise. It was the theory of the police that the killer was a professional. There were no traces of who it might have been.

And that was what brought her to think of the only killer she knew, the one who was still at large, the one she had forced from her mind for the past three years.

The phone rang, and she jumped. She recognized a little twang in her heart that it would not possibly be her father calling as he usually did, every day. Pushing down that piercing sadness and feeding it into the incinerator that was her fury, she crossed the room and picked up the handset.

She had barely drawn breath to say ‘hello’ when a voice she acutely remembered spoke first.

“I didn’t do it, Leese.”

Lisa felt her grip tighten on the phone as though it was his neck. “How dare you—”

“It wasn’t me,” he repeated calmly, interrupting her. His breath rasped, a reminder of what she’d done to him. “I didn’t do it, Leese, but I know who did.”

The fire in her heart flared, then cooled at his last statement. He seemed to be waiting patiently as she pulled herself back into shape, staring sightlessly at her own eyes in the mirror. “Why are you calling me, then?” she said at length. “If you’re not guilty of it, why not just stay away?” To herself, she silently added, from me?

“Leese, Leese.” He chuckled, and she hated him for gaining some perverse pleasure out of her ordeal. “Why don’t you meet me in Miami? You are coming, aren’t you? We’ll get coffee, talk about old times, catch up, share info. Sound good?”

“I would rather—” she stopped herself. What if he was telling the truth?

He seemed to read her mind. In a graver tone, as if she’d struck a nerve, he said quietly, “I can’t lie to you, Leese. Never have been able to manage it completely. I mean it.” He took a long, wheezing breath and went on with more of his original smooth, c*cksure tone. “You have caller ID; use it. Call me on this line when you get in, and we’ll talk.”

“You bastard, you—” She swore to herself. He had hung up before she could respond at all. Suddenly, she couldn’t bear to look at the phone in her hand any longer, and she hurled it across the room. It hit the wall and the battery panel broke off, ricocheting in the opposite angle from the rest of the handset. Lisa remained where she was, seething, appalled that she might possibly need the help of someone she had worked so hard to forget.

Then her anger, too, was quenched. She had a flight to catch, a funeral to arrange and attend, and an adversary to meet. She retrieved the broken phone and replaced the battery cover, then checked the LED panel for the number he’d used. With it safely transferred to her cell phone, Lisa finished packing and forced herself to keep going.

After all, where else could she go but forward?


.-.-.-.-.


PS: thanks you guys. Let me know what you think. I've got to jet for a while, but I'm going to post chapters 2 & 3 and then I'll do the rest tonight when I get home. I love how welcoming y'all are, and that makes me a happy bird.

CG

[cgoddess]

Chapter 2: And the Devil Appears

Disclaimer: I don’t own Red Eye. Writing for fun.

.-.-.-.-.

Lisa had half expected to see him when she found her seat on the plane. Instead, she sat beside a sleepy older man who spent most of the time snoring while she gazed out the window at the rising sun. By the time she arrived in Miami, it was mid-morning. She moved through the airport in a daze, not quite trusting that she’d actually gotten there. Her father’s death was still too soon for it to be real to her, and she kept checking her cell for any missed calls, as if his ring would sound at any moment.

The humidity hit her as she stepped outside just as a wave of grief overcame her. Lisa hailed a cab and tossed her suitcase and carryon in through the back door. She followed them, collapsing gratefully on the worn bench seat and its fake leather covering. “The Lux Atlantic,” she managed to get out before she dissolved into tears. The cabbie pretended not to notice, and drove on.

It was a thirty minute drive, with traffic, so Lisa had plenty of time to regain her composure. Besides, even if her eyes were red from crying, who could blame her? She paid the driver, retrieved her luggage, and took a deep breath. The Lux Atlantic Hotel towered over her, all glass and curves. She had never stayed there as a guest; whenever she came home, she stayed with her father. Right now, though, his house was cordoned off by the police, and even if they hadn’t done that, she could not bring herself to go there just yet. While she waited for her mother to arrive from Texas, she’d decided, she would stay in luxury, in the only remaining familiar place in all of Miami.

Lisa mentally kicked herself into a smile, and went in.

.-.-.-.-.

Bereavement for a parent, according to Keefe, was a month. He had insisted after seeing what a workaholic Lisa could be, and he liked her too much to let her drown herself in work too early. Lisa had tried to argue, but he would not accept her back in his office until December, or longer if need be. As it was, he had noted sympathetically, she would thank him when she had time to reflect with her family over Thanksgiving.

So she went through the motions of planning the funeral, contacting her remaining, scattered family, attending the wake, the service, the burial. At one point, as she stood steadying her crying mother and the minister intoned a heartfelt eulogy over the grave, she caught a glimpse of a familiar face across the crowd of mourners, a pair of horn-rimmed glasses the only barrier between the world and his far-too-familiar eyes.

She had expected to feel anger, expected to have to wrestle with the fury she’d held tightly controlled all this time, but when she saw his expression…there was real sadness, real regret. He looked troubled, genuinely sorry as he gazed down at the rich mahogany of Joe Reisert’s coffin. Then he looked up, perhaps sensing her study, and suddenly his confident mask dropped back into place, the faint insolent twist to his lips, the heavy-lidded perusal she remembered with utter clarity. He inclined his head to her, acknowledging her, then turned and strolled away, hands in his pockets.

Lisa might have hated him, except for the naked emotion she’d glimpsed before he saw her. It gave her pause and made her stop to think that perhaps he was telling the truth, that he’d had nothing to do with the murder of the most important person in her life.

Her mother grasped her hand. “Lisa,” she said, catching her daughter’s attention, “Let’s go. The service is over.”

The last word came out querulously, and Lisa returned her thoughts to the immediate situation. “Okay,” she murmured, grasping her mother’s thin shoulder tightly, “We’ll get something to eat.”

She cast one final glance over her shoulder at the flower-strewn casket, the file of Joe’s friends and family, then past even them to where Jackson had gone. He had disappeared once again. Lisa shook her head and leaned on her mother, who leaned on her, and they walked away from Joe for the last time.

.-.-.-.-.

Her mother had to leave two days later, only after extracting a promise from Lisa that they would spend Thanksgiving together. Lisa got the feeling that her parents had never truly stopped loving each other, though they had been unable to live under the same roof for years. She wondered what it was like, to feel so strongly for someone that you understood you could never coexist.

It hit her that she did know to an extent, though her still-grieving heart was unwilling to examine the idea further. First, she had to get back to normal, and then she would call Jackson to find out just what he knew, and why the hell he would offer to help her.

.-.-.-.-.

A week after the funeral, Jackson called her. “I got tired of waiting,” he said without preamble, interrupting her as usual as she tried to mumble a greeting.

She was still in bed, drained, tired from tossing all night. “I was going to call you when I was ready,” she said peevishly, tucking the sheet around her where she half-sat up, propped by the overstuffed pillows. The clock at her bedside read ten fifteen a.m.

He sighed. The wheeze was less pronounced this time. “You don’t have the luxury of lounging around. You’ll have to make some decisions very soon, and the more you dally, the fewer your choices become.” He sounded annoyed. “I won’t offer again.”

“All right,” she snapped. “Where?”

She could almost hear the smirk. “Starbucks, on the corner across from the hotel?”

“Sure.” The word came out dead, dull. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

He hung up without a goodbye. Lisa glared at the phone, then let her arm drop to the coverlet. She had just agreed to meet with the one person who had once tried to destroy her life, to destroy her.

The world was a strange place. She flung the covers back and hopped out of bed. It would take five minutes from her door to Starbucks; she had twenty-five minutes to make herself presentable.

It wouldn’t do to meet him looking like she’d fallen apart.

[cgoddess]

Chapter 3: Coffee

Disclaimer: I don’t own Red Eye. This is for fun and my sanity.

.-.-.-.-.

When she pushed open the door to the coffee shop, the late-morning rush was already in full swing. Lisa scanned the place for a sign of where he could be as she got in line. It wasn’t a large place; where was he?

“Took a little time with our appearance, did we?” A faint rasp lay under the mocking words, less than she’d expected and yet enough to send a triumphant thrill through her. She turned to see Jackson standing beside her in line, holding two cups decorated with the green and white mermaid logo. He looked over the tops of his sunglasses at her, taking in her conservative-label jeans, the pale blue shell, the navy linen blazer she’d put on over it. “Though you seem to be a little more…sensible than before.”

They stood gauging each other for a moment, then Lisa snorted. “I always have been.”

“Really.” His eyes said he believed otherwise, though he merely took a sip from one of the cups and held the other out for her. “Come on, let’s walk and talk.”

She eyed the drink warily, but accepted it and followed. Something told her he hadn’t drugged it, or poisoned it, or whatever else his twisted mind might come up with, so she took a careful sip. Of course it was just how she liked it; two sugars, a bit of cream, a dark roast that she’d started drinking since moving away to Maryland. It disturbed her that Jackson had apparently been keeping tabs on her all this time.

They stepped out into the sunlight, strolling on the sidewalk without speaking. Today, Jackson wore a dark grey suit with a surprisingly hip lime-green shirt and no tie. His sunglasses were heavily tinted, but she could still feel his sharp gaze through them, knew he was taking in every detail of her appearance, her bearing, her mental state.

“You’re depressed,” he said at last, and she sent him a withering glare. It made him laugh. “Would you like to know how I can tell?”

“I’d rather not waste my time on things I already know.” She grimaced as though the coffee was bitter. “Of course I’m depressed. My father was recently murdered, my mother is a wreck, I’m under stress from work, and on top of that, I now have to deal with you again. Not having a great month so far.”

Jackson tossed his cup into a nearby trash can, suddenly serious. “I was sorry to hear about your father. I know you don’t believe me,” he added at her skeptical expression, “But it is true. Joe was a good man.”

Lisa whirled on him, not caring if anyone saw or heard them. “Don’t you dare call him Joe, Jackson. You used his life as leverage against me, threatened us, tried to kill him. You were not his friend. You were nothing to us.” The rage burned in her, begged to be let loose upon him. “So don’t you dare, Jackson. Don’t you dare talk about my father like you knew him.”

He endured the tirade with a dispassionate gaze, then leaned in close, braving her wrath and invading her personal space with ease. “Why don’t we go talk somewhere less public, okay, Leese?” He stressed her name with the venom she remembered, the word filtered through his clenched teeth as if biting off each syllable at the end.

Instead of backing down, she replied with equal distaste, “Sure, Jack.”

Was every conversation of theirs going to be half made up of taut silences and staring contests?

In the end, he backed down first, though he covered it well by casting a bored, “Come on,” over his shoulder at her. He hailed a cab and held the door open for her, suddenly a gentleman with a sarcastic bent. “After you.”

She wanted to hurl the coffee at him, but she thought better of it and threw her own cup away as well before getting into the car. She wondered if she was insane, if she had somehow managed to lose her mind during the course of her grief. She wanted nothing to do with him, she was sure. Nothing he had to say could possibly be of use to her, could it? Why bother contacting her after three years, if he had nothing to do with the slaying of her father?

Jackson slid into the seat beside her, all smiles once more. It was uncanny, how he could switch seamlessly from one emotion to another. His talents were wasted; he should be winning Oscars, not planning coups. He rattled off an address to the driver that Lisa didn’t quite catch, then sat back, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t look at her, choosing instead to watch the buildings and people slip by, block by city block.

Even at this time of the year, Miami was hot; at midday, the road ahead shimmered like water and the cars coming toward them seemed to melt up out of the ground. Lisa chewed on her lower lip as she watched the scenery change through her own window, the urban professionals, the retirees, the homeless, the drunks, the gang members who always looked to her as though they couldn’t decide on how to dress, one pant leg up, one black shoe, hats askew. The normality of the city seemed somehow wrong and right all at once; strange how other peoples’ lives went on even when hers was at a standstill.

“…eese. Leese. Lisa.” Jackson’s voice snapped her out of her daze. She turned to see him waiting with the door open, his hand outstretched to her. “We’re here.”

She ignored his hand and got out on her own. The cab pulled away, and she looked up at the building they’d stopped at. It stretched upward, dwarfing the surrounding towers despite being far from the tallest structure in the city. They seemed to have ended up in a quieter neighborhood somewhere far from the Lux Atlantic. “Where are we?” She asked, half to herself.

“My place,” he said, grinning when she rounded on him once more. “Honestly, you are so paranoid. What reason do I have to hurt you?”

“What reason did you have to hurt me before?” she shot back.

He sobered. “That was business.”

“To you.” She shook her head. “I’m not going in there.”

“I wasn’t inviting you to.” She barely caught the half-spoken, yet. He pointed across the street from where they stood, and now Lisa could see the small park and the water beyond. She felt her face grow warm, made herself shake off the feeling of embarrassment at her assumption.

As she followed him, watching for cars, she realized he’d been throwing her off balance from the moment he’d called her that morning. Lisa was sick of it, and she vowed not to let him do it again. Enough of her life had been taken up by trying to regain her footing that she would not let it go on like that anymore.

The park was more of a grassy lawn between two architectural monstrosities, holdovers from the 70s when their designers had been of the opinion that a utilitarian building needed a utilitarian shell. Some architect had managed to inject a bit of personality by adding a curved turret and a swooping stone staircase, but it felt like a frivolity, not an intrinsic part of the whole.

The park began at the base of the stairs and rolled down a steep hill, to end in a concrete-and-chain barrier. From there, it dropped off in a man-made cliff to a quiet, sandy beach. In a city where beachfront property was at a premium, Lisa was surprised to see any inch of coastline remain unused.

“We’re going down there,” Jackson said when they reached a break in the barrier. A tree that grew from the edge of the grass marked a set of dusty stairs leading down to the beach. Once more, Jackson offered his hand to help her down. Lisa was thankful that she’d worn jeans and low boots instead of a skirt and heels; living in Maryland had changed her style to the more sensible end of the spectrum, despite her claim that it had always been that way. She was able to avoid taking his hand again, though this time he seemed offended.

Good, she thought, Make him have to find his footing for once.

She brushed past and descended ahead of him. It was funny, how they were alone in such a secluded place, and yet she was not afraid, was not worried, though he was the most dangerous man she’d ever met. He could attack her, strangle her, kill her, and no one would know.

Where was her fear?

It was powerful, empowering, this realization that he did not have a hold over her, that he did not control her. Lisa was not afraid of Jackson Rippner. She might have said it aloud, except that he would hear and try to prove her wrong. It gave her an upper hand she hadn’t realized she possessed. She was sure he was going to try his damnedest to make her fear him, though.

“Now,” he said in his ruined voice from behind her, the roughness more pronounced as the timbre deepened, “Why don’t we talk about why I called you?”

[cgoddess]

Ok, there we go--I'll have the rest up later. Thanks! <3

[cgoddess]

And now to resume the posting of the rest of this fic.

--CG




Chapter 4: A Walk on the Beach

Disclaimer: I don’t own Red Eye.

.-.-.-.-.

“So talk,” said Lisa. She turned to face him and crossed her arms, forming a barrier between her and Jackson. “Enlighten me.”

The shadows of the leaves on the tree nearby danced and dappled the shoulders of Jackson’s suit. Behind Lisa, twenty or so yards away, the surf whispered against the glistening sand, rasping in its own way as if to mock Jackson’s ruined voice.

He took a deep, wheezing breath. “You need to learn a little Poli-Sci of the Underworld before you can understand what I’m talking about later.” As he spoke, he began to stroll along the loose sand toward the water, not checking to see if she followed. “There are several main groups that form the center of all high crime and international espionage in the world. Terrorists, the Mafia, drug cartels, coup organizers, weapons dealers—they’re all part of an intricate web that makes up, essentially, an outlaw version of INTERPOL. Got it so far?”

She nodded, matching him step for step. He took his jacket off and slung it over his shoulder. The sun was high and hot above them, burning off the humidity from earlier. Lisa considered doing the same, but she didn’t care to have him make some snide remark about her outfit again. She would rather hear what he had to say.

“So,” he went on, “the groups are a lot like conglomerate corporations, run by boards with presidents, treasurers, et cetera. Dummy companies are usually set up to act as the groups’ public faces, lending them power on the stock markets, giving them legitimacy and even helping them influence how the politics of the world work without having to shed a single drop of blood.” He grinned toothily at her. “We’re not all savages, you know.”

“You could have fooled me,” she said, impatient to hear what this all had to do with her father. The lesson so far had created a sinking feeling in her gut. “Go on, already.”

Hiding the smile, he shrugged. “Sometimes, we have to fold our dummy companies when it looks like the FBI or CIA are getting close to figuring things out. Remember Enron? WorldCom?” At her nod, he gestured as if to say, ‘there you go’. “My former employer owned Enron; they were particularly proud of how it’s turning out. It’s the biggest smokescreen in recent history. No one suspects what the company really hid; everyone’s on a witch hunt for people who were prepped to take the fall, while the real powers walk away whistling.”

How could he smile when there were all those people, out of work and out of their retirement savings, without realizing they had been part of a scheme all along? Lisa was about to berate him for being so cavalier about the lives of thousands of human beings, when she caught something else he’d said. “Wait—former employer?” She stared at him. “You mean you don’t work for them anymore? I don’t get it. How did you get out of the hospital, then?”

“Oh, they made sure I got out with no fuss or attention,” he said grimly. “They got me out just in time to keep me from the law, then gave me a neat little severence package and sent me on my way.” He seemed uncomfortable about something, though Lisa was in no mood to offer sympathy.

“That was it?” she raised a brow. “They didn’t kill you? Just fired you like you worked for the bank or something?”

“Yes,” he replied, and was silent for a while.

Lisa might have prodded him for more, but she needed to digest what she’d heard so far. If he wasn’t working for anyone, then what was he doing? More to the point, she still hadn’t figured out what he wanted with her. She didn’t bother trying to read him; he wore only mask after mask after mask, and rarely gave anything away.

The sand was warm even through her boots. Lisa could feel the salt moisture on her face from the constant breeze from the sea. It lent an air of calm, though she knew she should feel anything but. It seemed wrong to be walking out here on such a bright, sunny day with him. Her memories of the last time they’d met were anything but happy.

Of course, that had been a beautiful day, too, once they were off the plane.

Tired of spending time with him, she finally did nudge his arm. The very act of touching him made her skin crawl, but she had the feeling he wouldn’t hear her if she only spoke. “You’re not finished. Tell me the rest.”

As though he hadn’t just been lost in thought, his normal confidence returned. “I wanted to make sure you understood everything up until now.” He spoke with a condescending smirk that made Lisa’s blood boil.

She had had enough. With a sudden grab, she caught the green shirt by its collar and yanked him down until he was nose-to-nose with her. “Jackson,” she enunciated slowly, “I am not out here with you because I like you. I want to find my father’s killer and put his ghost to rest. I want you out of my life, and the only reason I am even standing here now is because YOU told me you can help me. So far, you’re not helping.” She stood in his path, bristling. “So tell me what you brought me here to say, and then if you’ll pardon me, I’ll be off. Okay, Jack?”

He scowled down at her. “Don’t piss me off, Leese. I almost killed you once; don’t tempt me again.”

Instead of letting go, she tugged on the shirt harder. Summoning every ounce of vitriol she could manage, she replied, “I think you have your facts wrong, Jack. I almost killed you. You only tried to kill me, and you failed pretty spectacularly, I think.”

His hand clamped around her wrist in a crushing grip and he tore the sunglasses from his face, turning the full fury of his icy eyes upon her. His jacket landed on the sand, forgotten. “I think you need to let go, Leese. Now.”

Half of her wanted to quail under that fierce anger, but the other, newer half of her stood her ground instead. “Make me.”

His eyes filled with wild glee at her words. His first move was to step back, pulling her and trying to get her off-balance. She was ready for this, though, and stepped forward, then threw her weight back, digging in her heels. He hadn’t been prepared for her to work his tactic to her advantage, and he staggered forward. Catching himself, he swept a leg around to ruin her footing while he pushed on her shoulders. It did the job this time. Lisa found herself falling to the ground, but she never relinquished her grip on his shirt. Together, they toppled to the sand, him on top, knocking the breath from her when he landed.

The moment they were down, she was working hard to get him off her and he was working hard to stay on. Lisa’s self-defense classes had helped her be faster, to do more damage, but Jackson was stronger than she was, and apparently more skilled at subduing an opponent.

When he had her wrists, one in each hand and clamped down into the sand on either side of her head, he loomed over her. His breath came in harsh wheezes now, as if he had to fight for each one. “You’re better at this,” he gasped, “Than you used to be.” He spoke with something like pride, oddly.

Lisa spit sand from her lips and glared up at him. “Funny, I was thinking you were worse.”

He leaned in close, not quite close enough for her to reach him if she suddenly decided to try a headbutt, but enough for her to hear him when he said softly, “Don’t make a stupid mistake, Leese. You are this close to regretting your c*cky little speeches today.” His eyes, uncovered now, traveled over her face, taking in every detail as if he wanted to miss nothing. His hair fell in disarray, soft messy spikes framing his face. As she had once before, on the plane when they’d last met, she wondered how such pleasant, delicate features could conceal such a malicious soul. Only his eyes gave away the monster he really was.

“Let me up,” she demanded. He answered her by pushing down on her wrists until his hands were buried in the sand with them.

“Not yet.” His study continued past her face, over her shoulders, down, lingering on the spot that was hidden by her shirt, the scar that still marked her from the other man who’d tried to destroy her. It was there that his perusal ended, his gaze fixated on the mark he could not see but that they both knew was there. Lisa stopped moving, held her breath without realizing it. Yet again, the expressions that crossed his face were hardly what she remembered ever seeing on him. Jackson was supposed to be emotionless, cold—but if he was, why was he watching her with…what? Regret again, and—craving? Longing? She prayed not. There wasn’t enough time in their lives from now until their deaths for her to trust him enough to forgive him.

He panted still, the hiss that marked every breath, every word he spoke growing fainter but never going away. “Now,” he said, dragging his attention back to her face, “Let’s move on, ‘kay?” His words were careless, light, but his face was deadly serious. Lisa nodded.

Jackson stood, pulling her up by her wrists and setting her on her feet. When he released her, she rubbed the skin where he’d grasped her, brushed off the sand that had imprinted itself on her hands. He went to retrieve his coat and glasses, then returned looking as though nothing had happened save for his still-messy hair.

“So now you know more than anyone who’s not involved has ever heard,” he said as though he hadn’t been interrupted. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that if you happen to mention any of this to anyone, I will kill you and whoever you tell. No trying this time, Leese; I will do it without hesitation.”

She believed him. “Go on.” Thankfully, her voice remained steady.

“Here’s where you become important. Your boss’s Presidential opponent has someone on staff who also used to work for my old company. A former co-worker, you might say.” He bared his teeth, though whether he was grinning or grimacing, Lisa wasn’t sure. “And I have information that my colleague’s past is too close to being revealed for anyone in my business to be comfortable.”

“So?”

“So,” he mimicked, “I need to remove him. I need your help.”

Her blood ran cold at the meaning behind that statement. “I don’t understand.”

“I think you do, Leese. You are going to help me kill him.”

Lisa couldn’t listen to any more. She wondered if she was having some kind of delusional flashback. He couldn’t be serious. Even if the target this time wasn’t upstanding Charles Keefe or his loving family, but instead another snake like Jackson, she couldn’t stand by and let a man be killed.

On top of it all, there were the repercussions to think about: the scandal for Keefe’s opponent, Michael Rowe; the fallout in the press; the realization that if she did help Jackson, and someone found out, she could be tried as an accessory to murder.

She physically shook herself and turned to stalk away. “Like hell I will,” she shot back. She heard his footsteps behind her in the dunes and she quickened her pace, keeping to the harder-packed sand near where the waves rolled ashore.

He caught up with her, caught her arm and spun her around. “You have to. You don’t have much of a choice.”

“Let go of me.”

“Leese—”

“I said,” she growled, “Let. Go.”

“Listen to me,” he rasped. “If we do this, we’re saved. Both of us walk away—I get my job back and the protection my company provides, and you get to keep your job, your life. Don’t let your new little womanly empowerment thing get in the way of some good common sense. Because if we don’t do this, you and me, we are both going to be very, very dead.”

Something made her stop and peer up at his eyes for the truth. What she saw there shook her to her core.

Jackson Rippner, the man who had terrorized her in the past, who tried to control her now, was not simply exaggerating a point.

Jackson Rippner was afraid.

[cgoddess]

Chapter 5: Third Time’s the Charm

Disclaimer: I don’t own Red Eye. This is for my sanity.

.-.-.-.-.

“You’re serious,” she breathed. He nodded, relaxing a little—which meant that he wasn’t ready for her hand to strike him fully across the face, palm open. He reeled backward, then recovered and prepared to retaliate. She stopped him by stalking toward him, forcing him back. “You bastard! You—you—I can’t believe this. I did nothing to you, nothing, and you waltz in and out of my life repeatedly to tell me that someone I care about is going to die, or that I will, or that you will, and you expect me to just go along with it?”

Lisa didn’t halt her advance, and soon Jackson found himself back on the surf-washed area, a trickle of water rushing over the tops of his shoes. He stopped backing away and turned the tables, using his somewhat larger frame to bully her into retreating. “That’s exactly what I expect, Leese,” he growled. “I expect you to think about those very people and understand that this time, it’s not me who will make the call whether they live or die.”

“Don’t give me that,” she shot back. “Jackson, you tried this with me before. In case you didn’t notice at the funeral, I don’t have much in the way of friends and family. Once they’re gone, they’re gone, and you won’t have anything to threaten me with. I will not put the safety of my country below my own. Not anymore.”

He barked a laugh, incredulous. “Are you a little soldier, now? You think your sacrifice of the few is going to be for the betterment of the many?” He sneered. “You’re wrong, Leese. No one will know, no one will care. Your remaining loved ones will die one at a time, probably in different and ordinary ways, and no one will know. And this time, I will die with you, and I’m not ready to do that just yet.”

“Your problems are not my problems.” Lisa crossed her arms again, glaring. “I’m not going to help you kill someone.”

“If you don’t, you’ll be risking more than you think,” he replied. “Keefe will still die, too.” He thrust his fingers into his hair, expelling a heavy breath. “Listen,” he went on in a suddenly more reasonable tone, “Will you at least listen to the rest?”

She raised a brow, settling all her weight on one hip. “I’m all ears.”

Jackson scowled. “Stop the childish act and pay attention.” He visibly reined in his temper, then spoke. “The problem that you don’t understand is that there is a group we in the business like to call the ‘cleanup crew’. Can you guess what they do, Leese?”

“Windows?” She asked sarcastically.

“No,” he grated, annoyed, “They are a team of f*cking hit men, Leese, very well-trained and well-equipped hit men. They clean up the messes left behind by failed jobs.” He paused to let that sink in. “And the job, my job, the one you f*cked up for me, is the one they are coming to clean up.”

Lisa wanted to retort, to say something about how he’d shattered her life and not the other way around, but she found herself unable to speak. Her mouth had gone dry at the idea of her entire family being stalked by a dozen Jacksons. Jacksons with better aim, if what he’d told her was true.

As he always did, he read her thoughts. “Not just your family. They’ll be going after them first, of course, then your friends—remember your buddy Cynthia was in on the job, too—and then they’ll go after Keefe, his wife, his kids. That part will be high-profile, probably, but the rest of us?” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “I don’t even exist. No one will even be able to identify me. I don’t have the protection of my company anymore, and that means you don’t, either.”

There it was again, that flicker of fear. Lisa shut her mouth and waited. Three years had gone by so quietly, free of retribution or any disturbance in her life. At first, Jackson’s claim of protection had seemed laughable, but the fear, the real worry in his eyes made her pause. Had the peace since that awful day been aided by someone who watched over her?

Despite the heat of the day, Lisa shivered. “Why now?” She asked, voice flat, tone even. “I met you so long ago. Why is this happening now?”

He sent her a pitying look. “I already told you. It wouldn’t have been an issue except that the law is about to find out way too much about my organization. This might not have happened if the job had been carried out properly.” He shrugged. “Maybe it would, I don’t know, but if it had, I wouldn’t be on the outside like this.”

“You’re lost, aren’t you?” She marveled at the thought. “You really don’t know where to go now, do you?” Lisa couldn’t stop the bemused smile from widening her lips. “I can’t believe it.”

Jackson lost his fight with his temper. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Leese.” He stalked up to her, stiff-legged, jaw clenched. His hand snaked out and caught her chin, fingers cruelly digging into her skin, making her cry out in pain. He drew her face to his, hissing, “Maybe it was a mistake to call you. I should have let them kill you without the warning.”

“Hey, what’s going on there?”

As one, Jackson and Lisa started, then turned to look in the direction of the voice. A uniformed policeman stood on the stairs, eyeing them warily with his hand lightly resting on his sidearm. Jackson’s grip loosened, and Lisa took the chance to pull back. He risked a warning look to her.

Lisa shot him a disgusted glare. Keeping her eyes on him, she called back, “Nothing, Officer.” She rubbed her jaw where Jackson’s fingers had caught her. “We’re just having a disagreement. It’s fine.”

The policeman seemed uncertain. “Are you sure, Miss?”

Are you sure you’re fine? Her father’s favorite question echoed in her mind; Lisa had to push down the sudden grief that roiled within her. “Really, I’m fine.” Was she actually sending him away? Did she really want to be left alone with the chaotic Jackson? Was she missing her last chance to possibly put him behind bars, to be rid of him forever? Lisa could practically feel his tension from where she stood; perhaps he was wondering the same things.

“Well,” the officer said, hesitating.

“We were about to go anyway, weren’t we, Jack?” She sent him a look that read, don’t argue, then somehow managed a breezy smile. “It’s fine, officer, but thank you for your concern.”

He looked from Jackson to Lisa and then back again. Lisa felt like her face would freeze into her fake expression—Jackson wore a similar one—but then the policeman nodded and turned to go.

When he had disappeared from sight, they let out matching sighs of relief. “Lisa,” said Jackson, very quietly, as if the patrolman could still hear them, “Have I ever told you that you should consider a career in management?”

“Don’t push your luck,” she warned. “I should have handed your ass over to him.”

He grinned. “But you didn’t.”

No, she hadn’t, and that disturbed her.

He saved her from having to reply by walking off with a smirk. “Why don’t we go get something to eat? I’m starving. Up for lunch? Cuban?” He sighed. “It’s been a while since I was in Miami. I wonder if Mona’s is still there…”

“Jackson—Jackson!” She hurried to catch up to him. “Wait, you just walk away like that? After telling me everyone is going to die?”

They had reached the wall by then; Jackson turned on the third step to look down at her. He was half-silhouetted against the bright sun and the rustling leaves of the lone tree. Lisa had to shade her eyes against the light.

He chuckled softly. “Everyone is going to die, Leese,” he murmured, “It’s just a matter of how and when we do.” His hand stretched out for the third time that day, offering help once more. Three strikes and you’re out, it seemed to say to her.

Or was it third time’s the charm?

Lisa took it, and hoped for the latter.

.-.-.-.-.

[cgoddess]

Chapter 6: Boliche and a .45

Disclaimer: I don’t own Red Eye. Mr. Craven, if you’re reading, please call me. I’m happy to negotiate. XD

.-.-.-.-.

Jackson called another cab to take them to a restaurant he remembered. As they rode in the back seat, Lisa took some time to mull over what she’d learned. Her head hurt, spun with the convoluted logic he’d presented to her, the knowledge of what really happened to Enron (which was largely inconsequential at the moment), and the worry of what would happen to her family and friends if she didn’t do what he’d asked her to do.

Which was to help him kill someone for knowledge that that someone might possibly share someday. Lisa decided not to think at all until after she got something into her stomach.

For his part, Jackson said nothing further about it as they rode. He was looking out his own window, either lost in thought or simply loath to discuss business—Lisa was dismayed to realize she was also thinking of it as such—when other ears were present. She frankly didn’t want to discuss it at all. She wanted to go back to a time when she hadn’t met Jackson, when she was safe in her life and her job and her routine, when her father was still alive and called her every night.

“I meant what I said earlier.” Jackson spoke, startling her from her reverie. She looked over at him, questioning. The smile he gave her this time was a little sad, a strange expression to see but one he had worn before, at the funeral. “I was sorry about your father, Lisa. I didn’t want him involved anymore.” He turned back to the window as if he couldn’t look at her and say what he wanted to say. “You told me I didn’t know him, but I did. I figured he wouldn’t want to tell you about it.”

“About what?” Lisa felt her heart constrict. “What are you talking about?”

Only his eyes moved, watching her from their corners, gauging her reaction. “He came to visit me when I was in the hospital; he must have known someone or was able to get special treatment because I had been his attacker.” He chuckled ruefully. “He was the first person I had seen who wasn’t in a uniform of some kind. At first, when he saw I was awake, he started to go, but I called him back. He said later he had been coming to make sure I was secure, that I wasn’t going to go after you ever again.”

“He could have ensured that if he’d aimed a couple inches more to the right.”

Jackson closed his mouth and a dozen expressions vied for dominance. In the end, Lisa was unsurprised to see that his professional mask was the one that he chose. His mouth smiled softly, but his eyes showed the icy anger that she recognized most. Instead of dignifying her insult with a comment, he returned to his perusal of the passing city until they reached their destination.

The restaurant turned out to be a family-run place, owned, Jackson told her with a detached air, by a husband and wife who had sneaked into the country from Cuba over twenty years before. Now their son and daughter-in-law took care of the day to day operations, while they gave shelter to other illegal immigrants who had come to the United States to hide from Castro. Lisa asked him rather snidely if he knew all this from spying on them, and he looked annoyed.

“No,” he said curtly as they took a seat at a window table, “I know because I used to eat here all the time. Try the boliche.”

That he needed to eat humanized him a little too much for her taste. “I don’t have a lot of patience, Jackson. Let’s just eat, then tell me what I need to know so I can figure out this mess. I do not condone—” her voice dropped to a whisper, “—killing a man. For the record.”

“There’s no choice. Donald Connolly has to disappear before the FBI figures out what information he hides.”

It was the first time he’d mentioned the man’s name, and Lisa got that sinking feeling again. She knew who Don Connolly was. He held a similar position to hers in the opposite party. “Don used to be a—a manager, like you?” She couldn’t picture it. He was the antithesis of Jackson; quiet, even shy, a little geeky, certainly nowhere near as confident.

“I never said he was a manager,” Jackson replied in a wounded tone. “I just said he worked for the Company. He was an assistant. A secretary.”

“Ahh,” was all she said for the rest of the meal, and they ate in silence.

The food was good, she had to admit. Somewhere in the area of the kitchen, a radio played Latin music at a volume that must have been blasting, but where they sat, it served to provide a certain authenticity as if to enhance the Cuban-home atmosphere. Under normal circumstances, Lisa might have lingered, but now she wanted to get out from under Jackson’s gaze, wanted to think about what to do and how to do it. She needed to tell Keefe, that much was certain, but how? And when? She wouldn’t be back in Maryland until she’d finished taking care of her father’s house. The whole thing was giving her a headache. “Dammit.”

Jackson tossed some twenties on the table and raised a brow. “Problems?”

“Yeah. Mine seem to start with the letter J.” Lisa rubbed her temples as she stood, then she turned to face him. “How long do we have before the cleaners—”

“Cleanup crew,” he corrected, and she glared at him. He shrugged.

“—before the cleanup crew starts picking off more of my family?”

He looked uncomfortable. His hands were in his pockets, the jacket draped carelessly over one arm, but the set of his shoulders gave his uneasiness away. “I don’t know. I lack the information I would normally have if I was still with the Company.” He shook his head. “I’m on my own.”

“Well, why don’t you go find out, and when you know more, call me. You have my number.” Lisa walked past him out the door and onto the sidewalk without another word. She had things to do and she was tired of being in his company.

As she walked, she heard his footsteps hurrying along the pavement behind her. She knew what was coming. Five, four, three, two…

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” He caught up and fell into step with her, obviously angry. Again. His hand grabbed her just below her elbow; to the casual observer, he was a man escorting his pretty girlfriend. Lisa felt like her bones would be crushed. She knew she’d have a bruise there either way.

She sent him a wintry smile. “I have to go through my father’s house. The police called me yesterday to let me know that I could go in again. They…took care of the scene of his death, so I won’t have to see it. I just want to put some things in order before I head to Dallas for the holiday.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do you have any idea how much danger you’re in? How every moment you waste here brings someone else closer to dying just like your father? And what do you do when you learn what could happen—when you know what will happen?” He gestured scornfully. “You make plans for Thanksgiving as though nothing has changed.”

“Nothing has changed!” She yanked her arm free. “As far as I know, you’re messing around with my head again. No,” she held up a hand, “I don’t want to hear it. I have to think about what to do next, and damn if I’m not going to take care of my dad’s things before I go running back to Maryland.”

“You can’t go back to Joe’s right now anyway. I haven’t checked it out yet.”

“Dammit, Jackson!” She wanted to yell at him, but now there were people around. “Since when did my dad become ‘Joe’ to you? And since when did you start thinking you had any say in what I do and where I go?”

“Since I made a promise to him.” He smirked a little when her mouth opened in shock. “I told you he and I talked a lot.”

“Oh, no. No.” Lisa shook her head, stepped back. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“Tough, Leese.” Jackson’s mouth set itself into a thin line. “You have to hear it. When I got out, just before I was officially unemployed, I made a special request that no action be taken against you, your dad, or anyone involved. It was my screwup, and to be frank, I was a little impressed that you took me down the way you did.”

“How nice of you.” She tried to push past him, but again he stopped her. She glanced around. No one seemed to even notice them; they were just another couple having a domestic argument in public. Nothing new in Miami.

“The thing is, he made me promise him I wouldn’t let any harm of any kind—not just from my organization, but at all—come to you on top of all that.” He snorted. “As if my word wasn’t enough. But back to the issue: Joe and I talked a lot over the last few years. Somehow he found me once I was out on my own. We just started talking one day, meeting for coffee or a drink, and it became a regular thing. So not to correct you, Leese, but I did get to know him, and I did consider him something very close to a friend. And I was very, very angry when I found out about his death.”

Lisa drew breath to say something that she never got to say. Something hit her ear, like someone had flicked a pebble at her. Irritated beyond belief, she snapped her head in the direction it had come. She was stunned to see a small hole spiderwebbed in the side of the building she and Jackson had been standing beside; she’d been hit by a small piece of flying debris.

Jackson sprang into action, wrapping his hand around Lisa’s upper arm and dragging her around the corner of the building. He pushed her against the wall and ordered her to stay put. She flattened herself against the painted concrete, watching the way they’d come. Had that been a stray bullet, or a deliberate shot? Someone had nearly killed her, and she hadn’t even known until after the fact. Further down the block, someone screamed. An odd popping noise filled the air along with the screech of tires and the sound of metal being punctured.

She heard him mutter, “Stupid gangs,” in nonchalant disgust, though he produced a .45 and checked it, comfortably handling the weapon like he’d been born with one. He noticed her watching him and met her eyes. “Given the circumstances, I think this is a little too convenient. Whatever it is, I’m not in the mood to get caught in the middle of what could be a legitimate shootout or a cover for the crew to hit us. Keep your head down.”

“What are you going to do?”

His grin this time was a little rakish, a little too enthusiastic. It struck her that he thrived on this kind of thing the way some people thrived on the thrill of skydiving or base jumping. He moved close to her, causing her to back against the wall further. “Why, Leese,” he said, still with that grin, his voice soft and dangerous, “I’m going to get us out of here.”

.-.-.-.-.

They hugged the side of the building, heading toward the opposite side of the block. Jackson’s idea was that if it was an actual gang war, the action would be fairly contained in a brief time and small area. If it wasn’t, they’d be followed. He kept watch in both directions, hurrying Lisa along in front of him.

“Hold on,” he said in a low voice when they reached the corner. “Stay behind me and keep your back to the wall.” Without waiting for her response, he inched forward and scanned the exposed area beyond. Miami was an open city, with fewer high and narrow alleys than someplace like New York or Boston. The alley in which they now stood opened into a large granite-lined courtyard between this building and the next. At least a hundred yards separated them from the next available cover; for now, a dumpster hid them from view should anyone follow them.

Jackson scanned the area they could see, then carefully he crouched down and checked around the corner in the opposite direction. Satisfied, he withdrew and turned to her. “There’s no one on the ground or within sight. We’ll—”

A smattering of gunfire cut him off, this sound much closer than before. Jackson pushed Lisa in the chest with his right hand, harder against the wall while his left whipped the .45 around to bear on the alley. Instead of the gang members that Lisa had expected to see through the space between the dumpster and the wall, several dark-suited men were approaching them warily. Jackson swore under his breath. “When I tell you to run,” he murmured, just before the men saw them, “You run. Got it?”

She barely had time to nod; he simply expected her to obey his orders. Though a tiny voice within her brought up the complaint that he seemed very confident that she wouldn’t fight with him, she knew he had the experience in this situation, and she was actually glad for his guidance.

Which, she would reflect later, was equally as disturbing as her earlier cover for him in front of the policeman.

Jackson was concentrating on the men who walked toward their hiding place. He held his arm steady, waiting for them to come into range. Imperceptibly, he leaned closer to Lisa, his hand still resting lightly against her breastbone, the two of them frozen and tightly coiled, ready to move.

When the first man appeared around the dumpster, Jackson was ready. He fired once, twice, and the man dropped, twin scarlet stains spreading across the fabric of his shirt. “Run,” Jackson ordered, pushing her toward the open area. She hesitated, and he snapped over his shoulder again, “Lisa, GO!” as his arm adjusted and fired again at the next man to appear.

There was a flurry of gunshots; Lisa finally got her feet to respond and she sprinted from cover into the courtyard park. She heard shouts from several directions, people coming to help, someone shouting into a cell phone at a 911 dispatcher. A bullet sped by her, close enough for her to feel it disturb the air as it passed. She ducked around a stone bench that was bookended by cylindrical planters, also of granite, and caught her breath. Sliding down to sit on the ground, she regained her composure and then risked a glance back toward the alley, trying to see if she was being pursued or if Jackson was still there.

Her vantage point offered little information. She could see people running around, random passersby but no suits; a police car careened around the corner and pulled up, siren wailing. All attention was focused on the alley. Lisa allowed herself to take a great gasping sigh as she faced away from the alley once more.

“That was exciting.” Jackson’s rasp so close to her ear nearly made her jump a yard to the right. He crouched next to her, putting his gun away somewhere inside his coat.

“Oh, holy hell,” she breathed, “I didn’t hear you come up.”

“Of course you didn’t.” He stood carefully and helped her up, looking around all the while. “We’d better go before someone sees us. I don’t feel like answering police questions today, do you?”

Lisa didn’t trust herself to do more than shake her head no. She let him take her arm—more gently this time than he had earlier—and guide her further down the block at a brisk walk. Other people were fleeing the scene as well, giving them cover from anyone who might have seen them in the alley. He kept checking around them to make sure they were alone, that they weren’t being followed, and once they turned the corner onto the cross street, he hailed a cab. He gave his address, then let himself slump against the seat, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Hey,” she asked, “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “I recognized one of the men in the alley.” He sounded troubled. “Someone I used to work with.”

She didn’t know what to make of that. “Is he d—”

“Oh, yes.” Jackson’s face registered unease, worry. “Yes, very much so.”

Once more, they fell silent. There was no lack of things to discuss, but very little they could say until they were alone.

.-.-.-.-.

[cgoddess]

Chapter 7: Someone Set Us Up the Bomb

Disclaimer: I do not own Red Eye. This is for my entertainment, and I hope yours as well.

.-.-.-.-.

The air between them had changed a little; there was still the wariness, the mistrust on both sides, but the edge of worrying whether or not they would try to kill each other had dulled. In its wake, all that remained was a sense of exhaustion that both of them felt from locking horns constantly since ten-thirty that morning.

Jackson’s building came into view again just as the sun had begun its descent into the west. Traces of orange and pink tinged the high cirrus clouds, not yet brilliant but definitely there. Lisa might have bemoaned the loss of most of a day except that she was feeling much luckier than she had when she’d woken up. She had made it through alive so far, and her sparring with Jackson—both physical and verbal—had stoked the furnace within her that burned away her fear, her anger, her grief. All that remained was fire-tempered steel, cold fury that lent her strength to face what would surely make her first experience with Jackson seem like a game.

Rejecting his help was now out of the question. Someone was trying to kill them—whether it was some mythical cleanup crew or someone else, Lisa didn’t know and at the moment, she didn’t care. All that mattered was that those men in the alley had not been gang members on a spree; they had all been dressed as sharply as Jackson himself, if not as fashionably, and that bothered her more than the mixed-up brand-name colorful getup of a gang thug.

That she needed him was a hard thought to acknowledge, but she understood that she had to cooperate with Jackson on some level in order to stay alive, to keep save her remaining family, Keefe and his wife, his children. It rankled, but she would just have to get past the blow to her pride.

The hardest part would be finding a new way to avoid killing Connolly. Lisa was a great believer in ‘live and let live’, and no matter what Connolly had done, he should be taken down by legal means. Perhaps she could convince Jackson to hear her out, but first she would have to work out how to make everyone happy.

People-pleaser, 24/7, indeed. Some things never changed.

And so it was that Lisa found herself following him into the very building she’d resisted entering that morning, into the elevator where he studiously looked straight ahead at the cream-colored doors as it took them to the thirtieth floor. They had said nothing more for the rest of the cab ride, nor as they walked into the building, boarded the elevator, hit the button to go up. Jackson seemed drained, somehow, oddly distracted. It was as if they’d traded places, where he was the uncertain one and she the cold-blooded manager.

With a soft chime, the doors opened into a well-kept, if sparsely decorated, hallway. Jackson stepped off first and headed down the corridor without a word. Lisa followed, mildly exasperated. The hall branched twice; Jackson turned first left and then right, ending at a lone door at the end of the last turn. A brushed brass nameplate read, “RPNR Management, LLC”.

Jackson entered a code on the electronic lock beside the door and went in. Lisa noticed that he was on alert, and that the .45 was back in his hand. When they were both inside, he immediately stalked through the suite, checking everything in an almost routine manner. He closed the last door and sighed, putting the gun away as he walked to the middle of the main room.

“Home sweet home,” he said, spreading his arms. “Don’t get too comfortable; we won’t be staying here long.”

“Why are we here in the first place?” Lisa looked around. The place seemed to be half apartment, half office. It was neat but worn, utilitarian, as if he had simply moved in after a business had moved out and hadn’t changed a thing. Then again, perhaps that was just what had happened; the framed posters on the walls were the kind every generic office had—art exhibits from the 80s, motivational concepts, golf courses. Plain grey low-pile carpet still showed signs where cubicles and chairs had compressed it. Even the blinds over the windows were right out of the customary décor of the inoffensive, hyper-sanitized, middle-of-the-road company. She wondered for a moment what the former occupants had been.

A single desk and chair, both ordinary, had been placed by one window. On the desk, a laptop waited beside a small file and a stack of manila folders that had been stuffed with notes, forms, photos. That last drew Lisa’s attention, as one image that stuck out seemed familiar.

She picked up the file, checking first to see if Jackson could see her snooping. He had gone into the door to the right, the room that appeared to be a bedroom, and she heard him moving around in there. She quickly tugged the photo out of its file to see it better, then nearly dropped it when she realized what it was.

“You didn’t believe me?”

This time, she did drop it, startled. How could he be so quiet? “He must have known who you were. I don’t understand.” In the picture, her father looked alive, relaxed, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling the way they did when he was with friends. But he was sitting next to Jackson Rippner, the two of them leaning on the dark wood bar behind them and grinning for the camera. It might have been the poor lighting in the bar, but Jackson’s smile appeared slightly forced. “What did you tell him?”

“The truth.”

As well as he could read her, she could read him. He wasn’t joking with her now, was taking this seriously and his answer had been serious as well. Lisa sat down heavily and looked away. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

He laughed darkly. “Probably because you wouldn’t have believed him, either. Or you’d have called the cops on me, or had his head examined.” Jackson walked over to her and bent down to pick up the photo from where it had fallen on the ground. “How did you get this?”

Something in his voice told her not to dissemble. “I saw it on the desk in one of the folders.”

“Don’t lie to me, Leese,” he snapped, and she stood up, offended.

“I’m not lying!” She pointed. “It was in that folder, right there.”

“Hmm.” He frowned, pushing aside the rest of the stack to get the one she had indicated. Once they were spread out on the desk, even Lisa could see that one was different, a different brand or style; its color was lighter and the cut of the tab was smaller. When he opened it, they saw a stapled packet headed with a minimalistic, swooping logo. Jackson flipped past it to reveal other photos of him, of Joe, of the Lux Atlantic from the street on the day of the attack, debris raining down—then Lisa gasped to see images of herself as well. Jackson seemed to remember she was seeing them, too, and he snapped the folder shut.

“What is that?” demanded Lisa, following him as he stuffed the folder and the others from the desk into a laptop bag, suddenly hasty. When he didn’t answer, she got between him and the computer. “Jackson, so help me—”

“We need to get out of here. Now.” He reached for the cord but she stopped him and he straightened, tense.

“Not until you tell me—”

He cut her off by physically, forcefully placing his hand over her mouth. “We. Need. To. Go.” His voice was a harsh whisper underlaid with urgency. Lisa, wide-eyed, nodded, and the same hand pushed her to the side. He grabbed the computer, adding it to the bag with the folders. The cord followed, then he slung the strap over his shoulder and picked up a soft leather suitcase she hadn’t noticed by his feet. “Now, let’s get the hell out of here, quickly, calmly, in an orderly fashion, and we can discuss the invasion of your privacy or whatever, later.”

Stunned, Lisa watched him stride to the door, then shook herself and went after him.

.-.-.-.-.

They only took the elevator down to the fifth floor, then Jackson burst into the hallway and headed for the stairs, Lisa at his heels. Though he still hadn’t said anything to her since walking from the office, she could feel the tension radiating from him like heat. His pace quickened down the last few flights—and then he bypassed the ground floor’s door entirely, continuing on to the basement. They went down one level, then two, and finally he hit the door at Parking Level Two.

Only when they were both in the underground garage did he actually break into a run. A few midrange luxury cars were in the lot, and they hurried toward a beautifully-polished black BMW.

“Get in,” said Jackson, the first words he’d spoken since they had left the apartment. His voice was deep, ragged, the rasp more pronounced as Lisa had noticed it became when he was under duress. She did as he said, getting in the passenger side and buckling her belt while he threw the suitcase into the back. The laptop bag, he handed to her, then he did a brief but careful walk around the car, looking for something. He ended by opening the hood and checking the engine, then slammed it shut and finally slid into the driver’s seat. A key appeared from some pocket, and he took a deep breath before putting into the ignition.

The motor purred to life, and Jackson released the breath he’d held. “Hold on,” he instructed Lisa, not looking at her. She gripped the bag like a life preserver as he shifted into first. A quick glance at his watch made him grip the steering wheel harder, his knuckles whitening. Everything he did was focused on driving up and around the winding exit ramp to the ground floor and the street, which he did with the same smooth skill as he’d used with the .45. The way his jaw was clenched and his gaze was fixed ahead kept Lisa from asking what was happening, why they had to leave so quickly.

She had her answer the moment they reached the street. Something ricocheted off the window, then something else, as if gravel or rocks were hitting them. Lisa checked her mirror out of habit, only to see a man in a suit standing on the sidewalk they’d just passed. With a jolt, she realized that they were being shot at again. Her head snapped around to warn Jackson but the words died in her throat.

“I know,” he said tersely, shifting. He glanced in the rearview and back at the road. “It’s bulletproof. Get ready. It’s going to get bumpy for a moment.”

Lisa clung to the door handle and the laptop bag when a heavy THUMP! THUMP! sounded behind them. She felt it as much as she heard it. The car shuddered—no, it was the ground—and she braved a look back.

Where she figured the office had been, most of the way up the building, the remains of an explosive fireball were disintegrating into black smoke. A similar plume of smoke had erupted from the exit of the parking garage at the base of the tower. The force of the explosion had been strong enough to knock the suited man to the ground. Lisa didn’t know if he got up or not; they turned a corner before she could tell.

By the time they heard the first sirens, they were two blocks away and getting further every second.

By the time the incident was reported on the radio, they were across town.

.-.-.-.-.

Jackson turned onto a main road, thick with the remains of rush-hour traffic. They blended seamlessly with the other cars until they were just another black BMW heading back to the suburbs after a hard day of work in the city. Lisa realized they were passing the street down which the Lux Atlantic was located, and she turned to him.

“Where are we going? My hotel is that way.”

“I know,” he replied. “We’re not going there unless you want another problem like my office had.”

“The explosion? But…didn’t you—” She had thought he’d set the bomb.

He shook his head. “That was not my work. I like to think I’m a little more subtle than that, Leese.”

“Then how did you know?” It was hard to keep the edge of hysteria from her voice. All this time she’d thought he was in control of the situation, but for him to reveal that he hadn’t been…her hands shook, and she twisted them into the strap of the bag.

“The file. The one with the photo of your dad.” He glanced over at her and then back at the road. “I kept all those pictures in a locked drawer. They were personal things. That’s why I thought you were lying about where you got it. I never saw that file before today. It was probably a message for me.”

“Oh my God.” Lisa clenched the bag harder. “But why give you a file and then blow you up?”

He shook his head. “I won’t know until I read it later. All I know is that the upstairs bomb was probably in that drawer, and someone didn’t want me dead, while someone else did.” His fingers fanned on the wheel. “I’m taking you to your dad’s.”

“Wait, what? I thought you said it wasn’t safe.”

“It’s safer.”

Lisa’s headache had come back full force and she simply lacked the energy to fight with him. She rested her forehead against the cool glass of her window and just let him drive. The sky above had finally turned with the setting sun: brilliant pink and gold to the west behind them, deep blue and violet in the east.

East, the direction in which they sped toward her father’s empty house.

[cgoddess]

Chapter 8: Old Familiar Things

Disclaimer: I do not own Red Eye. Still waiting for Wes Craven to return my calls. XD

.-.-.-.-.

Lisa didn’t know she’d fallen asleep until she felt a firm hand on her shoulder, shaking her awake. It took her a moment to recall her surroundings; she was still in the BMW, arms wrapped around the laptop bag. She recognized the dim shape of her father’s garage through the front windshield and hastily unbuckled her seatbelt. Through the driver’s side back door, Jackson was retrieving his suitcase and a paper bag. He caught her eye and jerked his chin toward the back seat.

“Get the other bag. I’m going to let us in.”

She frowned. She must have been tired if she hadn’t woken up even when Jackson had stopped to get groceries. “I have a key, you know. You don’t have to break in,” she said as she shut the door with her hip. The neighborhood was quiet, most lights out or reduced to the blue glow of TV sets in the front rooms.

“I’m not,” he replied, brandishing a key of his own. He smiled wanly at her consternation and pushed the door open. As she passed him, he murmured, “Stay in the kitchen until I come back. I’m going to check out the house before we get settled.”

After the events of the day, she found herself disinclined to argue, so she merely nodded and let him follow her to the kitchen.

“Just wait here,” he instructed, “and I’ll be right back. Be ready to run if I tell you to, got it?”

“Yeah.” She hugged her arms to herself and leaned against the counter as Jackson disappeared into the living room.

Lisa closed her eyes in the darkened room and listened to the house. She hadn’t been inside it for at least a year, but she had lived so much of her life within these walls that it still felt like a part of her. She could feel the changes that had been made over time, but even the missing walls and the old wallpaper still resonated in her memory. There had been a table where the island now stood, sometime around her junior high school days. She recalled sitting there and doing her homework while her parents made dinner or bickered in the background. They’d had a dog then, too—a shaggy, caramel-colored mutt who always had muddy paws and liked to sleep under the coffee table.

She inhaled deeply, searching for something familiar, something she could latch onto that would help her reconcile the ache in her heart, the grief that just would not go away no matter how hard she tried to push it down. The picture of Joe had reminded her of what he’d looked like as a vibrant, vital man, just when she’d accepted that he was gone. He had been a man who had done nothing to anyone, nothing to deserve his fate.

Something in the room changed, like the air pressure adjusted to accommodate something new. It was different enough to make her open her eyes. In the gloom, she could see that Jackson had returned, silent as always. He was watching her, she could tell, though it was impossible to make out his expression from his silhouette alone. In a very small voice that she hated the moment it sprang from her lips, she asked, “What?”

He said nothing for a moment, then shook his head and went to flip the light switch. “Nothing.” The lights came up slowly, half-dimmed. “You were spacing out.”

“I was alert. I knew when you got back.”

“Right.” She glanced at him, certain she’d heard a bit of humor in his tone. He had replaced the .45 and now he began unloading one of the bags onto the counter. “We should clean out the fridge. I got food for breakfast and lunch. I don’t plan on being here long, but I don’t think we need to smell rotten vegetables when we eat.”

Lisa swallowed. She wasn’t ready to touch anything just yet, even if it was a head of lettuce past its prime. Suddenly she understood how Joe had felt, unwilling to change his daughter’s room, unwilling to risk accidentally throwing away something precious. She stood before the open refrigerator, staring at the contents.

“Lisa?” Jackson’s sharp question startled her out of her daze. “Wake up.”

She didn’t look at him, but grabbed the trash can from under the sink. With systematic detachment, she began to remove the bags of lunchmeat and salad ingredients that her father had bought nearly a month ago and never got the chance to use. She stifled a sob that took her by surprise, bringing a hand to cover her mouth.

Jackson’s hand wrapped around her wrist, keeping her from completing the movement. Now she did look at him, angry and ready to ask him what the hell he was doing, but he spoke before she could.

“Do you think you can manage one little task without breaking down, Leese?” he asked scornfully. “Just one little thing?”

“You arsehole.” She tore her wrist away from him, almost surprised when she succeeded. “I’m sure that in your professional-killer world, you don’t know what it’s like to care about someone enough to miss them when they’re gone, but I’m having a little bit of a hard time here. So cut me some slack, okay?” Lisa angrily took the gallon of milk he held out to her and slammed it down on a wire shelf in the refrigerator. He quickly passed her a box of butter, a carton of eggs, and a package of bacon, all of which joined the milk before she hurled the door closed. “Happy?”

He studied her through heavy-lidded eyes, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re so easy, Leese. It’s almost criminal.”

A distraction, that’s all it had been. He’d stopped her from breaking down by getting her angry at him. She didn’t know whether she should thank him or hit him. “You know what, Jackson? You’re right. This is what happens when people have emotions beyond anger. I know that’s hard for you to grasp, but sometimes it makes us weak.”

“You don’t have—”

“The luxury of being weak,” she finished for him in a bored tone. “I know, I know. Just forget it. I’m going to bed.” She turned to the stairs, and Jackson made as if to follow her. “Oh, hell no.”

“What?” Jackson raised a brow. “There are three bedrooms upstairs.”

“Not on your life, Rippner.” Lisa crossed her arms. “You want to stay here? The couch is that way.”

He sighed, allowing a smile. “Fine. Don’t I at least get a blanket? A pillow?”

“Sure. You stay there.” She turned to go.

“Wait,” he said, half-leaping past the other side of the island to where she stood on the bottom stair. When he caught her wrist this time, it was more to get her attention than to stop her. “Lisa, I—”

Nothing came after that. Lisa waited, confused by his use of her name instead of the usual mocking ‘Leese’. Everything they’d said up until now had had some purpose, some reason. They didn’t engage in idle chatter like ordinary people, and now that they had a moment of peace without having to simply share information, they both seemed to be at a loss for what to say.

All at once, he tugged on her wrist, bringing her off-balance enough to make her stumble toward him. She tensed, expecting to have to fend off an attack—an attack that never came. Instead, she found herself pulled closer against him, found his lips making contact with hers.

The moment they touched, Lisa felt a shock wave that traveled down every nerve in her body to her fingertips and toes. Involuntarily, she gasped at the sensation, and Jackson took the gesture as an appeal for him to go on. He adjusted his hold on her, threaded fingers through her hair, tilted her face to a better angle for him to deepen the kiss before she could protest.

Lisa meant to stop him, she really did, but the moment his tongue swept over hers, she lost all thought. Suddenly, he was the one being pushed back, the one whose mouth she claimed. A ragged groan escaped him, then he was vying for dominance again. They surged against each other, clutching at shirts, hair, shoulders, cupping faces and winding arms around necks and waists. Jackson was relentless and Lisa was unyielding, two forces of nature that resisted each other even while they needed each other to survive.

It wasn’t until he pulled back for the barest breath that she was able to regain some semblance of order to her thoughts. She was against the wall, his hand cradling the back of her head as he returned to kiss her again. Through half-open eyes, she managed to catch a glimpse of what he looked like without any artifice, any mask, any barrier. That humanity, that emotion that he kept so tightly controlled was now the only thing she saw, and for the first time since meeting him all that time ago, she thought he was truly handsome.

Something about the way his teeth grazed her bottom lip made her go weak, threatened to overwhelm her again. He was warm, so close, so real. It would be so easy to just give in to him, let him urge the jacket from her shoulders, sink to the ground with him…

It would have been too easy. Another time, another place, she might have had this with him, but he and his former employer and the ones who hunted them now had made it impossible. His eyes were already closed, so he missed her perusal. He was as lost in the moment as she had been; the idea was unsettling. It also made it much harder for her do to what she did next.

“Jackson—Jackson, no,” She forced herself to say. She had to tear her mouth from his, had to physically put her hand over his mouth and face and had to push him away. “No. Just—no.”

They were both disoriented, breathing hard. Jackson shook his head to clear it. He took a step toward her, but she stepped back and up one stair.

“No,” she repeated, her trembling hand still outstretched to keep him at arm’s length, “Just no. No.” They stared at each other. Lisa tried to ignore the traces of disappointment and betrayal on his face that he must not have remembered to hide.

His voice was a labored whisper. “Lisa—”

“No.” She blindly fumbled for the bannister behind her. She didn’t trust herself to say more as she climbed the stairs and went to the linen closet. Her body felt brittle, as if she would break if she wasn’t careful. Woodenly, she went back down to see he hadn’t moved. The only difference was that the mask was back, his icy eyes catching the low light like a cat’s. She handed him the blanket and pillow she’d promised.

Long seconds ticked by as they stood there. Something had changed between them with that one moment of weakness, something that Lisa wasn’t sure would help or hinder them from this point onward. The tension, instead of dissipating, had grown thicker, made worse for both of them by the knowledge that on some level, the attraction between them was mutual. It also meant that they had to tread with more care, lest they both lose sight of what they needed to do. They were true opposites, opposing powers that maintained a delicate balance in order to co-exist.

All this passed between them without a word. At last, Jackson reached up and took the bedding from her, deliberately not touching her, and Lisa turned away once more.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she looked back. He was still standing there, watching her until she slowly rounded the corner to go to her room.

.-.-.-.-.

Sleep would likely not come so easily this time as it had in the car. Lisa changed into the pajamas she always kept at the house for her visits: flannel pants, a pair of tank tops that she’d layered after some fad in college and never really stopped doing. She saw herself in the mirror as she washed up before bed; there was no mistaking that she’d been very thoroughly kissed. She angrily wiped a soapy hand across the reflection of her unusually bright eyes, unusually swollen lips before splashing water on her face and briskly drying it with a towel by the sink.

She had automatically chosen her own room to stay in, whether out of habit or for the sense of familiarity her bed gave her, she wasn’t sure. She knew every dip in the mattress, knew that the blue sheets were worn near her feet and that there was a hole where her quilt had come unsewn. The window shade was still broken; it wouldn’t close, so she had just gotten used to leaving it open. Moonlight filtered through the thin fabric of the curtains as it had for years and years, better than any night light.

Her old alarm clock still sat on the nightstand. It changed from 12:48 to 12:49 as she watched. Everything in the house was so normal, so ordinary. If she lay very still, she could almost imagine that she heard the steady breathing of her sleeping father down the hall.

She bit her lip, huddled under the blankets. She had to stop thinking like that. If what she had been through today was any indication, Lisa would need her wits about her. She didn’t have the luxury of grieving like a normal person, not when she was being hunted by people who wanted her dead. Certainly not when her only companion was someone she considered her greatest adversary, someone who had managed to throw her life into disarray more than once.

There were just too many questions to process properly. What had Joe been doing, befriending Jackson? How was she supposed to rationalize killing someone, or at least helping someone else do the job? Why did this have to happen now, when she’d finally gotten her life back under control? What did Jackson think he would accomplish by kissing her like that? Was it something he wanted to do, or was it just another method of persuasion, another game?

Worse, why hadn’t she fought him? She couldn’t think anymore and buried her face in one of the pillows.

For the first time in a long time, Lisa Reisert cried herself to sleep.

.-.-.-.-.

[cgoddess]

Chapter 9: Green Eggs

Disclaimer: I do not own Red Eye.

.-.-.-.-.

Three twenty-three. Three twenty-four. Three twenty-five.

Lisa had woken, none-too-gently reminded of the flaws of sleeping in a room that hadn’t changed. There was one spring in the mattress that had been put in at an odd angle, and it always seemed to dig right into her hip no matter how she turned. The moon shone right into her window, bright as a street light. It also seemed that her father had never fixed the faucet in the bathroom, and the steady drip, drip, drip of water alone was maddening enough to keep her awake.

Three twenty-six. Three twenty-seven.

She tried to turn away from the clock, but the spring jabbed her worse on that side. Under normal circumstances, she might have gotten up to get some comfort food, but no amount of exhaustion could make her forget that she had company sleeping downstairs.

Three twenty-eight. Three twenty-nine.

“Screw it,” she said, kicking the blanket off her legs. It was her house, wasn’t it? And she had already vowed not to let Jackson’s presence rule her decisions. She found a pair of slippers from her closet and pulled on a thin cotton robe, determined to allow herself something normal in the highly abnormal mess her life had become.

When she reached the stairs, rubbing her eyes, she could see the light still on in the living room. Cautiously, silently, she made her way down, hoping not to disturb Jackson. She had no desire to speak to him, not until she’d worked out what game he was playing.

A brief scan of the open room revealed him sprawled on the too-short couch, pillow under his head and the blanket half-falling off his legs. He was still in the clothes he’d worn all day, suit pants and green shirt looking uncharacteristically rumpled. The jacket had been draped over the back of the couch, presumably within reach of his hand should he wake and need the hidden gun. On his chest, the file of photos lay open and forgotten in sleep; the glasses she recognized from the funeral were loosely grasped in his hand, resting almost protectively on the file. He must have drifted off while reading it. The lamp was on its lowest setting, but had never been switched off.

Lisa breathed a soft sigh. With luck, he’d stay that way until she was done. She went to the kitchen and opened a lower cabinet as quietly as she could. The pan she wanted was thankfully right on top. Though she hated to admit it, she was glad Jackson had thought about food for the next day, and even more glad that he had bought a dozen eggs. She found butter in the fridge, grabbed the eggs and the milk, and lit the burner.

She checked an upper cabinet to see if the mugs were still up there; they were, so she chose a large one she remembered buying in high school and put it on the counter. Next she located a fork, a spatula, some salt and pepper. Deftly, she cracked two eggs together with one hand, let the yolks and the clear whites drain into the mug, tossed the shells into the sink. She added milk, stirred the mixture with the fork, and set it aside.

The flame steadied on the burner, so she dropped a pat of butter into the pan and set it on the heat. As she watched it melt, gently tilting the pan to coat the whole bottom, she felt an almost meditative calm slip over her. How many times had she done this, over how many years? Not every night, of course, but whenever she was stressed, angry, upset, afraid, depressed—this was her ritual, her quiet way of coping with sleepless nights and bad dreams.

It had been Joe’s fault, really, and though she looked more like her mother, her father had been the one Lisa most took after in personality. He had started giving her eggs when she had come down as a little girl, sniffling after some nightmare to find her insomniac parent enjoying a late night (or early morning, depending on how one looked at it) snack. He would set her up at the table, a finger to his lips as if to say, ‘don’t tell mom’ as he went through the same preparations she now did. They would eat in silence, sharing a conspiratorial grin, then Lisa would be sent up to bed while Joe cleaned up to hide their tracks.

She smiled a little to herself. It hadn’t been until much later that she figured out that of course her mother must have known; where else would the eggs be disappearing to so quickly? At the time, though, it had been a wonderful secret, something only she and her father knew, and it had followed her through high school, college, her first apartment on her own…through the recovery from the horror of her rape, and then after meeting Jackson, to Annapolis, and to…now.

Swallowing, she fluffed the eggs in the mug and prepared to dump them into the pan when a quiet voice spoke behind her. “Scrambled eggs at this hour, Leese?”

Her hand froze, gripped the mug in place, eggs unpoured. First, she counted to ten, then ten again, then she slowly turned.

Jackson leaned a hip against the island, yawning. He still held the glasses in one hand, propping the other up to rub his face. “I wondered if I’d see this bit of predictability tonight, or if you’d avoid it just to spite me.”

It took another count before she could answer him. “Shut up, Jackson,” she growled with more vehemence than either of them expected, “Just shut the hell up.”

Surprisingly, he backed off instead of coming back with some witty retort. They went through another of their now-common silences, then Lisa turned back to the stove and finished dumping the eggs into the pan. She pushed them around a little, ignoring the man across the room as she worked.

He cleared his throat. “So, ah…how many are you making?”

Lisa stopped stirring. Without looking at him, she said, “Jackson.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want eggs, too?”

“Yes…?”

Another count to ten, then she reached into the carton and pulled out three more. “Then ask outright next time,” she muttered, cracking them into the mug.

Jackson said nothing else while she worked, which was as much a blessing as it was a distraction. She could feel him watching her, studying the movements she made as she prepared enough eggs for both of them. She knew she should feel more upset that her ritual was being observed by an outsider, but there was a strange sense of comfort in knowing there was someone else there.

Even if it was someone who continually pissed her off.

She split the eggs onto two plates and set them on the island, one in front of Jackson and one on her side. Forks followed, and the salt and pepper shakers. He picked up his fork and dug right in, but Lisa hesitated. Somehow, sharing this with him was in many ways more intimate than kissing him had been. She felt the sudden need to stamp it as her own, to keep it something she had shared with her father and not with her former tormentor.

The fork had hovered by her mouth for nearly a minute when she remembered one thing, something that even Jackson, who thought he knew everything about her, wouldn’t see coming.

“Something wrong?” he asked between bites. He frowned as she began rifling through the refrigerator. “What are you looking for?”

“This,” she said, withdrawing with her prize. “Eggs just aren’t complete without it.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Jackson put his fork down. “Real funny, Leese.”

She smirked and unscrewed the lid, scooping out a forkful and letting the purple mass drop into the middle of her eggs. With a satisfied little sound, she mixed it in, then tasted it.

Perfect.

Jackson looked a little green—matching, incidentally, the color her eggs had become. “You didn’t just put grape jelly on scrambled eggs.”

“And here I was under the impression that you’d studied my every preference,” she taunted. “Guess I’m not so predictable as you’d like to think.”

He watched her in disbelief as she finished the rest, obviously in bliss. “Guess not.”

Something in his tone made her look up sharply. She finished the last forkful, all traces of humor gone, then picked up the plates and put them in the sink. Instead of saying more, she busied herself with cleaning up the mess she’d made while she gathered her thoughts.

As she put the food away, she saw him out of the corner of her eye, putting the dishes in the sink and wiping down the counter. She wouldn’t have much time to avoid talking to him, and he seemed to want to say something.

She was right. “I’ve been going through the file,” he began, but she interrupted him again.

“Why did you do it?” The question was hard enough to ask; she watched the door of the fridge, her hands, anything but him.

Silence, then, “Do what?”

She rounded on him then. “I’ll say it if you want to be coy,” she hissed. “Why did you kiss me, Jackson? Why the hell did you do that? What purpose did it serve?”

His expression had sobered, hardened. “Did it have to have a purpose?” He snorted. “This isn’t a fairy tale, Leese. I don’t know what you thought I meant, but you might want to forget your little fantasy about it being anything more than a distraction. I told you you were easy.”

Her hand flew toward his face for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, only this time he was ready. He caught it easily, twisted it behind her back, leaned in close. Lisa couldn’t get free without hurting herself, though she pulled her face away from his as much as possible. “Let go of me,” she said tightly, furious, humiliated.

“What did you think it meant?” he asked, breath fanning over her ear. He tightened his hold on her, stopping her struggles. “What did you imagine about me, Leese?”

“I thought,” Lisa replied through clenched teeth, “That you were human. Just for a moment.” She saw the barb hit home in the way the muscle of his jaw flexed. She drove it deeper by mirroring her earlier words. “Guess I was wrong.”

He stilled, then she found herself released all at once. She staggered back, putting distance between them as they caught their breaths. Then he snatched his glasses up from the island countertop. “Guess so.”

The tension was back, and with it, her headache. Lisa closed her eyes, defeated. “It’s four o’clock in the morning. I’m going back to bed. We can discuss our ‘plans’ tomorrow, when we can be civil.”

“Sure.” He was already on his way back to the living room without a backward glance.

Lisa sighed deeply and went back up to her room.

.-.-.-.-.

She knew it was a dream, was completely aware of its complete surreality and the sheer improbability of it ever actually happening. It still didn’t change the fact that she was dreaming about a lean form that hovered over hers, about full lips that captured hers, about a voice that crooned her name in a broken tone. She knew there was no way the warm arms that wound around her were real, and certainly the legs that twined with hers never actually would. It would take more trust—and naturally more emotion than Lisa believed they had time to fathom in the rest of their lives—before she would consider making Jackson the first man she’d slept with in the five years since before she’d received the scar on her chest.

She knew it was a dream, but then, there was nothing wrong with dreaming. She let her mind unfold the images one by one. All at once, the dream changed; he was arching his body against hers, crying out her name, over and over and over…

“Leese! Hey, Leese!”

Her eyes snapped open to see the ceiling of her old room. Sunlight flooded through the open shade, and she moaned, throwing an arm over her eyes as she turned over.

“Lisa!”

The hell. “What?” she whined loud enough for him to hear, actually whined and didn’t care. His voice was coming from downstairs; if he wanted to wake her up, there had to be better ways. “Let me sleep.”

“Lisa,” his tone changed, sounded a little edgier than normal, even muffled by the door, “I really think you should come down here now.”

Collecting the tattered remains of her pleasant dream-version of her houseguest was out of the question now. She flung the covers back and grabbed the robe before stalking to the bedroom door and down the stairs. “You’d better have a damn good reason, Jackso—oh—”

Rounding the corner, she found herself confronted by the sight of Jackson in the hall, surrounded by five men in black suits; his hands were clasped on the top of his head, and all five had weapons trained on him. They all looked up at her, waiting.

“I’m sorry, Leese,” Jackson said softly, sincerely.

Something moved in her peripheral vision. Lisa spun to face her attacker, but the other had the benefit of suprise. Pain exploded at the back of her head, made stars float momentarily before her eyes, and then she was falling, suddenly too heavy to stand against the pull of gravity that pulled her down, down, down.

The last thing she heard was Jackson shouting her name from a thousand miles away, over and over and over.