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Post by cgoddess on Apr 12, 2006 23:29:07 GMT -5
Hee. XD I like that scene, too. XD XD Thanks, you guys. I'm working on Chapter 17 now; comments like these always make me all gung-ho about writing. XD
CG
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Post by cgoddess on Apr 14, 2006 2:41:55 GMT -5
Thanks for the wonderful comments, guys. I love hearing what you think of my lil' fic here; feel free to tell me!
And now...UPDATENESS.
CG
Chapter 17: Trifle Not With Keefe
Disclaimer: I do not own Red Eye.
.-.-.-.-.
“Oww!”
“Shh!”
“I swear, Jackson, if you tell me to ‘shh’ one more time—”
“SHH!”
“What did I—”
Lisa’s mouth was suddenly covered by a hand that wasn’t hers. Jackson’s face loomed large in front of her, softly backlit by the in-store security lights. “Shh, please?” he entreated her in what was barely a whisper, “You can talk all you want when you get outside. ‘Til then…” He motioned to the corners of the store, where she could make out the tiny blink of a camera light. Once he knew she’d seen the danger, Jackson nodded, satisfied. “Ready? Okay, then.”
He turned on his heel and continued making his way to the door. He had been fairly certain that the security system wasn’t too difficult to bypass, but he wasn’t taking any chances, not now that they were so close to Annapolis. Lisa limped slightly after him, rubbing the thigh she’d bruised against a portable chop saw table display.
Here in the dark, the hardware store managed to be both eerie and comforting at the same time. This wasn’t some big chain warehouse; this was the kind of place that had probably been open since the turn of the last century, with wooden floorboards polished by four or five generations of feet walking across it. She and Jackson had emerged from the basement to find the main floor looked pretty much exactly as they’d pictured it after hours of hearing people walk around above them.
Now Jackson moved ahead of her, studying the door for any kind of alarm. An hour ago, he’d hacked into the remarkably high-tech security system to create a loop that wouldn’t be detected by the company who monitored it. All they had to do was get out the door and into the street. Jackson had cautioned her about just blithely walking out, however; they had no idea if a bell or siren would sound if the door was opened before the security system was properly turned off.
There was only one way to find out. “Here goes,” Jackson murmured, “Get ready to run if you have to.”
Lisa clutched the laptop bag. She subconsciously moved her feet to a sprinting position, one of the odd holdovers from her high school sports days. She shifted her weight, preparing to bolt. Jackson glanced at her, then put out a hand and turned the knob.
Nothing.
They both let out a breath neither of them realized they’d been holding. He grinned and pulled the door open just enough to let them through, not enough to make the bell jingle. First Lisa, then Jackson squeezed past, and he shut the door behind him.
They were out in the street, alone in the dark. Lisa filled her lungs with the cold night air, reveled in the fresh crisp scent of November after those long cramped hours in the basement. She felt invigorated, refreshed, and she wanted to get moving right that moment. Ten hours spent doing nothing had made her restless.
Jackson must have noticed this, for he smiled again and took her arm. “Come on,” he murmured, pulling her to the right. “Let’s get some distance between us and the store before I call a cab.”
“I’m starving,” she replied, following. “Whatever we do, I want to stop at McDonald’s or something.”
He made a face. They might have been a couple out for a late-night walk, except that they wore no coats and they kept looking around, alert. “I can’t believe you eat that crap.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it once in a while.” They passed storefront after storefront, street light after street light in their quest to get away from the store.
“Do you have any idea how many cows they kill for those crappy burgers?”
Lisa stopped walking. “You did not just say that.”
“What?” He paused and glanced around. “Leese, could you maybe talk and walk?”
She trotted after him but continued to marvel. “I can’t believe you said that. Jackson, do you have any idea how very funny it is that you can arrange assassinations and manage coups without a care, but you have issues with people killing cows for food?”
He didn’t look at her. “The cows are innocent.”
It was just too much. Lisa began to laugh, leaning on buildings for support. If there was a bit of a hysterical edge to it, neither of them said anything. When it became obvious to him that they weren’t going much farther, Jackson pulled out his cell and dialed for a cab.
“You just be happy my battery still works,” he grumbled. Lisa merely giggled in response.
.-.-.-.-.
After two days of Frank’s driving, it was almost uncivilized to sit in the back of a yellow cab with the laptop bag tucked between them. Lisa had gotten over her fit of laughter but still felt a bit giddy. Jackson merely rolled his eyes and told her to eat her ‘dead cow’ and shut up. She made short work of her value meal, even licked the salt off her fingertips at the end. It felt so good to eat something, even if it was mostly grease and the burger tasted like cardboard.
Jackson had ordered a salad that came in a clear plastic container with a sad little packet of dressing tossed on top. He had treated in much the same way Lisa had her own meal, with the ravenous hunger of someone who hadn’t eaten anything but half a candy bar and a cup of coffee since yesterday. It was gone before she could ask for the wan cherry tomato. He now tapped the plastic fork (also licked clean) against his teeth as he looked blankly out the window into the passing highway trees.
At length, he looked thoughtfully in her direction. “I’m going to get out here. You are going on to your house.”
“When will we meet up again?”
He shook his head. “We won’t.”
Lisa stared at him. The anger, suppressed for days, suddenly flared up inside her. “What.”
“I decided I didn’t want you involved,” he went on as if he didn’t see the darkening of her brow. “I don’t want you getting caught in the middle anymore.”
“Great, Jack, just great,” she snapped. “I can’t believe this. You tell me this fifteen minutes before we arrive at my house? Nuh-uh. You’re not going to just kick me out of the car and say ‘so long’. We’re supposed to be in this together, remember?”
“Yeah, well,” he tapped on the plexiglas divider, signalling for the driver to pull over, “I changed my mind after our last little adventure. Just stay home until it’s over. You shouldn’t be associated with me and what I have to do.”
“Of all the stupid, inane, thick-skulled—”
He ignored her litany of insults and calmly handed money over to the cabbie, enough to pay for their trip so far and the remaining few miles to her house. The speed with which he gave her address without hesitation told Lisa that he’d been watching her for a long time even here in Maryland. When he began to climb out of the car, hooking his arm through the bag strap, Lisa caught the bag itself and clung to it to keep him there. “Jackson, don’t be an idiot.”
Jackson ducked down so he could speak softly to her. His fingers caught her chin, held her still so he could speak into her ear. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid,” he murmured, “I told you I didn’t want you to get hurt, and I mean that. Let me take care of this on my own. My way.”
She tried not to shiver as she looked over at him. “And that’s it, then. I was useless.”
A brief smile flickered across his mouth. “I wouldn’t call you useless, no. Go home, Leese. I’ll call you when it’s over.”
With that, he pulled back, taking the bag with him. The door closed, its dingy white interior panel framing his face through the window. The driver pulled away from the curb, and soon they were too far down the street for Lisa to see him anymore. She made a frustrated noise and faced forward.
What was she supposed to do now? All her energy had been spent just trying to get to Annapolis for…what? Maybe Jackson was right. Maybe there wasn’t anything she could do; she’d just end up getting in someone’s way.
She couldn’t think like that. She had to have a purpose. She had come this far, all these miles and all those nearly missed escapes to find out who had killed her father, who hunted her and the rest of her family. Instead of being able to do something about it, though, here she was, riding alone in a paid cab to her own doorstep, as if the entire last couple of weeks hadn’t happened at all. She was angry and disappointed and something else she couldn’t name.
They were at her townhouse in no time. Lisa climbed carefully out of the car, painfully aware that she had no luggage or anything beyond her ID and house key in her small wallet. Even her purse was still in Frank’s car. A bath sounded heavenly to her at that moment, a nice long, warm bath with bubbles and soft music to soothe her aching head. That, and something filling to eat.
As she went up the stairs, something struck her as slightly…off about the place. Lisa thought of Jackson’s obsession with checking rooms, and suddenly it didn’t seem so paranoid of him. Experience had shown her that his attention paid off; perhaps he had something. She quietly began to look in every corner of her house.
The foyer, the kitchen, the office were empty, but the living room revealed six men in grey suits and one man in khakis and a blue button-down shirt. He was sitting comfortably in the room, petting her cat, who had hopped up on the arm of the chair. Charles Keefe looked quite happy to see her. “Lisa, you’re later than we expected you. Still all in one piece?”
She met his eyes, then looked at each of the men in the room. “I,” she announced, “am going to take a bath.”
Keefe frowned. “We need to talk.”
“I don’t care.” She felt her hands clench and she forced them to relax. “I have been shot at, chased in cars, thrown out of cars, nearly blown up—twice—kidnapped, harrassed, shot at more, and on top of all this, my father is dead from something other than natural causes. You. Can. Wait.”
He studied her for a minute or two, but nodded in the end. “Go on. We’ll be here when you come down.”
.-.-.-.-.
Perhaps it was childish of her; perhaps it was just her vain hope that they’d get bored and leave. Lisa took two hours to bathe and put on fresh clothes. She took her time, soaked in the tub and let the bubbles die down around her more than once. She refilled the tub twice.
Finally, though, she couldn’t justify any more dawdling. She sighed, still not feeling quite right, still angry at Jackson for leaving (which bothered her on too many levels to even start to consider), and chose a pair of worn jeans to wear with a sweater and her fluffy slippers. If she was going to talk to Charles Keefe about what she thought he wanted to talk about, she’d be damn comfortable while they talked.
He was still waiting for her, though the cat had since disappeared to play elsewhere. When she reappeared in the living room, Keefe put down the magazine he was reading and focused all his attention on her. “Feeling better?”
“You could say that.” Lisa felt surly, out-of-sorts. “Why are you here?”
Keefe sat back and crossed his ankles. “We were hoping to talk with your traveling companions. Reports had you crossing several state borders in the company of someone whose face appears on Federal Wanted posters, in a car driven by another person who interested the CIA and Florida State Police. Oh, and your driver came up in the French database, too, and he’s listed as ‘questionable’ status in Monaco.”
“I don’t know anything about Mr. Martin except that he was a driver Jackson knew.” She had already decided not to pretend she hadn’t been traveling with Jackson; why lie, when she needed Keefe’s help? And how else could she explain the details of what Jackson had planned? She didn’t want to betray him on one hand, but still…she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t at least try to prevent Connolly’s untimely death.
Her boss kept his eyes on her, though he spoke amiably. “You have no idea how many people would like to speak with Mr. Rippner and Mr. Martin. I also hear that you were taken from your father’s home, unconscious, only to return a day later in seemingly good health. An office building was destroyed by a bomb planted in two locations in the structure, and later the MPD’s Bomb Squad received a call—in your voice—to investigate a possible explosive under the hood of a BMW 355i located in your father’s driveway.” He raised a brow. “You may be interested to know that they disarmed the bomb. The car has since been impounded.”
“I’m sure Jackson will be thrilled to bits.”
“You’re taking this rather well.”
Lisa sighed. “I already told you what I’ve been going through. I was going to contact you when I got in.”
“Really.”
The calm disbelief was getting to her; she gripped the cushion of the couch where she sat. She glowered at him and decided it was time to throw caution to the wind. “You know me better than that, Charles,” she said evenly, using his first name. “Stop playing the Homeland Security agent and start thinking about what I’ve proven to you in the last few years.”
Keefe smiled then. He’d been testing her, and she’d passed by virtue of her straightforward irritation. “I know, Lisa.” The tension evaporated, just like that, and he want on. “Through the intelligence we’ve gathered, I know you’ve been through quite the ordeal. We have an investigative team working on the people who were chasing you, as well as trying to tail Mr. Rippner before he does some irreparable damage.”
At last, someone she could talk to. “That’s actually the problem,” she said, sitting forward. He mirrored her pose with an interested expression. Lisa launched into the full story. She told him nearly everything—the personal and intimate details of her dealings with Jackson were glossed over—and finished with, “I think he’s going to try to use the Thanskgiving Ball as his cover. You can’t let him do this; but…” She trailed off when she realized what she had been about to say.
“But…?” Prompted Keefe.
Lisa shook herself and looked away. “I don’t want him to be hurt.”
“Connolly? Well of course.”
“No,” she said, and met his eyes. “Jackson.”
One of the normally emotionless agents coughed as if her words made him choke. Keefe glanced at the man in annoyance, then back at Lisa in bemusement. He regarded her, thinking, before he spoke in a careful voice. “You want us to be careful about not hurting Jackson Rippner.”
What was she thinking? Even she didn’t know. Head down again, she traced the cut velvet pattern on one of her throw pillows. “Yes.” She felt as if she needed to explain herself. “Charles, something is clearly wrong with this situation. I feel it in my gut. I think Jackson is being used, but I don’t know by whom or why. I just have this bad feeling like we’ve been herded along. Why didn’t the bombs kill us? Why didn’t they use armor piercing rounds on the cars they had to know were bulletproof? Why were they so easily thrown off our trail in Fredericksburg?” She shook her head. “I don’t like any of it. Jackson is convinced he’s on the right path, but I don’t believe that.”
“Hmm.” Keefe steepled his fingers and mulled over her request. Then, surprising her, he made a thoughtful noise. “All right, how about this—why don’t we just leave him alone for now? We will just have to wait to see what’s going to happen.”
Her head snapped up. “Really?”
He nodded. “This is an interesting situation. I have been looking forward to talking with Mr. Rippner for some time; we had been planning to apprehend him when we could, but this plan of his to use the Ball as his chance to assassinate my political rival’s campaign manager could be turned to our advantage.” At her horrified expression, he waved a hand. “No, no, Lisa, don’t misunderstand. I am going to warn Michael Rowe immediately; what I mean is that maybe we can flush out the ‘cleanup crew’ you told me about.”
Where did this feeling of relief come from? Lisa wasn’t sure, but she found herself thanking her boss. “What will you do if—when—you catch him?”
Keefe smiled. “First off, he and I are going to have a nice, long, friendly chat. And then, I’m probably going to punch him in the face for threatening my family. And then…” He shrugged. “We’ll see.”
“It can’t be that easy.”
“It probably won’t be,” he said heavily. “But I have faith in you.” He fixed her with the serious, piercing gaze that had become his signature since his induction as Deputy Director of Homeland Security four years ago. “Don’t let me down, Lisa. A lot is riding on your word.”
She met that gaze, though it took more strength than she expected. “I know. I won’t.”
He propped his chin on his hand, seemingly distracted. Lisa recognized that look; he was deep in thought. It was something he did when faced with an important dilemma. She settled into the couch and waited for him to speak again. When he did, however, she didn’t expect what he said. “Lisa, I want you to attend the Ball with my wife and me.”
“What?” She half-rose. “But—”
He motioned for her to sit back down. “Amanda will take care of getting you something to wear, so don’t worry about that. I want you there, no matter what Rippner said. If this all goes down the way you think it will, I have the feeling you’ll be the only way we can get to him.”
She thought about Jackson’s warning, his instructions to stay put. She thought about how angry she had been to be left behind after all this, and that was enough to make her square her shoulders in defiance of his orders. “All right,” she said, “I’ll go.”
“Good,” Keefe said, pleased, and he stood. “I’ll have Amanda call you tomorrow. Don’t get up,” he insisted, “We’ll show ourselves out.”
Lisa smiled at him. “Charles?”
“Yes?” he paused in the doorway.
“Next time you decide to wait for me, can you have someone put on a pot of coffee or something?”
Keefe laughed. “Sure, I’ll remember that in the future.” He waved a hand. “See you at the Ball.”
The agents filed out around him, and soon Lisa was completely, blissfully, totally alone. She stayed where she was for a few minutes, absorbing everything, until something made her grumble in annoyance. Then the incongruity of it all, the silliness, made her laugh out loud.
She was finally going to a State Ball, and her beautiful new Manolos were still stuck in the trunk of Frank’s car.
.-.-.-.-.
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Post by burrito chan on Apr 14, 2006 3:43:43 GMT -5
wow. ff.net's kinda slow when it comes to actually posting your updates, eh? so, i read this here instead of at ff.net and left a comment.  well, it's nearly 2am over here and i'm ready to pass out from crying earlier (from watching king kong-.-;for like teh 3rd time) so GOODNIGHT! btw, lovely writing, as usual. ;D |
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Post by cgoddess on Jun 29, 2006 10:44:05 GMT -5
awww thanks honey! I'm sorry I haven't updated; the next chapter is about halfway done, but as you see above, lots of crap has gotten in the way. I have a feeling that after ConnectiCon (i'm on staff AND selling my artwork there) is over, I'll have a lot more brain power to devote to the fic.  |
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Post by dancingqueen17 on Aug 29, 2006 6:07:49 GMT -5
Your ConnectiCon thing is over now, yes?
I almost started reading this whole thing over again.
Sadness, but I truly love this story with so much of my heart. heh.
An update, soon, would be such an amazing thrill.
Thanks for writing as much as you have already, though.
It is all much appreciated. <3
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