The courtroom was silent as the defendant stood. The jury had just walked back in. Without so much as a glance in the direction of the small group gathered around the lawyers, they placed the papers in the judge's hand.

The judge cleared his throat and put his glasses back on. He had a habit of taking off his glasses, wiping them on his long robe, and then putting them back on. Repeatedly. This irritated both the defense and the prosecution, but both of them wanted to win the case. They weren't going to say a word.

"In the trial against Jackson Rippner, in regards to terrorising passengers on an airplane, the jury finds the defendant not guilty. In regards to the attempted murder of Lisa and Joe Reisert, the jury finds the defendant not guilty."

Lisa was ushered out of the courtroom as fast as possible. Even though the man had just gotten off murder charges, no one was taking any chances. She sped walked down the hall and avoided the crowd that had gathered outside of the courthouse.

Well, they were always going to lose that one. She'd hired a lawyer who'd turned out to be incompetent, pretty much losing the case for them. She'd replaced him a little too late. And, besides, it wasn't as if the witness list was that extensive anyway. There had been the kindly old woman who'd obsessed over Dr. Phil-- she'd had no idea foul play was going on. The other passengers in general had shaken their heads; who knew? The only passenger they'd found who'd even had the slightest idea turned out to be an eight year old girl, and who was going to believe an eight year old who was on her first flight and probably had an overactive imagination, anyway? The flight attendants were embarrassed to discover that the "incident" had been overlooked. The airport in general had tried to stay out of it and cover up their embarrassment over the whole ordeal. In the end, the witness list was compiled of Lisa, her father, and the eight year old. And since Lisa had stabbed Jackson in the throat with a pen and her father had shot him just shy of every vital point in his body, it certainly didn't look good for any of them.

She slid into the car and turned the radio on. It was NPR. She hated it when her father borrowed her car. He always changed the station to the news. "... and the bizarre case of the red eye terrorist has been solved. Jackson Rippner was declared not guilty--"

Lisa turned the radio off. But the one thing she hated more than the news was silence. She began to think back to what had gone on since the case had begun a year or so ago. Her father forced her to carry pepper spray everywhere she went, and Lisa didn't need the encouragement. It was the only way she could walk from one end of a parking lot to the other without stopping to turn around and go home.

Since the incident, Cynthia had actually become a competent assistant hotel manager. She'd worked much harder at her job and had become pretty good at what she did. Enough so that hotel guests weren't exasperated every time it was her and not Lisa behind the desk. Currently, Lisa was on her way to get some coffee with Cynthia so they could worry about what to do next together.

God, the silence was overbearing. (She tried not to listen to a certain deep sing-song voice: "Cynnnnthiaaa..." repeat over and over in her head as she thought of how supportive her friend had been during the past year.)

She tried to ignore the goosebumps that crawled over her arms. Was that person... in the silver car behind her... tailgating her? Lisa took a few deep breaths, tried to think of what kind of Dr. Phil advice her father would quote at her at times like these, and swallowed. She resisted the urge to slam on the breaks. Why did people advise you to do those things in case someone was following you closely? It seemed like an invitation to get rear ended.

Lisa stopped at a stop light and focused on breathing. Relaxation. It was definitely a young man in the car, wearing a suit. Oh, God. She started to inch forward as soon as the light on the left turned yellow. She grabbed her purse instinctively as she took off. Lisa managed to slip the purse between her feet as she accelerated. Best to lose this guy as soon as possible.

She only breathed again when he turned the corner a few blocks down the road. It couldn't have been... no. It was just an asshole, she repeated over and over. He wouldn't be that stupid, surely.

She couldn't have been happier upon seeing the glowing Starbucks sign. Cynthia was in there and they'd have something to drink and begin the process of recuperating.

As she got out of the car, something definitely didn't feel right. A lamppost ahead of her turned off automatically as she walked underneath it. Aren't lampposts supposed to give you light so you can see your way? Lisa thought, irritably. Wait. Was she... being followed? Every shadow seemed to reveal a man standing behind her. She gripped her purse tighter. She'd always jumped at shadows, but knowing that Jackson was a free man tonight didn't make things any easier.

When she opened the door of the Starbucks (at long last) she gasped.

"Lisa!" Cynthia said, shaking her head. "I swear to God, you'll jump at anything. And seriously? I gotta say, you don't really need caffeine tonight."

Lisa was slightly amazed at her own inability to breathe. She'd been so sure... "Yeah. I don't know. Long day."

"I would imagine. I just heard everything on the news. They interviewed him, you know." Cynthia showed Lisa where she'd been sitting and both women took their seats. Cynthia was nursing a café mocha and The Miami Herald was spread out in front of her. She folded the paper and tossed it aside carelessly. "Much deeper voice than I'd expected."

"Cynthia, does it look like I want to talk about it?" Lisa asked, exasperated.

"No," her friend said with a shrug.

"That's what I thought."

"What're you having?" Cynthia said with a grin. "No, let me guess. A tall latté with whipped cream."

"That is so not impressive," Lisa said, laughing. "I always order that." (She tried to ignore the voice again-- "Seabreeze," he'd guessed triumphantly. And then, oh, God... when he'd called her bluff...) She waited at the counter for her coffee, eyeing the customers. This was pretty normal. She had to examine everyone she saw around her at all times. Most of the customers were studying or talking quietly with friends. They were all ignoring her. Thank God.

"Tall latté with extra whipped cream, for a cutie like you," the employee said with a wink.

Lisa fought the urge to tell him to shut the hell up.

"Lisa," Cynthia said as Lisa found her seat again, "you know what I've been thinking?"

"What?"

"We need to go somewhere together. Mark Andrews is pretty good at what he does and can overlook the hotel for awhile. We can drive out to the beach and just relax for a few days. You need some rest and some reassurance."

Lisa nodded, sipping her coffee. "I agree. But I do feel kind of bad--"

"Don't. Mark's the one who offered. We'll take off next week."

For some reason, even as Cynthia nattered on and on about ornery customers and bad room service and things of that nature, Lisa began to finally feel herself unwind.