Affague howled in pain and clutched his face in both hands. Dark blood seeped through the cracks between his fingers.
Lisa was stunned at her hotheadedness. A lifetime of kissing ass at the Lux had certainly lent weight to her reaction, but out of all the people that deserved to have their noses broken, she wasn't sure punching a man like Affague was a good place to start. He backed a few steps away from where she stood. For a moment she was certain he was putting space between them so his suit wouldn't get bloody when he shot her.
A tense moment passed where even Jackson held his breath. Suddenly a large grin spread across Affague's face and he laughed. "I can see why she gave you so much damn trouble, Jackson!" he declared as he wiped off his fingers with a handkerchief.
Jackson exhaled heavily. The air that passed through his windpipe sounded choked. "We underestimated her, sir. Completely."
"I haven't seen this much spirit in a woman in years," Affague continued, his head tilted forward as his blood soaked the handkerchief. "You are the spitting image of Joe in his prime, my dear, and I couldn't give you any greater compliment."
Lisa lightly massaged her hand and stared at him, distrustful of his enthusiasm. She shot Jackson a 'you people are fucking crazy' look before turning back to Affague. "I'd like to see my father."
"Certainly." He drew a slim cell phone from his pocket and hit a number for speed dial. A gruff voice answered and Affague muttered a few words into the receiver before returning it to his pocket. "He's on his way. Please, take a seat and relax for now. However, I must warn you that I expect to hear your version of events eventually." He casually threw the soiled cloth onto the table – a grim reminder to everyone of who had spilt first blood.
Lisa sank into a chair and tried to keep her hands from trembling. Jackson and Affague moved to the opposite side of the table and spoke in low, unhurried voices. Lisa didn't bother eavesdropping; she was still a bit stunned to be alive. The vibe of this place was vastly different from her hotel. Difficult customers at the Lux Atlantic could usually be placated with charm and polite apologies. However, this was an environment run by powerful men who could not be won over by a pretty smile when they expected concrete results. Jackson's stereotype from the plane fit perfectly: male driven, fact based logic – eat or get eaten. The food chain was in full swing here, as evidenced by unpredictably earning respect and praise from a man she barely knew after punching him in the face. She would have to maintain a tough exterior here until she returned to her real life.
Joe and two other men entered the room. One of them was carrying a black briefcase, which he set on the table in front of Affague before moving to stand against the wall with his companion. Joe settled into an empty seat next to Lisa with an angry huff. He saw the stained cloth on the table and immediately grabbed one of her hands between his own. His eyes quickly inspected her to find the source of blood and some tension melted off his face when he realized she hadn't been harmed. "You alright, sweetie?"
For once, Lisa didn't mind the question. "I think I've been better," she replied with a weak smile. Her father was responsible for dragging her into this situation, but at least he was taking her side now that it mattered.
Affague looked up from his conversation with Jackson and smiled at the two of them seated together across the table. "I hope everyone is a bit less jumpy now." Lisa saw her dad eyeing the blood still leaking from Affague's nostril, but kept his mouth shut.
Affague opened the briefcase and removed a black folder. "I realize that I have imposed on your help for long enough, and I must compensate for the damage caused. What can I do to make amends?"
A moment of silence prevailed as Lisa looked expectantly at her father. Demand that they fix everything, she silently urged him. Pull out all the stops, make deals with anyone they have to, I don't care – I just want to be safe again.
"We need new lives, Jim," her father admitted somewhat hopelessly. Lisa felt something tighten in her stomach and instantly tried to speak up, but Joe hushed her gently. She dug her toes into the carpet in frustration. "Somewhere in the country, of course. A quiet place on the west coast where we can pick up where we left off."
Affague looked at him for a long minute before sadly pursing his lips and shaking his head. The look was strangely resonant to Jackson's various looks of displeasure on the plane. "I can't arrange that specifically for you, old friend. But I have a similar proposal." He pulled two identification cards out of the black folder and casually tossed them across the table.
"Mexico," Lisa said in disbelief after glancing at the harsh plastic. "You want us to move to Mexico?"
Affague smiled pleasantly. "No one asks questions there, Miss Reisert. You can stay safe and snug inside your quaint adobe home for the rest of your life and your neighbors would never know you were involved in an assassination attempt. More importantly, they wouldn't care."
"But it's Mexico," she repeated incredulously. "I can barely speak Spanish. I couldn't work anywhere. My father and I would be hermits the rest of our lives."
"But safe hermits," Affague pointed out with a charming smile.
"No!" Lisa snapped. She shook her head and narrowed her eyes in frustration. "No, no way. You can't trash my life like this and then pretend to fix it by ruining it further!" The men shifted in their seats but remained silent, which ticked Lisa off even more. They refused to treat her like an equal, even with the bloody handkerchief still sitting in the middle of the table. "Dad, tell them they can't do this!"
"Joe, remember your obligations," Affague warned.
Lisa shot him a dirty glare and looked pleadingly at her father, who stared back with sad, heavy eyes. It was the same expression he'd had in the car, and she knew it would be accompanied by the same tired apologies. "Lisa, I knew this could happen when I first allowed you to be involved in this operation. At the time I didn't think it through, for a variety of reasons." His eyes flickered to Affague, whose face remained impassive. Lisa wondered what kind of bitter history the two men shared. "Of course I regret it now, with all my heart, but it's done. Life will be different…"
Her nose began to sting and she had to fight against wrinkling it up in pain. Burning, angry tears welled up in her eyes. Her father was still speaking compassionately, but the tense ridges in his forehead and the anxious way his eyes darted towards Affague revealed where his true concern was placed.
Lisa abruptly snatched the cards and flung them across the table, where they skidded off the edge and fell to the floor. No one bent to retrieve them. She tried to force authoritative words out of her mouth but was shaking too badly to speak—so much for her tough exterior. She stood and mutely left the room, brutally slamming the door on her way out. The expanse of carpet in the hallway muffled the noise.
Lisa paced blindly through the corridors for a long time. She didn't know how to calm her thoughts – they were all a gigantic mass of hate, humiliation, and panic that threatened to overwhelm her sanity. She had killed an innocent man while trying to save her father's life, and in return Joe was permitting this deranged, violent psycho to violate her freedom without fear of consequence. Affague must have threatened him. What a filthy coward—but suddenly she wasn't sure whether she was thinking of Affague or her father.
Lisa broke out of her reverie and realized she was completely lost. She had randomly switched directions until she had no idea what way she had come from or which way she wanted to go. There were no signs anywhere, just bland hallways punctually broken by locked doors. She looked for the glass doors as she walked, but started to panic as the hallway refused to yield any indication that they were even nearby.
A sudden raspy voice startled her. "You've been prancing in circles for fifteen minutes now, Leese. Are you about ready to stop?"
She briefly closed her eyes and tried to collect her composure, but her temper refused to be reigned in. "Why do you insist on calling me that?"
"That?" Jackson replied blandly. Lisa spun to face him and wished she was wearing heels so she didn't feel so pathetically small.
"You know what I mean," she snapped. "Leese. A nickname. Like we've known each other for years. If it wasn't already clear enough, I hate you more than – than anyone else I've known my entire life!"
Jackson caught her slight hesitation, the hitch in her voice as she realized she was lying halfway through the sentence. "Almost more than everyone else," he corrected her smugly.
"NO!" she exploded. "I hate you just as much as I hate him! Both of you have destroyed my life, but at least I didn't have to flee the damn country after he—after he…" Lisa knew she couldn't say it, couldn't admit it out loud, not here, to him, not now—if ever. Jackson's hands would be tarnished by innocent blood the rest of his life, but somehow even that didn't feel as… low, as dirty—as what had happened to her that day in the parking lot.
Jackson leaned against the wall and spoke gently after a long pause. "Is it that bad to feel some emotion every now and then, Leese?"
"Stop calling me that!" Tears that had been denied for days suddenly overwhelmed her, burning her eyes and streaking down her cheeks. "My life made sense before you and your stupid boss decided to screw with it! My job was going well! I was saving money for a vacation to the Bahamas! I wanted to adopt a dog and start yoga classes and buy a new flat panel TV—"
"Who were you going to go to the Bahamas with?" Jackson interrupted.
She stared at him like he had lost his mind, but she knew exactly what he meant by the question. "What are you talking about?" she asked, afraid to hear his response.
He made an exasperated noise in his throat. "Lisa, you know damn well that the only people you associated with regularly outside of work were your father, the bartender at Cafe Demetrio and the 68 year old grandma who lived across the hall and occasionally brought you blueberry muffins." He was right. She hated him. "You've let this loser, some stranger you haven't even seen since the day it happened—you've let him completely take over your life!"
"And now you're doing the exact same thing to me you fucking hypocrite!"
"I'M NOT LIKE HIM!" Jackson roared in her face. His fury momentarily shocked her. He was breathing heavily directly in her face and the impulse to smack him was too powerful to resist. He blocked her hand impatiently. "Don't push me, Lisa. I am nothing like him," he repeated. "I could've done whatever I wanted to you in that airplane bathroom," he hissed in her ear. "You know that. You know that and it scares you to death. But why did I hold back? Because I didn't want to hurt you? Or even worse, because maybe poor little Lisa is so fucked up in the head that not even a fanatical assassin would want anything to do with h—"
"STOP IT JACKSON!" Lisa screamed at him feverishly. "STOP IT—STOP IT—STOP IT! You have no right to say things like that to me! You're disgusting and twisted and—"
"—and that's quite enough from you," he cut in. "Everyone here is beyond sick of constantly hearing your voice screaming and complaining. You're alive. People are trying to help you."
"You are not trying to help! None of you are, most especially not you, Jackson!" He rolled his eyes in annoyance and she forcefully bit down the urge to shriek obscenities in his face.
Jackson turned and set off down the hallway. Lisa held her ground for as long as she could, but as he turned a corner and showed no signs of stopping she fisted the wall and hurried after him. The thought of getting caught alone in the hallway beat out her pride. Jackson passed through the glass doors, Lisa following listlessly. He stopped at a seemingly random door in the hall and unlocked it with a swift flick of his wrist. Lisa wasn't even surprised when she recognized the cerulean and cream walls of Jackson's room—could barely register a melancholy sort of irony when he glanced back expectantly at her mute form and waited for her to enter the room ahead of him.
"You're insane," she sighed. "Don't think for an instant that I'm ever sleeping in your room again." Both of them knew she had no valid input over where she stayed, but to her immense relief he chuckled easily and turned to the door facing his across the hall.
"We can accommodate you elsewhere then." He selected a bronze key from a jangly ring in his pocket, inserted it into the lock and swung the door open smoothly. Lisa tried to stamp a mental picture of the key into her head, just in case. Inside the room it was cool and dark, but seemed pleasant enough once she switched the light on. The walls were painted different colors, and that was enough. She looked back at Jackson leaning in the doorway.
"How long will my father and I stay here until we.. leave?" She didn't specify their destination. Although the phantom of the dead CIA agent still haunted her thoughts, it was even harder to come to terms with the idea of completely severing ties to her normal day-to-day existence.
"As long as it takes," Jackson replied. He left the room abruptly and closed the door. Jackson's voice floated through the wood mockingly. "I'd lock my door if I were you, but I'll be right across the hall if you need me."
"Screw you!" she yelled back as she kicked the door.
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