Lisa wanted to explode from the car in any direction possible. Their conversation had abruptly ended after Jackson's blunt warning and the tension had been unyielding since then. It was made worse by her being the only one in distress. Jackson was comfortably brooding somewhere deep inside his thoughts as he drove, while she was agonizing in nearly every way imaginable. She was worried about her father, her future and her common sense. She had a headache. She needed to pee. But her stubbornness prevailed as she tried not to cough or sigh or even breathe too loud because she didn't want to give Jackson any reason to speak to her.
Lisa didn't know if there were speed limits on Mexican highways, but apparently Jackson wasn't too concerned about it as he whizzed along in the left lane at a solid 95 miles per hour. Distant features of the landscape drifted along slowly on the horizon while closer objects – cacti, cars, ramshackle mobile homes – soared past her window in a flash of reflected color and sunlight.
A plan had slowly begun forming in the back of her mind over the past two hours. While fleeing from Jackson would have been stupid in Ciudad Victoria, the idea might actually be viable once she was back in the United States. She had been missing for over four months now and was probably presumed dead by a majority of the population. People who were sucked into political assassinations didn't commonly live through it.
But if she actually managed to escape Jackson, would she be able to find help? Would people believe her? The police would undoubtedly show up, which would lead to questions about the hit, and then the Company, and after that her dad…
She discreetly studied Jackson's mute form, silently wondering what small miracle it would take to escape someone like him.
Jackson caught her looking at him for a moment too long, and his eyes – electric blue in the sunlight – fastened onto hers and seemed to pull her thoughts directly out of her brain.
"Stop trying to plan something, Leese," he said, looking back to the road. "And that's not a suggestion."
Shit. Why was she so transparent to him? "Can we stop? I need to use the restroom," she replied, trying to innocently cover her tracks.
"Why, so you can soap up some mirrors like last time?"
"You can check the bathroom after I'm done." He looked skeptical. "Don't be so paranoid," she said with a subdued sigh. "I'm not going to try anything."
It hadn't occurred to her that Jackson was worried about her high-tailing it while they were still in Mexico. However, she didn't dare hope it meant he'd relax his guard once they were back in the US.
Their stop was less than brief. Jackson had already bought two bottles of water and a large bag of gummi worms by the time she left the bathroom. She didn't miss his quick, roving gaze over every surface of the room.
"You forgot to check the back of the door," she said in mock seriousness.
"If you're that determined to deface a public restroom then I'm not going to stop you."
Within minutes, they were miles away from the gas station. Jackson offered her the bag of gummi worms but she felt weird about sharing something with him and shook her head no.
They rode in silence awhile longer until Jackson switched on the radio. The car was fully equipped with a CD player and Sirius receiver, yet he inexplicably preferred to surf the local radio stations as previous ones fell out of range. She asked why, and he replied, "I can listen to Sirius anywhere. When's the next chance I'll have to listen to a real Mexican radio station?" And disturbingly enough, Lisa couldn't find an argument against that.
"So how long were you in town this time?" she asked sarcastically, referring to his long weeks of surveillance in Miami.
"Got in late last night," he replied, one hand carelessly smoothing across his jaw. Lisa noticed his chin had a faint sheen of stubble.
"Did you sleep in the car?"
"Yes, because for some strange reason you decided to get a job at the closest motel, and with your workaholic tendencies my instinct told me not to risk staying there. Which is why I'm looking forward to air conditioning and a mattress tonight."
"You're an assassin. Aren't you trained to ignore pain?"
His jaw flexed in irritation. "Manager," he sighed. "And you're forgetting the countless nights I spent tailing you in Miami. You don't think I slept in my car then?"
For some reason, his reference to the one-sided history they shared before the red eye flight made her flinch. It had been such a blatant invasion of privacy, yet she'd remained unaware of his presence the entire time. Either she had been unusually oblivious or Jackson was very good at his job. She strongly suspected it was the latter.
"Guess I never thought about it," she murmured uneasily.
Jackson didn't reply, distracted by a brilliant glare from the windows of the SUV ahead of them. He reached into the center console and pulled on a shiny metal pair of aviators.
He frowned when he saw the smirk on Lisa's face. "What?"
"Of course you would have designer sunglasses."
"You can tell?" he asked, sounding oddly impressed.
"It was easier to know how well to treat someone at the Lux depending on how much their accessories cost."
A partial smirk formed on his lips. "I always break the cheap ones. And I feel remarkably more arrogant with 300 dollars resting on my face."
"Would you happen to have a second pair so I can be remarkably arrogant too?"
Jackson pointed at the glove box. "In there. There should be another pair," he replied in all seriousness.
"I was joking," Lisa muttered, but opened the compartment anyway. A hard case was right inside, and she donned the black Versace sunglasses it contained. She rustled through the rest of the contents and pulled out two receipts. "A footlong from Subway and the Lord of the Rings trilogy rented from Blockbuster. That must've been a long day."
"Night, actually. It was long for you, too."
Lisa checked the dates. They were six months old, probably right when Jackson had started tailing her. She tried to remember what had happened that particular day but digging through memories of her former life still stung. "What happened?"
"One of your guests had to go to the ER. I never found out the specifics but she didn't have medical coverage and was threatening to sue the Lux since the accident occurred on the hotel grounds. Cynthia called you in to make nice with her."
"That was a crappy night," she reflected. The woman had been acting inappropriately in the hotel's hot tub when she slipped and had a small concussion. She had been thornier than Mr. and Mrs. Taylor combined. It had been the day before she accidentally overheard… Lisa forced the thought out of her mind. Don't add that to your list of worries.
Feeling nosy again, she pulled the owner's manual out of the glove compartment and found Jackson's registration inside.
"I'm glad I cleaned the dead bodies out of there yesterday," Jackson mocked.
"Richard Dallas?" she read off the piece of paper. "Who is that?"
"Me." Jackson shifted so he could grab his wallet out of his back pocket. He withdrew a driver's license and handed it to her. The picture resembled Jackson but wasn't exactly him. Someone had manipulated the photo so he looked older and fatter.
"So, you own this car? Not Affague, or the Company?"
"No, Richard Dallas owns the car. But it was paid for with my bonus from last year."
"How many fake identities do you have?"
"A few. Maybe a few more when I'm working on a complicated assignment. But Jackson is my real name."
"Is Rippner your real last name?"
"It's real enough."
"Did you really kill your parents?"
He laughed, genuinely amused. "I knew that would bother you. What do you think?"
Lisa chewed her lip, seriously considering the question. "I don't think you did it personally, but you definitely had a hand in it," she guessed.
"Half right. I didn't set it up intentionally. They were killed vacationing overseas. I gave them the plane tickets as an anniversary present."
"I'm sorry," Lisa said automatically, although she was sure he didn't really care.
Sure enough, he shrugged and tucked the Richard Dallas license back in his wallet. "Part of life is death. A fact I'm more than used to."
Sometime around noon they crossed into the United States. As Lisa expected, Jackson had some sort of prior arrangement with the border guards and his car was waved past without question.
Several hours later, they were wrapping northeast along the gulf coast towards Houston, eventually taking highway 59 straight into downtown. The late afternoon sun washed the skyscrapers in yellow, orange and pink – shining pillars of light against the darkening blue sky.
Jackson retrieved his cell from his front pocket and tapped out a number on the keypad. "Clint, you still at work?" he asked after a voice had answered. "Okay, see you soon." Lisa assumed Clint was the owner of the clothes boutique he had mentioned earlier. Was Jackson really serious about stopping here?
He pulled off the highway, deftly navigating the evening traffic until he parallel-parked on a street lined with classy restaurants and glowing bars. Lisa glanced at the time displayed on the dashboard – it was already after seven. What clothing store would still be open at this hour?
"Why couldn't you just get my clothes from my apartment in Miami?"
"Because the CIA is waiting for us to do something stupid like that. I guarantee they've been watching your place ever since the flight."
"Well, now I know how to get free house sitting when I go on vacation," she muttered with an annoyed frown.
Jackson laughed as he climbed out of the car, and for a startling moment she was directly reminded of the first time they'd met. The charming stranger had abruptly been replaced by the daunting man she now knew, but at times that compelling friendliness drifted through his demeanor and affected Lisa more deeply than she cared to admit.
She stepped out of the car into the warm evening, self-consciously hugging her arms as a trendy couple laughed their way past her on the sidewalk. They were clearly enjoying a fond memory that had nothing to do with her, but suddenly her oversized blue sundress felt disturbingly out of place in urban America.
She thought briefly about her plan to escape once they'd crossed the border. This was certainly a good location to make a scene, but her wavering hesitation held her back. Their close proximity to alcohol would make it easy for Jackson to convince strangers that Lisa had simply had too much to drink. Besides, no one would willingly assume responsibility for some random, screaming girl when they were trying to enjoy their evening out on the town.
Jackson led them to a nearby storefront with floor-to-ceiling windows. There was a small space directly behind the glass that displayed head-less models in a range of airy, static motions. The female models were dressed in trim, elegant blouses and pants, which the male models complemented with a variety of snappy, edgy suits. A black wall directly behind the figures blocked any view further into the store.
"Clint is… friendly. Just go with it. And don't you dare laugh if he tries to hit on me," Jackson warned as he held the door open for her.
The small store was dim, with bright tracklights illuminating the stunning variety of clothes hung on all four walls. A stylishly dressed man appeared from the back of the room. His dark, roughed up jeans and tailored white shirt fit impeccably, matched by his carefully spiked blond hair and mischievous smile.
"Jackson, great to see you again!" the man greeted loudly, his voice cordial and slightly high-pitched. He patted Jackson's shoulder and turned to Lisa. "And who is this?"
"This is Lisa. She—"
"Lisa!" Clint immediately interrupted, taking her arm and drawing her deeper into the store. "You are going to fall in love with the fabric I'm about to put on your skin. You have a fantastic complexion. Did you make your dress?"
Bewildered by the pace of the conversation, Lisa clutched a handful of the worn fabric in her hands. "Um, well no, I didn't. But I'm sure it was handmade."
"Maybe for a fatty. Your figure is drowning in all that cheap cotton."
Lisa blinked and looked over at Jackson, who was obviously hanging back for a reason. He shrugged and told her, "He even insults the clothes he's sold me. There's no winning with him."
"Jackson!" Clint scolded. "Everything in fashion goes out of style at some point. You just have to get over it and buy a new wardrobe." He shook his head at Lisa. "Obviously still in denial. Now Lisa, what do you think about this?" Clint held up a dark green blouse with an obscene amount of beading along the neckline.
"Well, um… I like the color…"
"You mean you hate it. How about this?" He pointed at a peacock blue tanktop made out of silk.
She grimaced slightly, teeth delicately biting her lip. "I think I'd prefer shirts that weren't so…" She gestured helplessly at the neckline. "So low cut?"
Clint stared at her with a blank expression before spinning towards Jackson and crying, "Jackson, where did you find her? She's so cute." He whirled back to face Lisa, hand sincerely pressed against his heart. "I swear there are no modest ladies left west of the Mississippi." He continued chattering as he dragged them to a different part of the store and shortly had a mound of clothing piled high on both arms.
"Here, try all these on and tell me what you think," he told her, unexpectedly dumping the mass of fabric over her shoulder and ushering her through a black door. "Quick quick quick!" he called as slammed the door and walked away snapping his fingers.
The dressing room reminded her of a private booth at a fancy restaurant. A delicate chandelier evenly lit the small space, making the ornate Victorian wallpaper gleam gold. Two large mirrors with unique gilded frames hung on opposite walls. There were no other furnishings besides a row of brass hooks and a small black leather bench in the far corner.
Lisa sorted through the pile of clothing, amazed at the range of tasteful shirts, dark jeans, blazers, wide-legged pants, scarves and dresses. The overall style was similar to the professional wardrobe she had worn at work, but the cut and fabrics were of substantially higher quality.
The door opened slightly and several pairs of shoes were thrown onto the carpet. "Jackson said you wore a size seven," Clint said. "And if you don't know where to start, just get naked first and put on whatever looks most fabulous. Shit, I'm missing Alton Brown!" She blinked as the door slammed shut again.
Lisa hesitantly pulled off the old sundress and for a moment stood embarrassed in her dingy bra and underwear. Her scar looked muted and harmless in the soft light. She reached over and locked the door.
The first thing she slipped on was a sleek pair of black pants. Lisa marveled at the satin lining that felt cool against her legs. The price tag was three figues. She had shopped for clothes at upscale stores before, but to her this was luxury that bordered on ridiculous.
She inspected a high-necked coral colored shirt, held together in the back by four graceful straps secured with small gold hoops. It was pretty, and she had to start somewhere. Lisa pulled it over her head and completely missed all the proper holes where her limbs were intended to go. She retracted one of her arms and tried to remove the shirt so she could start over, but moments later was again hopelessly tangled in the straps. The sound of thread tearing stilled her movements entirely.
"Clint!" she called. He's gay, she thought sternly when her brain automatically started to worry. It's no big deal. She unlocked the door when Clint knocked and turned back to the mirror, exasperated from her losing battle with the fabric.
But instead of the gay boutique owner, it was Jackson's familiar face that appeared in the mirror behind her. "Need help?" he asked with a wicked smile.
After a moment of frozen shock, her hands exploded in several directions at once as she covered herself and spun to push Jackson out of the room. "Get out of here! What are you doing!"
"Wondering what was taking you so long. And since I'm paying for everything I should get to see it."
"No, I don't think you should!" she refuted, aiming a kick at his kneecap so he'd back up. "You can see it all on the receipt in fifteen minutes."
Jackson laughed and shielded her kick with the door. "I'll tell Clint to get you some bras too," he told her with a pointed look at her chest. "White is so matronly."
He had wisely already slammed the door when she screamed, "GET OUT!" and hurled a shoe at it. There was a meek knock several seconds later.
"That better be you, Clint or so help me…"
"Hun, it's me." After she let him in, he took in the tangled shirt and her dismayed expression and had to visibly fight back a laugh. "I ducked in the back for my Alton Brown fix and here you two are trying to have sex in my dressing room."
If you only knew, Lisa thought as Clint unwound two knotted straps and easily lifted the garment up over her head.
"You really do have a great figure. So slender, just like Jackson."
Lisa couldn't help the weird thought that crossed her mind. "Have you and him…" She trailed off, unsure whether the question sounded jealous or ridiculous.
"God, I wish," Clint replied, missing her intensely thoughtful look while he handed her a second round of outfits. "No, I just took very precise measurements to tailor his suits. He definitely doesn't play for my team, sweetie."
"Don't you find this a little bizarre?" she asked quietly. "Him calling you out of nowhere and knowing my shoe size and buying me an entirely new wardrobe?"
"Honey, I learned to stop asking questions with Jackson a looong time ago. The man is sexy but you're better off getting straight answers from a fortune cookie. Oh, he mentioned I should bring you some undergarments. Be back in a minute!"
Ten minutes later, Lisa was glaring at Jackson as he handed over a credit card and exchanged cheerful banter with Clint. A small army of shopping bags were scattered around her on the floor, along with a white leather suitcase that held a few changes of clothes.
Since her sundress had 'mysteriously' disappeared during the clothing fiasco, she was now wearing a loose green shirt and slim, dark jeans.
Clint gave her a warm hug that she couldn't help but return. "Lisa, it was truly my pleasure. It's not often I get to dress a beautiful lady from head to toe. Jackson, you take good care of her!"
"Always my priority," he replied smoothly.
"It better be, or else I'll leave pins all through the next suit you order from me."
"Your customer service is off the charts, Clint."
"Feel free to come back for my service anytime," he said with a saucy grin, throwing a conspiratorial wink at Lisa.
They left the shop loaded with bags. Jackson pressed the unlock button on his car fob and fit everything into the car's compact trunk next to his own small suitcase.
Jackson U-turned out of the parking spot and they were on the highway again shortly. Once they'd escaped the city traffic, he looked over and quickly appraised her new outfit.
"I liked the other shirt better."
"If you ever walk in on me again, I'm hiring my father to kill you."
"I know you at least had fun. Women always like shopping."
"I don't think I need to look this fashionable hanging around the headquarters."
"Can't hurt, right?"
She shook her head. "You're being too nice to me. You want something. What is it?"
"I can't do anything nice for my favorite boss's only daughter?" He chose to play around with her words rather than take her seriously, which only made her more suspicious.
"No, you can't, because it freaks her out."
"For now, assume you just got a slew of brand new clothes for free with no strings attached. Quite a step up from yesterday, you know."
"Seriously, why did you do this for me?"
His face sobered at her persistence. "Because if Affague had taken care of your wardrobe, every single piece of clothing would have a tiny GPS tracker stitched into it. How's that for invasion of privacy?"
Lisa huffed skeptically and folded her arms. "I'm not that important. He wouldn't bother with all that just to keep tabs on me."
"You don't know him."
"Then why did you go through all this trouble? If I had all that crap embedded in my clothes it'd be even easier for you to stalk me."
"So quick to flatter yourself, Leese. I hate to destroy your little fantasy but my life doesn't revolve around tracking your every move."
"It did for eight weeks."
"I was paid to do it."
"I should be paid for having to deal with you two days in a row."
"Then consider your clothes adequate compensation so we can stop talking about this."
Lisa bit her cheek in frustration and turned away. She leaned her head against the window, hoping she would eventually fall asleep. Numerous plans of escape drifted through her thoughts over the next few hours. Once Jackson stopped somewhere for the night, she could burst out of the car and most likely make it inside the hotel before he was able to stop her. The front desk person could call the police… but then what? The three of them would sit around patiently until the cops showed up? Yeah, right. Jackson would catch up to her, drag her back to the car and no doubt kill whoever got in his way. She played it out in her mind a dozen different ways, but every scenario ended with lots of blood.
Late at night, Jackson pulled off the highway somewhere in Louisiana. The town surrounding the exit was relatively urbanized, hosting a collection of fast food restaurants and a Walmart in the distance. Jackson parked outside a hotel tucked back from the road behind a small grove of trees. Lisa's neck ached from leaning against the window but she stayed still to feign sleep.
"C'mon, Leese. We're stopping here."
Her stomach shriveled in fear at his words. Her plan would only work if Jackson headed toward the back of the car to retrieve their luggage. She heard Jackson's door open and shut, and barely slitted her eyes to watch for her chance to escape. He turned left and vanished out of her view. She tightened her grip on the handle and started to jerk it open—but suddenly his dark shadow approached her side of the car, and she simultaneously heard the click of the handle and felt the door give way underneath her head. She pulled back with a sharp gasp so she wouldn't spill out and dash her head on the pavement.
Jackson's eyes were hooded and distrustful. "I know you heard me the first time. Let's go."
She grumbled under her breath and got out of the car. She was mad at herself for being a wimp but directed the anger entirely towards Jackson, who handed her the white suitcase from the trunk. "Play nice for the next ten minutes," he warned, guiding her towards the lobby with a firm grip on her arm.
She was sulking heavily as they entered the hotel. Jackson tugged her closer and her sulk turned into a snarl.
"Let go—"
"Shut up, Leese," Jackson muttered into her hair, disguising it as a kiss for the benefit of the young man at the front desk.
"Hello folks, how can I help you?" he asked, sounding too cheerful this late at night.
Lisa tuned him out while Jackson paid for their room. The stupid teenager was supposed to be calling the police right now, not smiling and kissing butt to the most manipulative person in Lisa's life.
"What's your check out time?"
"Eleven a.m. at the latest, sir."
Jackson slipped a fifty out of his wallet and slid it across the counter. "Make it one-thirty."
"Easily done, sir."
Show-offs.
They took the elevator up two floors and wandered through the silent hallways to their room. Two beds, thank god. There was a sink and counter along the back wall and a door that led into the bathroom. The two windows on one wall overlooked a pool and hot tub.
Jackson hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign outside and shut the door.
Lisa placed her suitcase on the bed farthest from the door and sat next to it. After being forced to sit in the car all day, she felt restless and out of place. "Why aren't we staying at some sort of Company safe-house?"
"Because the closest one is in Baton Rouge and it's already being used by another agent."
"So why aren't we staying at some cheap, rundown motel like they do in the movies?"
Jackson reclined on his bed and idly channel surfed on the TV. "Because motel owners are sketchy and they'll spy on their guests if it means an extra twenty bucks in their pocket. And since we're not on the run from the cops, staying here is less suspicious."
Lisa flopped back on the scratchy comforter. Several minutes passed as she repeatedly switched positions, trying to get comfortable on the mattress, until Jackson abruptly sat up and snatched her suitcase off her bed.
"What are you doing?" she cried indignantly.
"Where's your swimsuit?" he asked while unzipping the sides.
"I don't have one!"
"Yes you do. I bought a black one for you."
He started to dig under a pair of jeans where she'd packed her underwear. "Stop," she choked. "Try the side pocket. No – no. The other side."
Jackson pulled out a black one-piece and threw it next to her on the bed. "Put it on."
"Shut up."
"Seriously. Go change."
"Where are we going?"
"The hot tub. Quit complaining about everything."
"I wasn't!"
"You were about to. Go change."
"I'm not getting in."
"Then don't. Wear a sweatshirt. I don't care. But I'm not leaving you up here alone."
"Fine," she snapped. "But I'm not putting that on."
"Then I'll go get changed," he replied easily, grabbing a t-shirt and a dark pair of swim trunks from his suitcase and heading to the bathroom.
Five minutes later they found the door that led to the pool. The air chilled her skin when she stepped outside. The hot tub and pool were empty, probably because it was almost two in the morning. Hidden lights set into the ground around the perimeter of the patio illuminated lush plants and palm trees. The rough concrete was cool underneath her bare toes when she removed her sandals.
The hot tub was circular, set into the ground and lit with calming blue lights. Lisa sat down by the edge and rolled up her pants. She dipped her feet into the steaming water and forced her gaze away from Jackson when he lithely stripped off his shirt and sank into the water opposite her.
He hissed a faint curse at the sudden contrast in temperature. He dunked his head underwater and pulled his dark hair away from his face. With his hair slicked back and the blue light accentuating his cheekbones, he could have been a Calvin Klein model in another time and place. The thought scared her a little, partially because she'd just indirectly admitted he was attractive, but more because the contrast between an underwear model and Jackson was a huge knife and a whole lot of blood. The bad attitude was probably a pretty close match.
Her tense thoughts must have reflected on her face, because after awhile Jackson said, "Try to relax, Leese. It might be the last chance you get for awhile."
"Relaxing is difficult for me while you're anywhere nearby."
"Thank you for the compliment."
Annoyed by his ego, she glanced away and changed the subject. "What's gonna happen once we're back in Orlando?"
"You're going to give us information. And if you don't, it will be unpleasant."
Her surprise lasted for only a moment, and quickly morphed into a scathing glare. "You guys are going after Keefe again," she accused, her defenses and temper rising by the second.
Jackson lifted his arms to rest on the edge of the hot tub. "You just made life a lot more difficult for yourself, Leese."
"For me? What about Keefe?"
"Don't worry about Keefe. He's dead either way. Your primary concern should be telling me everything you know about him."
Shit. She had some dirt on Keefe, just like any self-respecting hotel manager would have on her guests. Late nights out in downtown Miami, the exotic hooker who visited every time he was in Miami without his family, as well as a darker secret that Lisa had inadvertently stumbled over barely half a year ago… But did Jackson know she had this kind of information, or merely suspect she did?
"What's my deadline?" she asked with feigned sweetness. Might as well start buying time now…
The corner of his lip drew up in a feral smirk. "You forget who I am and what my work demands."
"No, you've reminded me of all that multiple times today. Maybe I just don't care."
"Lack of emotions has never been your strong point."
"Having emotions has never been yours."
"Then you're wasting your time by insulting me."
She bristled in silence.
"He stayed at your hotel every single time he went to Miami. You know things about Keefe that precede my Company's interest in him. I need that information, and I need it soon."
"Well it looks like you're failing another job, because I'm not telling you anything."
"Lisa, I'm not insulting your intelligence by lying to you and pretending I didn't have a motive for coming down here. You knew you were getting dragged back into something the moment I showed up in your doorway in Mexico. I promised I would eventually tell you where we were going and why, and I've kept that promise, right?"
"Being honest about wanting to kill someone doesn't mean I'm going to help you!"
"Maybe not willingly."
"Jackson, this isn't like last time. I'm not scared of you."
"We could change that." His eyes glowed an unearthly blue, lit by the reflection of the hot tub.
"There's nothing you can threaten me with anymore! My dad is your boss. My job is gone, my life is already wrecked—"
"—and I know plenty of ways to make it worse. And I will, trust me, unless you tell me what you know about Keefe."
"It's nothing that's useful to you!"
"Quit lying to me!" Jackson snarled, abruptly standing and crossing the small width of the hot tub. He gripped the backs of her legs right underneath her knee and slid her to the edge of the hot tub. Lisa fought to keep her balance. She was about to give Jackson a searing reprimand when she was distracted by the numerous scars that sheathed his torso. She felt like she was staring at his life story, etched into his skin.
"What if we make a deal?" he asked, his voice lower and more deliberate.
She lifted her gaze, startled at his words. "Excuse me?"
"Remember what I was talking about this morning in the car? We exchange favors. You give me the information I want, and in return I set you up with a million dollar condo in Paris and a credit card with no spending limit."
"You really think I'd take money and go hide the rest of my life? After the whole ordeal in Mexico?"
"Leese, that's better than being locked up by the government for something you didn't do."
"Are you saying you'll turn me over to the CIA if I don't cooperate with you?"
"I would never be that cruel. But how badly do you want to save Keefe, at the cost of your own happiness?"
"It's the principles, Jackson. I couldn't live with myself knowing I condemned a decent man and his family to death."
"What if it were some random stranger on the other side of the world? What is it about personally knowing the guy that chokes up your womanly conscious?"
"I can't explain it to you because you don't seem to have one."
"Do I look like a woman?"
Lisa threw her weight backwards and pulled her legs out of his grasp. "I'm going inside."
"Fine," he answered, like it was his decision. He stepped out of the hot tub and wrapped a towel around his shoulders. "We'll talk tomorrow."
"Assuming I'll still be here," she snorted, walking ahead of him towards the door.
"That eager to be rid of me?" he asked lightly, as if he hadn't just been demanding she reveal dangerous secrets that could end a man's life. They entered the hotel and walked toward their room. Lisa lowered her voice to a rude hiss.
"No, in fact I'm going to call my friends and bring them here to meet you. They're called the police. They're super friendly."
"Give me a reason to think you'll seriously do that and I'll tie you up to the heaviest thing in the room. Besides, you know that turning me in will invariably lead to you and your father being arrested."
"What if I told them everything I knew in exchange for immunity for my father and me?"
Jackson laughed and shook his head. "Doesn't happen like that in real life, Leese. Think about that night on the plane. You're the one who made the phone call. You're the one that works at the Lux. You told Cynthia to authorize the room switch. You stabbed me in the throat with a pen, and evaded direct orders from airport personnel. You stole a car and killed a CIA agent at your father's house. You are the daughter of Joe Reisert, who I know for a fact has a file at the CIA, and you've reportedly been quite close with him since your parent's divorce. You have a legit driver's license, social security number, birth certificate – everything that makes you a true US citizen. You're real. You're trackable. Larry Kremer and Richard Dallas only exist on paper. They're dead ends for any investigation.
"Have I said enough? If the CIA got their hands on you they'd be more than happy to blame you for the entire incident. Even if they did trace my identities back to the Company, legally going up against an organization like ours would be a drain on their time and resources, whereas convicting one civilian is easy and makes the public happy. There's no way they'd grant you immunity from prosecution, especially not for you and your father."
He punctuated this statement by sharply sliding the key card into the door to their room and pushing her inside.
Lisa immediately entered the bathroom and locked the door. She turned on the shower and climbed in, but the hot water was only soothing to her skin, doing nothing to calm her troubled mind. Her actions had gone on autopilot while her thoughts swarmed around her head in one angry mass.
Jackson's warning disturbed her and pissed her off. She knew he was frighteningly adept at contorting words to his advantage, but the images in her head were hard to shake once he'd placed them there. She had been counting on eventual help from the CIA, who were sure to be sympathetic to her situation in some way. But Jackson made it sound like they'd happily convict her and throw her in prison, no questions asked. Hell, Jackson could probably bargain for a favor with them to get the entire process sped up.
She sighed into the hot water streaming past her face. There's nothing you can do about that right now, Lisa. Focus on the future. Focus on Keefe. He's your ticket out of this mess. Keep him safe and you'll be okay.
It's hard to do that when Jackson is hell bent on finding out what you know about him, her pessimistic side whispered. And you know he won't stop until he learns all of it – everything you thought you could bury with your former life.
Lisa stepped out of the shower and dried off, making sure to use all four towels in the process. She wished she had thought ahead and brought a clean change of clothes. She redressed in her old clothes and sank down into the corner created by the side of the tub and the bathroom wall, opposite the toilet.
Her thoughts gradually spiraled into a memory from half a year ago, the night after the fiasco with the hotel guest and the Lux Atlantics's hot tub. Funny how the entire incident had been brought up earlier today in the car, and how it had a vague connection to the information that Jackson was currently trying to wrench out of her. She replayed the memory over and over in her head, trying for the thousandth time to piece together loose details with improbable theories. At some point she fell asleep, her head pillowed in a damp towel.
"Hey, Lisa… Wake up." Cynthia's prim voice and a hand gently shaking her shoulder woke Lisa from her restless and unplanned nap.
"Oh... shoot. Cynthia, I—" She sat up and shook out her numb arms. "I was at the hospital so late last night. I barely got two hours of sleep before I had to come back here for Keefe's arrival."
Cynthia smiled. "You work so hard, Lisa. You deserve an afternoon nap."
"Oh no, really I don't. I'm already behind on all this filing and the Taylor's were just in here throwing a fit about the hot tub being closed. I told them a guest gave herself a concussion and they were still rude about it." Lisa knew she was rambling to wake herself up and get back on track, but Cynthia didn't seem to mind.
"What happened with that lady? Is she okay?"
"She's fine. It was entirely her fault but she tried to call her lawyer and file paperwork to sue us. At one in the morning! I had to smooth everything over as best I could."
"You really go above and beyond your job requirements."
"Promotions do that to you," Lisa replied with a rueful smile. "So, what's up?"
"Keefe called down to the front desk a few minutes ago. He said a friend of his would be calling your office in the next half hour, and asked you to personally direct the call to his room. He caught me accidentally hang up on someone this morning," the pale redhead confided nervously. "I guess he hopes you're better at using the new phone system." She seemed a little put out by the bad timing.
"I'm sure it's just an important call and he wants a manager to take care of it. Don't tell anyone I fell asleep and I won't reveal that you're a technology klutz."
"Everyone already knows that," Cynthia sighed. "See you at lunch."
Twenty minutes later her office phone rang. The caller ID showed an unknown number from Boston. Probably Keefe's friend…
"Lux Atlantic Resort. This is Lisa speaking, how may I help you?"
"Connect me to Keefe's room," a male voice ordered.
"May I ask who's calling?"
"No, just do it."
Lisa faltered, thrown off by the man's rudeness. "Ah.. one moment sir." She put the man on hold and dialed the extension to Keefe's suite.
"Lisa?" Keefe answered. "Thanks for taking care of this for me. I was in a rush but didn't want to give out my personal number to this guy. Your business card had your office number listed. I hope you don't mind…"
"It's quite alright, Mr. Keefe," Lisa replied quickly, flattered and smiling from the politician's natural charm. "I'll transfer him up here now."
She pressed the hold button a second time and switched back to the other line. "Thank you for your patience. I'm transferring you now."
"Hurry up," the man snapped.
Gosh he's nasty, she thought. Okay, so I have Mr. Rude on line one, and Keefe on line two – shoot, how do I hook them up again? I thought I knew this…
The tech guy had shown her how to work the phone last week when their new system had been installed, but there had been such an overload of new features everything just blurred together. The instruction manual was way out at the front desk and she had both men waiting – crap! What if she hung up on them like Cynthia had? Just go with your instinct, Lisa!
She pressed the sequence of buttons she thought might be correct. If she executed it right an automatic voice would say "connecting" and disconnect her from the conversation… but instead of clicking and hanging up, there was a low beep and someone answered!
"Hello?" Keefe's voice asked politely. Shoot, how had she transferred herself back to Keefe's line? She was on the verge of opening her mouth and explaining her mistake when a second voice spoke.
"Keefe. Why the hell didn't you just give me your cell? I'm the one that puts people on hold, not the other way around."
Lisa silently cursed— she had somehow set up a three-way call instead of directly connecting the two men's phone lines! What would happen if she hung up? It could disconnect them both and her professional image would go down the toilet. Maybe she could just leave the receiver lying on her desk until they were finished talking? Shit!
"I don't want you to have my personal number," Keefe replied casually. "I prefer you getting in touch with me like this."
"You're a cocky bastard for the amount of trouble you're about to be in."
"Oh, did you decide to tell on me then? Hoping your boss might take you back?"
"Fuck you, Keefe. You know you only got where you are now because you ran out McCormac for tax fraud. And look at you now, thinking you can play with the big boys and not get caught."
Lisa was transfixed by the conversation. Every ethical fiber in her being was screaming to put the phone down, but her moral conscious was tingling with curiosity. Who was this rude guy and what was Keefe's connection to him?
"It's not a game, Pat, it's a business deal – plain and simple. You were trafficking containers for three grand a pop and now I'm offering to do the same for one. My clients would be idiots to put up with your bullshit any longer."
"What makes you think you can run this scheme better than I have for the past two years?"
"So much cargo, so little time, Pat," Keefe sighed theatrically. "The port officials can't check everything. Especially if I tell them not to."
The rude man switched tactics. "The men you're dealing with are dangerous, Keefe. They're terrorists and they're crazy. Supposedly the leader is an American on the run from governments all over the world. His group has more connections than you realize and they don't fuck around. You're in over your head."
"Thank you for the warning," Keefe said sarcastically.
"What if we split the deal? Charge two grand and split the profit even."
"No, sorry. I'm in a greedy mood today."
Dammit Keefe, Lisa wanted to shout. What are you doing?
"Dammit, Keefe!" the rude man echoed. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."
"No, in fact, I'm pretty damn sure I know what I'm doing. I'm selling weapons to the right people and making a profit. Don't get in my way, and don't even think about turning me in. I have several witnesses just itching to get you thrown in jail."
"All bluffs, Keefe! My men have been loyal from the beginning."
"But not all of them are loyal now. You know how to find out which ones. Don't ever call me again unless it's to apologize for wasting my time."
The line abruptly clicked. Seconds later the rude man cursed and hung up. Lisa dropped her receiver into its cradle — and with a rude jerk she woke up in the hotel bathroom in Louisiana.
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After Lisa locked herself in the bathroom, Jackson stripped off his wet swimsuit and changed into a pair of loose gray sweatpants. He brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face, hoping Lisa would be done soon so he could shower before falling asleep.
He lay on the bed and briefly considered her threat to call the police. He wondered if she would actually follow through with it while she was unattended. It really would be safer to tie her up, but Lisa would view that as a challenge and could possibly incite her to cause trouble. Better to leave her unguarded, and maintain a level of control that would keep her wary but not defiant.
He thought his warning about the CIA had sufficiently alarmed her. Perhaps parts of it had been slightly exaggerated, but Jackson really didn't know how the government organization would handle her individual case. In attempting to have Jackson arrested, Lisa could very well hand herself over in the process.
The water shut off in the bathroom and Jackson immediately ran through a number of backhanded comments he could use to piss Lisa off. He got a kick out of watching her fists clench and hear her breathing change whenever he'd made her mad.
Several minutes passed but she still didn't emerge. The show on television ended and a new one came on after a lengthy bought of commercials. What the hell was she up to? Jackson rolled off the bed and approached the bathroom. He watched the bar of light underneath the door for any signs of movement. Long seconds passed devoid of sound. A nasty thought sprang into his mind — surely she wouldn't try that — but no, he had just heard something faint. She was alive, just clearly miserable.
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Lisa sat in stunned shock for several long minutes. The memory was just as startling in a dream as when she had experienced it fully awake six months ago.
She had been in disbelief for some time afterwards, unable to accept that the smiling, sincere politician could have any dishonest dealings with the criminal underworld. But she knew she had not imagined the conversation or its implications. Keefe was illegally selling weapons to terrorists, despite – or perhaps because of – his position as Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security. On top of that, he had stolen the operation from another criminal named Pat. The irony of the arrangement felt terribly American.
Lisa siphoned tears out of her eyes with a damp wad of toilet paper. Keefe had made such a mess out of things. She wondered if taking the deal from 'Pat' had been the downfall that led to the hit on Keefe and his family. Was he still trafficking weapons even after the attempt on his life?
More importantly, she didn't think the Company knew about these illegal transactions. Based on Jackson's words earlier in the hot tub, they were desperate to plow beneath the golden boy exterior and find the immoral secrets that every politician seemed to bury these days. If the Company found out about Keefe's side business, there was no telling what sort of fatal damage they could cause him. They could blackmail him straight into a rigged death trap. They could outright expose him to the public, and the humiliation would lead to a disgraced 'suicide.' The possibilities were limitless to corrupt, imaginative men like Jackson and Affague. Information was something the Company thrived on – bought with words and money and molded into tangible, blood-splattered results.
But how to conceal what she knew from Jackson? Time and experience were on his side. He'd whittle her defenses down, using a combination of his ruthless energy and charming, off-hand comments that left her suspicious and cynical. The pressure of Jackson's presence always made her react so strongly to him. She felt pity for the naïve Lisa she'd been forced to shed that night on the plane – when she'd realized that evil stalked the world wearing a sharp gray suit and a Rolex.
And now that it had come back to find her, Lisa knew that this time there would be no tie – this time, she would win.
Lisa sniffed, then blew her nose into the thoroughly soaked toilet paper and grabbed more off the roll. She huddled closer to the bathtub, drawing her knees up against her forehead, and passed the night in exhausted silence.
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