I turned the UST up a notch or two in this chapter, hope you don't mind it:P
My fave X-men couple makes a small cameo here, viva X-men: Evolution!
Thanks for the kind reviews, as always!
Chapter 10: Siren song
"If you continue down this road, you get in the town. There isn't much there, maybe a fine line of small shops and restaurants. I'd recommend Buffalo Joe's Pub. In daytime, they serve quite good food, in the evening it's a perfect place for a night-out," the young receptionist girl, all enthusiastic and vigorous, blabbered. Lisa could tell she was happy to see some guests around for the place didn't seem too packed. Actually, they too ended up there only after Rippner took a wrong turn somewhere in north Texas.
Lisa could easily tell the girl- Kitty, according to the nametag- wasn't a professional, but she was very helpful and open, without being flirtatious; she could only roll her eyes in total disgust when they started to talk to Rippner like they were in some bar waiting for a good enough guy to pick them up – her professionalism cried out in pain at this outrageous display of amateur obscenity; at the Lux she'd not once regulated girls for the same behavior. It didn't quite save the situation when Rippner and his overdeveloped ego would readily play along in the game.
"Thanks," Lisa smiled at her, and scribbled her fake signature on the bottom of the registration form.
"I have the afternoon shift. If you need anything, I'm here till eight. After that you have to deal with Mr. Logan, our gruff night watch," she chuckled, clear blue eyes twinkling at a seemingly inside joke. Lisa returned the smile. Rippner only nodded just bordering impatience.
"I'm going on a run," he said a few minutes later when they loaded their luggage in the room. He pulled out a t-shirt, muscles trembling in anticipation. The last time he could go jogging was likewise in Texas: the evening before the flight. Sitting in the car for endless hours finally got on his nerves. And for some reason, right now he couldn't bear the thought of staying with Lisa in a closed place.
Lisa looked at him puzzled and a bit annoyed that he beat her at it. Not for the first time, their physiological needs matched again. She wanted to go too, though she wasn't sure her wound would appreciate it, but going with him like they belonged together was out of question, so she simply nodded.
Pocketing his phone, he exited their room. He was expecting a call soon, if everything went according to his hopes. The day before he'd had an extended call with his ex-manager. Among many other things, he had to brief Henry about the shootout at the bank. For some reason, he opted for leaving Lisa's participation out of the story; the last thing he needed was having Henry doubt his motives about her; truth be told, it was enough that he started to doubt his own motives himself. For all they knew, she was his hostage, and he wasn't about to let them know it wasn't entirely true.
When he came back after an hour that Lisa spent sulking, a lively color and a fine sheen of perception on his face, he went right in the bathroom to take a shower.
Lisa wanted to kick the TV off the stand with its uninteresting programs, infomercials and pathetic talk shows. She was tensed with pent-up energy, and when Rippner emerged from the bathroom, he didn't look less stiff either. He was clad in the pants he'd gone running in, and a towel around his neck, and Lisa immediately turned away, biting back a harsh comment on his appearance or that he should have not forgotten to bring his change of clothes in. She hugged her knees and pressed her chin against them. The last thing she wanted was a fight with him that would escalate who knows where again; and it wouldn't have been fair anyway, to lash out against him only because he was the only available punching bag around. Recently their verbal wars left her more drained than relieved of tension.
Unbeknownst to him, his thoughts were perfectly in synch with hers. Weighing things up, her expression, his own state too, just to avoid that they would get to the point when they would start a quarrel in order to steam off a bit, Rippner offered: "You want a night out? Go somewhere?"
Her head snapped up, and awkwardly she remarked. "You know I'm not quite that kind."
"I was thinking of going out and drinking something, Just to relax, that's all."
He looked like he would go anyway, with or without her, and the thought of being locked up alone in a twenty square meters motel room made Lisa sick.
"Okay, maybe that wouldn't hurt much."
She hadn't quite stocked clothes for clubbing, so she had to resort to wearing jeans with her brown leather boots, topping it with a checkered form-fitting shirt. For this godforsaken town the cowgirl style was just good enough. She had no make-up with her, just a tube of lip balm with a slightly pink tone, and somehow the lack of mascara, even if she would usually apply it very lightly, made her feel naked now. Rippner seemed to be on thorns when she exited the bathroom, ready to go. When Lisa saw he opted for wearing casual and had chosen a steel-blue golf shirt with dark grey jeans and sneakers, she relaxed a bit.
They ended up at Buffalo Joe's for it seemed the only place that attracted people, otherwise everything around it resembled a ghost town. It was well past ten but the place looked already reassuringly packed. They could find two empty seats at the counter. A rocker-looking guy juggled the discs around, providing blaring music for the quite colorful crowd.
The first half hour was spent with fishing for one of the bartenders' attention to order a drink and trying to strike up occasional conversation that only left them with a hoarse throat. The other half of the hour went by with watching others and dropping funny- sarcastic, if it was made by Rippner- remarks about them. Lisa tried, in vain, to get used to the awkward situation that she was spending a night in a pub with Jackson Rippner of all men. He, on the other hand, was perfectly comfortable with it: she didn't know but for him it wasn't their first leisure time together; he had been there with her in her favorite corner café, always there, behind her back, retreated in the shadows and watching her. This evening was special, and he reveled in the possibility that another chapter of her life got to be shared with him.
The two bottles of Bacardi Breezer (for, as Lisa had stated, she'd never drink a vodka cocktail again, especially not in Rippner's company) had taken their toll on her, and she excused herself to spend a good quarter of an hour in the line by the Ladies'. As she pushed her way back through the mass of dancing people, someone yelled over the music.
"Hey, girl. Uh, Audrey."
Lisa shoved her way forward when she remembered her fake ID and the fake name on it. Looking around, she spotted the young receptionist girl from the motel waving at her. She was alone among the people dancing, her long brown ponytail bouncing along with the rhythm. Lisa scurried to her.
"Hey, hi, Kitty."
Beaming, the other girl leant closer and shouted. "Glad you came. You're here alone or with that handsome boyfriend of yours?"
"Who?" Lisa gaped at her, momentarily confused before realizing she was referring to Rippner. "Uh, no, he's not my boyfriend!"
Not even pretending to be convinced, Kitty squinted at her. "Uh-huh, right."
"Really! We booked a twin bed room."
"Indeed. I admit I was pretty surprised."
"He's just… a friend." The word had a very strange taste on her lips that she couldn't grasp.
"If I were you, I'd change that," Kitty winked, laughing, that made Lisa blush equally from embarrassment and frustration. Maybe because she sensed it, or simply got thirsty, Kitty grabbed her hand and pulled her to the counter. "Come on, let's drink something, then show these losers how to dance."
After restocking with Martini this time, they engaged in a funny little chat that felt unexpectedly good for Lisa, a nice change after the weeks-long uniquely odd exchange with Rippner. She could practically feel the knots on her communication skills ease and untangle.
"Oh no, here's Lance. Please dance with me!" Kitty clutched her arm, and made their frantic way back to the dance floor.
"Who's Lance? Why?"
"He's the official bad boy of this dirt hole, and never fails to hit on me. Very irritating. Dance with me, otherwise he'd come and pester me."
Craning her neck, Lisa spotted a tall young man with scruffy hair watching the crowd intently. The stereotype of rebellious guys with fingerless gloves and torn jeans. They would have form an interesting couple with the slightly preppy Kitty.
"Oh, okay. But if I were you, I'd let him. He's handsome."
Kitty looked at her, perplexed, then laughed cheerfully. "Okay, I deserved this… Oh, Iggy Pop, yes!" she exclaimed, and there was no way Lisa could back out of dancing with her.
Contented with being the observer yet again, Rippner was fixating Lisa from his spot at the counter. He'd seen her dance only once, in the safe confines of her flat, after drinking two glasses of wine on a boring Sunday evening. With the other girl he identified as their receptionist, they formed a brilliant duo, both of them surprisingly in synch with the music and each other and confident on the floor. The other girl's movements were much of a ballet-dancer, while Lisa had a natural grace in her moves, light, well-balanced. That was when he remembered she had been figure skating in high school. He watched her hips swirl, and turned away.
In the haze of the pulsating tunes in his head, the heat and the lurking effect of the alcohol, Rippner wasn't sure if the call came after a few minutes or hours of uneventful screening from his lookout. Pressing it crushingly to his ear, he yelled in the phone as he pushed his way through the crowd.
"Call me back in ten, I can't hear you now."
He made a beeline for where Lisa was still dancing, smiling at her back and enjoying the moment while she still wasn't aware of him staring. He watched her curls bounce, her arms wave. Her shapely buttocks sway. His guts trembled, twisted in time with her moves. He wanted to go closer, as close as it gets, and in the same time, turn his back and walk away as long as he still was in control of his whole body and mind. It was an out-of-body experience. He saw himself stepping behind her, reaching out; it felt like the hands placed halfway between her waist and hips belonged to someone else. The disconnected feeling clung to him like a thick blanket as he leant to her ear from behind.
"Lisa."
Her body, like an automat, didn't stop moving against his, only slowed down as a sign that she was listening. For a moment, his voice didn't want to leave his throat.
"Gotta make a call. Be right back, you take your time," he shouted over the music, lips brushing against her earlobe. The conscious, practical part of his brain growled at her: please, just stop moving.
At his hot breath, a current was dwelling up under Lisa's skin, yearning for a shudder, a release that wouldn't come, swelling to a point where she thought her skin might snap open. For some reason, her high school studies on physics and chemistry seeped in her mind, the collision and discharge of electrons, their free motion creating a magnetic field – she had the bizarre mental image that somehow their electrons, his and hers, got mixed in the proximity. Created something that wanted to break loose. She leant a bit away and turned her head to look at him and confirm she understood. To see if there was something she should worry about.
Two inches. Lisa could feel the scent of his cologne, musky with the addition of his own. She turned in his hold, one hand on his wrist, other lingering around his waist while his was lingering at her back. It was a strange stance, like an embrace where no touch would be made. She craned her neck to reach his ear, nose touching his earlobe timidly.
"Is everything all right?"
Rippner didn't answer for a long moment, only his arms closed the gap, pulling her closer as if he wanted her to hear him clearly. He remained silent because he wanted to prolong the moment, to pretend it was a real hug. As the heat emitting from their bodies mingled together, the temperature in the room seemed to soar into unbearable heights. His words tickled her neck, and her shoulders, on their own volition, brushed up against his.
"Yeah, fine. Nothing to worry about."
He knew that she answered only from her hot breath on his skin. He let his head drop slightly, lips almost touching the skin half-hidden behind her collar, and suddenly he felt unbearably thirsty, choked on an insistent lump in his throat. It would take half an inch, nothing more, and he could taste her.
Lisa let her fingers curl into his shirt. She was so close that her eyelashes fluttered against his sideburn as she blinked. There was something soothing in his scent, and electrifying. In the humid air the locks formed dark crescents at the side of his neck, curling in odd angles; his hair had considerably grown longer in the last almost three months. Lisa felt the goosebumps erupt on her neck when his head nearly hid in the crook of her shoulder. She was close, too close for her comfort. How many Martinis did she have? Alcohol always kicked down a few barriers in her, no wonder she usually tried to drink little in order to stay within the boundaries. She felt her guts twist, squirm like a satisfied cat in its slumber, and she stiffened.
They retreated at the same time. Rippner was smiling slightly, brushed a strand away from her forehead, and left. Gingerly, somewhat disorientated, she turned back to Kitty.
"Just friends, my ass," the girl laughed.
"What?" dragging her mind back to the then-and-there, Lisa blinked at her.
"Come on, just friends don't act like that, girl."
Right then Lisa had no answer to that comment.
: :
Rippner weaved through the crowd with some difficulty. Reaching the entrance, he burst out. The sweat cooled instantly on his skin in the chilly night air. For a long-long minute he didn't know why he came out. His hand found its way to a burning spot below his ear. The spot her nose had brushed against.
"What the hell was that?" he muttered to himself, and never before felt so much at a loss. She let him touch her. She touched him. He exhaled loudly.
The phone in his pants pocket vibrated, and he accepted the call. It was Henry.
"Where the hell are you?"
There was no way he could tell it believably that he took the hostage to a pub. "Long story. What's new?"
"You got green light, Jackson."
He felt a giant weight roll off his shoulders, and suddenly, after two long weeks he could breathe again. "Thanks, Henry, I really appreciate it."
"Good because it was hell of a job to achieve it."
"Yeah, I can imagine. So what's the deal?"
"The guy will watch the show but we need some time to set everything up."
"No problem, Keefe will need time, too. First I have to discuss with him and come back to you with the details." After a long beat of pause, he asked curtly. "What about the other thing I asked?"
"Don't worry, I have men working on it."
"Peachy; it's important. And Henry, call the hunters off my back. I have enough to deal with."
With that, it was settled. He still had another call to do, and making a face, he entered his contact list. Though in Miami it was already the middle of the night, the FBI agent's voice sounded exactly just as usually: gruff. Gruffly sober, to be precise.
"I can't believe my eyes, Rippner. Are you bored that you decided to give me a call?"
"Can't ever be bored that much," Rippner scoffed flippantly.
"Where are you now?"
"On a Caribbean island sipping cocktails. Wanted to send you a postcard but sadly I don't know your address," he mocked. The answer was a long silence as if Alvarez were weighing the chances of him telling the truth. Rippner could tell how it annoyed the agent that he couldn't follow their route anymore.
"What do you want?"
"I got green light."
The silence now was just as much satisfied as surprised. "Unbelievable, actually."
"For you. So, how much time you need to arrange things?"
"First I gotta talk to Keefe but he just set off on a West Coast tour today, so it won't happen anytime soon."
"What? Are you kidding? What kind of a damn timing is that?"
"You know, Rippner, he couldn't just sit around and wait for your call. He's got a job to do."
"Then he should postpone the tour."
"Wouldn't it be just suspicious? It's been announced for some time now. He can't be expected to adjust his life to a criminal's liking."
Swallowing back a rude comment, Rippner rubbed his forehead. "When does he come back?"
"The last day is the 25th but since that's a Friday, our show can't run before the Monday afterwards."
"But it's still two weeks! What am I supposed to do for two more weeks?"
"Let's see: what you've been doing so far?" the snicker was apparent in the agent's voice.
"Fuck you."
"Manners, Rippner, manners."
Rippner pulled the phone away, giving it a death glare. Alvarez was clearly enjoying his little pathetic revenge.
"And you could start it with letting Ms. Reisert go."
Gritting his teeth, Rippner barked in the phone. "You wish. She stays until I say otherwise. Call me when you have news."
He pocketed the phone, and glared in the darkness. He could tell it was uncomfortably cold by the soft puffs of air as he exhaled, but his anger served as burning fuel in his veins. He was so deadly tired of running across the country, and the thought that he had to do it for yet another just as long period made his head go numb.
Back inside, he slipped past the receptionist girl who was now dancing with a scruffy looking rocker guy – Lisa was nowhere in sight. As he approached the counter, he finally saw her slouching on her barstool. And on his stool there was some guy who was politely but persistently hitting on her. Though Lisa was smiling, her eyes shot across the crowd tensely, edgily. The guy was holding her hand, obviously trying to invite her to dance.
At the scene, something flared up in him, mixed together with the frustration and fury still lurking in his chest after the phone calls, and it doubled his pace. That idiot was touching her; she wouldn't want to go to dance with that clown, there was no way she wanted anything-
He stopped the thought in mid-sentence, and with that, he stopped walking too, it was such a powerful refusal of that train of thoughts. Puzzled at himself as to why he felt such a killing, unreasonable animosity for that stranger, why he cared what Lisa was doing, he was ready with the answer: I don't trust her. For all he knew, she could be betraying him again just right now. Satisfied with this reasoning even if an outright honest part of him knew she'd have had enough opportunity to do so in the previous hours, he resumed his approach, developing a solid block of anger for both the man and Lisa.
He was taken off-guard by the strained, wavering, anxious half-smile Lisa was trying to maintain. With him, she never used it. She was either apeshit pissed or honestly smiling, never this unsure, alarmed politeness, faked politeness, and it made him proud somehow. How the hell that idiot could not catch it?
"Get lost, fuckhead."
Lisa tossed up her head, her lips parting with a surprised expression. Rippner could see her shoulder slump a bit in relief. Unlike him, she seemed to be less annoyed by his sudden Neanderthal behavior than he was.
The guy narrowed his eyes and gave him a very critical once-over. He was taller, more muscular, a bit younger, too, with an open, vigorous but painfully average face. Rippner wanted to grab his bottle of beer off the counter and ram it in that very face. The guy blinked at him with hurt annoyance then looked at Lisa.
"Is this creep your boyfriend or what?"
An unexpected warm rush of pleasure rolled over Rippner's stomach and looked at Lisa, too. She gulped, completely taken aback.
"No-"
It was a natural reflex, a gush of air that burst out of her lung at her astonishment. She bit down on her tongue as the realization hit her that if she said no, there was no way she could fend off this guy without a show, if she said yes… no, she just couldn't; the implication per se drew a blush on her face. Both men were waiting for her reply with taut muscles.
"No, he's not a creep," she blurted out eventually, correcting herself quite clumsily. "Ah… and yes… um, I mean, yeah, he is."
She stammered hard, unable to bring herself to say the word. Desperately, she tried to avoid Rippner's gaze and the smirk she was sure he was wearing.
"Oh, you could have mentioned that."
"You didn't ask," she whispered softly. The guy nodded and fortunately without another word grumpily disappeared.
None of them budged. Lisa risked a look at Rippner. He was simply staring at her, unblinking, his face more closed than she'd ever seen it before. His eyes flashed, and with a calm though terrifying tone, he remarked.
"I'm sorry if he was your type." He pondered if there was any attribute on her Mr.-Right-list that matched him – somehow he very much doubted it.
Lisa stared at him in return, trying to comprehend the meaning of the words and match it with that guy's face- how did he look like?-, any face that could be her type but wasn't able to. All she saw was Rippner's stern face. She shook her head, more as a disapproval addressed to herself than as an answer to him.
Absently, her fingers reached out and smoothed down his collar. He was nothing like you. She didn't know if it was meant to be good or bad. After all, it was true. That guy couldn't achieve what Rippner had managed to at the airport. Sometimes she doubted anyone could ever do it again. She knew already when she'd joined him at the Tex-Mex that he changed her life forever- if not in the way he eventually did-, even if they'd never meet again, even if he turned out a self-righteous businessman she could not stand – in a way he actually did. That he could pull her out of the years-old shell she'd built around herself with a few awkwardly arrogant yet charming words and enchanting smiles was a fact that nothing would have changed, and had it all happened otherwise between them, he would have opened her up for other acquaintances for the future, no matter what. The will for a change had been born in her in that airport restroom, drenched in iced Starbucks mocha.
As it happened, she closed up yet again, but the irrevocable change she'd foreseen was still there, though in other gruesome form. She'd never been one to believe in fate and wasn't about to start it now, but something in their ways was apparently beyond their control.
Rippner tensed, still gazing at her intently. A gulp, he wet his lips with an agitated flicker of his tongue – that touch, she shouldn't have touched him, looked at him in a way that let his mind roam into fucking fantasy land, seeing things where nothing was there to see. He fixated her lips, the soft creases across them. Being mindlessly attracted to her would put the lid on it all. It was already complicated enough.
He pushed past her, sat on the stool. Waved at the girl behind the counter, and rasped for a Scotch, double. Or triple might have been better. The girl poured it for him, said something, smiled- glossy lips, non-green eyes, nice cleavage-, but he could only stare, not really seeing her. When exactly was the last time he fucked someone? Hell, he hadn't even jerked off for months. The prison wasn't a major turn-on, neither was the hospital. It's not that he hadn't been on a longer off-sex period, he could control his body, the ideal of self-restraint he was, but right now it was simply unbearable. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. In the mirror behind the counter he caught Lisa watching him. Jesus, I look fucking pathetic. Get a grip, you idiot… He turned away from her, not wishing to see their reflection, her puzzlement. Her damn face, damn lips. All he wanted-
A mental pause. A deletion process. Then rewording.
He felt like beating the crap out of Mr. Average. Or better, letting the guy beat the crap out of him.
In the awkward, heavy silence between them, Lisa excused herself to the restroom. He stared after her with a sense of loss. Good going, asshole.
He just couldn't untangle his own thoughts, and it was unnerving. Maybe he had one too much drink.
A hand on his lower back, slipping across it woke him from his reverie.
"That was fast," he remarked but caught the reflection in the mirror. It wasn't Lisa. He only belatedly realized she would never touch him like that. Wanted to say: would never touch him at all, but it wasn't true anymore.
The hand belonged to a lewdly dressed girl, not more than twenty. With a confidence he usually valued, she occupied Lisa's stool without asking for permission. He couldn't not notice inwardly that the hand was not only left on his body but it fluttered to his leg, higher than the knee to be just accidentally friendly.
"You say I should go slower?" she smiled mischievously. Rippner smiled, too.
"Would never say anything like that."
"Good. You mind me sitting here?"
"What do you think?"
"I think you look like you could use a little caress."
"Do I?" He was amused. His eyes ran along her body, and his mind gave an approval. This one will do. His body definitely agreed with the decision. "Depends what kind of caress you have in mind."
"I'm open to any suggestions."
The girl leaned closer, supported her weight on his chair – right between his legs. She gave a perfect view into her clothes, too. So predictable. So cheap. Rippner knew it, in a way despised it too but as his gaze dropped to the hand, to the cleavage, he found it hard to gulp down the feeling uncoiling in his loins. Hell, he wasn't made of metal, after all…
They were talking about something absolutely uninteresting, going in circles closer and closer to the same target but his mind wasn't quite on the conversation – right then, his bodily needs overruled every coherent thought.
Suddenly he realized Lisa was standing beside them. She stared at the hand on his thigh, the other between them, then up at the girl. With a cold, collected stare her eyes bore into his.
"You take that offer, I'm tired, I go back," she said. As if anticipating his protest, she added. "I can manage it alone, no worries."
"Lisa, wait," he stood nonetheless.
She looked over her shoulder with an empty smile. "Take your time."
And with that, she disappeared in the crowd. Her head was pounding even when she left the pub with its blaring stereos. She gulped down the biting cold. Her face was on fire. That scene back at the counter that was now surely unfolding into something with a mature content warning made her heart clutch. On a deeper level she envied that kind of girls. No, she wouldn't be so slutty, never the one night stand type, but the easiness, the carelessness with what they could enter a physical contact left a strange longing in her. To touch and be touched without worries, without inhibitions. Without memories.
She started back to the motel blindly. She felt horrible. Never in the previous two years had this once occurred to her, that and many other things that seemingly popped up out of nowhere during this goddamn journey. Rippner made her hate what she had, what she'd achieved with steely determination, and she was left to yearn for what she'd lost and never could gain back.
"I hate you," she mumbled to herself, and had no idea who it was addressed to: Rippner or her.
: :
How they could find an empty booth in the back of the pub was a miracle. It was a strategically perfect place, enveloped in dark and the bench hidden behind the table. What was happening under the table was hidden, too.
The girl wasn't wasting their time, and Rippner appreciated it. She kissed him hungrily, sighing in his mouth but he broke away and drew a wet line down her neck with his tongue. He found kissing too intimate for this encounter (did she tell at all what her name was? Not that it mattered, really); that she had her hand in his pants wasn't considered intimate. He almost came simply by her unashamed touch down there. He leant in her neck, nibbling at the soft skin. Her scent was too intrusive. The way she moaned, explicit, over-faked, kept snapping him out of mood. Her hands moved expertly, though. His body tensed, anticipating the much needed release.
Would she catch a cab? Does she have enough money with her at all? For some reason, his mind seemed to venture elsewhere. He groaned in frustration, luckily the girl thought he did it in pleasure. He buried his face in her hair, closed his eyes against its blondeness. Its wrongly blondness.
What if she went back on foot? What if Average Guy followed her back to the motel? He grabbed her hips and bit down on her shoulder, angry with himself. For fuck's sake, she'll be alright. Under the tank top, his fingers dug in the soft flesh of her breast, and the girl emitted a long stretched whimper of delight, moving onto his lap. Lisa wouldn't make such a cheap sound.
That was unexpected. That made him freeze. The girl sensed it only five seconds later.
With sinking stomach, he realized something.
"Sorry… I can't… can't now," he raked his hair with an annoyed yet sheepish movement. "Shit, I'm an idiot. Shit."
Undeniably annoyed, the girl pouted. "I'm not that girl, that's the problem, right?"
Rippner laughed tensely, and untangled their limbs.
"You have no idea." Of what, even he couldn't determine. The sarcasm he wanted to force into his voice was strangled by his pent-up but bound arousal. "That's not the case. Not by far."
He stood up rigidly, adjusted his jeans, shirt. He had to find her before… before… fuck… there was not a damn coherent thought in his head, it seemed all the blood had gone south and his mind was hibernated.
"You know, do yourself a favor, go and fuck her."
He wanted to say something biting and rude, but what eventually left his lips was completely different. "It's not that simple with her."
"Oh it is. I've seen her face."
You are a stupid bitch, he thought with contempt, and without a single word turned away and left hurriedly. He dashed out of the pub, frantically looking around for the Bentley when after a numbing moment of complete confusion he realized he was driving an Audi now.
He jumped in the car, and drove wickedly down the road toward the motel. It was fairly dark, the lamp-posts were placed quite far from each other, leaving the part of the road between them obscured.
There was no sign of Lisa. Rippner was already halfway to the motel when he realized she couldn't get this far in such short time. She had either hitch-hiked which he pretty much doubted or-
His mind refused to let other possibilities come forth. In increasing panic, he turned the car with screeching wheels, and barreled back to the club, keeping an eye on either side of the road. She was nowhere, absolutely nowhere. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His mind was in frenzy. What if some drunken thug found her? What if she was receiving her second mark on her skin right now while his head was all full with screwing some loose chick? He wanted to kick himself he was so disgusted. Lisa was, in a way, his responsibility now. And no one was to touch her again. No fucking one. Not even you, right? he growled at himself.
At least, he didn't have a hard-on any more.
He felt impotent, and in his helplessness floored the pedal, willing the car to go faster. Lisa. He pulled down the window to make his head clear. Think, you fucker, think. He reached the pub, skirted it. Maybe there was another way back to the motel. Maybe she was simply lost. The Scotch- wait a minute, how much Scotch exactly- played a house party in his head. He groaned: the sound of a caged, wounded beast. His head was pounding with myriads of kettledrums, his heart, too. Lisa. Lisa. There was a sentence in his head that the tiny rational part of his mind that was still working strangled in despair: I can't- What exactly he couldn't do- find her, leave alone, lose her?-, he didn't want to find out.
He almost liquefied in the seat, disappeared in the pores in his utter relief when he caught sight of her. She was strolling down the road, hands in her jacket pockets, and looked all right. A loud groan burst out of him, and suddenly he felt light-weighed, light-headed. Slowed the car beside her while his heart slowed, too. Lisa didn't stop, simply looked at him from the corner of her eyes.
"You chose the wrong way, Leese."
Drily, she remarked. "Well, weren't you just quick?"
"Got called off. The restroom was occupied. I like it there the best."
Her expression darkened, chose not to comment on it, not to react at the remark that brought out horrible memories. Always the tactless, always the utterly cruel; she wasn't about to let him have the satisfaction of seeing her hurt.
"She must be so crushed right now."
"Oh, you can bet on that," Rippner added smugly. "You're not jealous, are you?"
Incredulously, Lisa glared at him, and dropped it bitingly. "Aren't you a tad bit too full of yourself?"
A sudden foul mood descended upon him. "Get in the car." Lisa proceeded stubbornly. "Want me to spell it out for you?"
Lisa glared at him, hearing the much hated intonation, the stretched syllables. "Piss off!"
Stepping on the brake, Rippner stopped the car, got out, and halted before her, blocking her way. With a mean tone, he sneered at her.
"Well, aren't we just childish?"
He reached out to guide her to the car but Lisa scurried from his touch with a repulsed face. Now he could read in it easily: it was 'don't-touch-me-with-those-hands' written all over her face.
"I'm not childish. I feel like walking. Alone."
"Lisa, this place isn't the best for wandering around alone." With a pointed, collected look he scooped down to her eye-level. His reasonable tone that was lacking now any patronizing edge soothed her in an unexpected way. "Get in the car, let's go back to the motel, okay?"
Pursing her lips she glared at him, silently blaming him for the effect he had on her, and without a word she walked to the car and got in. They were already near the motel when Rippner spoke.
"Were you interested in me? Back at the airport."
The question wasn't smug or teasing. He looked only genuinely curious and slightly excited. Her first reaction was a knee-jerk denial. She lifted her head and her mouth betrayed her.
"Yes. But it was in another life."
Rippner nodded, a faint soft smile on his lips, and she waited for him to trample on her heart, her pride and self-esteem. She looked in her lap, at the twisted knot of fingers; why she had to give herself away? In the silence nothing came, no self-righteous smart remark, and her heart sang to her a question that she'd never dared to even formulate in her head.
"Was it part of the plan that you'd buy me a drink?"
Their gazes locked. She saw him hesitate, then, a truth for a truth, quod pro quo, exchange of unwillingly offered secrets, he admitted:
"No, I think I was interested in you, too. After following you for-" he cut off the sentence, remembering how she hated being reminded of that, and how foul it sounded anyway. He hated to remember it, too. "I wanted a close to normal interaction before-"
Another taboo, the assassination plan. He groaned inwardly. Christ, had anything normal they could talk peacefully about happened then?
"I wanted to observe you up close, first-handed, grasp what I hadn't been able during those weeks, grasp something I knew was there: the essence that eventually became my undoing. I was intrigued, you were a real challenge. All those weeks I had seen how you treated men who tried to get closer to you. I didn't understand your reaction but wanted to know if it could be different with me, if I could get past your shields."
Lisa wanted to dissolve into thin air. She felt so embarrassed, so horribly used like a lab rat. It seemed he knew for sure how attracted she'd been, knew exactly that he was the only one she'd given a chance. The hint that she meant nothing but a challenge for him made her even bitterer.
"Well, you can be satisfied with yourself. Does it flatter you to know you successfully pulled that deception on me?"
In the ensuing silence, Rippner parked the car in front of their motel, and stared out at the empty, dark parking lot.
"I didn't want to hurt you. Not with that, at least. I didn't know about…"
With a whole world of doubt in her eyes, she measured him. "Really? Would it have been different if you knew my past?"
"I guess. On the plane, definitely. I would have restrained from physical contact, to begin with, since you obviously despise it. Everything would have been different because that was the essence, the very thing I tried to find out, the core from which what you really are had emerged."
"And the drink?"
Contemplating the answer, a small smile spread on his face. "I think I would have still invited you."
I think... What a hypocrite, he seethed at himself. He was damn sure. There was no way he could resist it, resist her. Resist the question, the possibility to find out whether she'd be interested in him; whether she'd be true to him or fake and artificial. He'd had a faint, honest suspicion back then that he was, in a way, infatuated with her. His whole being had been aching for having a true and private moment with her, he remembered how anxious, how eager he'd been while waiting for her to arrive at the airport, how his muscles were contracted in anticipation. He could still recall the dizziness within his head that had seeped in at the unreality of the situation- the stalker and the mark face to face, seeing each other-, the possibility that, even if for only a half hour, she would see him for a normal man, for someone she could-
He forced the train of thought to stop. She still had this power over him, making him lose focus; she increasingly did so, not that he thought.
Lisa unbuckled her belt, and by the forceful movement Rippner could tell she was surprisingly upset with his answer.
"Of course. Your self-assurance had to be sated… You're not really sorry then," she hissed bitterly, and climbed out of the car.
Rippner threw his head back with an exasperated sigh. He was blind all right, deliberately so. But she was blind, too.
: :
"No, not another cabin," Lisa wailed, slumping against the car seat.
Rippner shot her an annoyed look but didn't react in any other form. He needed a place where they could stay for more than a night, a place that was safe enough. He was terribly tired of the whole dashing across the country scenario, and even more so now, knowing that it wasn't over anytime soon. When he'd informed her about the new development- if it could be called that-, she seemed more upset about the prospect of another of his choice of safe haven than the fact that she had to stick around with him for two more weeks. That, too, aggravated his bad mood for no real reason, and he took an angry gulp from the coffee.
"There's no one you could trust?" Lisa chanced, hoping to convince him about the unnecessary choice of a dirty hideaway off the map. They were crossing Colorado, heading west, and there wasn't much to see. The sunset wrapped the rural landscape in a flaming red glow.
"Depends on the level of trust."
"Trust with your life?"
Smugly, he nodded. "There's one. And it's me."
She uttered a sound, a snort somewhere between contempt and pity, saying 'what a sad life, that is', and Rippner glared at her.
"You're one to talk. Is there anyone beside your family, which is given, who you could trust with your life? Let me see: your dentist? Definitely not. Your shrink? Oh, I forgot you only should have one."
"And you should have an army of them, psychopath," she prompted. He went on as if no interruption had been made.
"Your occasional cocktail-night friends who are so full of their own problems, the kid catching flu, breaking up with actual shithead boyfriend, quarrelling with asshole boss, that they don't ever think of asking you about yours? Not that you would tell them, we both know it, but at least they could try. So would you trust any of them?"
Lisa wanted to retort, wanted to refute it but with a pang of pain she realized he was right. Turning toward the window she let out a short bark of laughter, full of bitterness: what a pathetic pair they formed.
She had been able to see the course of her desocialization all along. She knew it was wrong but couldn't help it. It turned out to be an irreversible process. Since the trauma two years ago, slowly, inadvertently she'd been distancing herself from others, the layer of social façade she was willing to show and share became thinner and thinner by day, more things dissolving, melting into the inner core that was closed from other people, leaving less and less to display. And then she found herself unable to talk about her feelings other than the mild nuisance she would face at the hotel. Nobody could lure her out – until he came along. What he did was shock therapy. He pried her open with a can-opener, coaxed words, confessions from her in a way no one else could. With force, he cracked the thin layer of unsecret thoughts and let the core gush out, revealed its burning, wound- and hurt-inflicting substance; he sank in it with cold calculation and came out unharmed, unaffected. No one else could do it, no one was perceptive enough, ruthless enough to do so – in that, he was amazing; cruel, lacking compassion but amazing. With him, there was no social layer, no restrained behavior. With him, it was always the lava core. And it was unsettling.
Squinting at Rippner, she watched him edgily sip the coffee with one hand on the wheel. He looked very keen on reaching the cabin quickly. He made them wake up quite early that day after a very late arrival at their last motel the evening before, and with the bluish hue under his eyes he looked pretty tired.
Puckering her lips, Lisa prompted. "You know, Rippner, I have a driving license."
"Okay?"
"I go to work by car every day."
Unsurely, he looked at her from the corner of his eyes. "So? What's your point, Lisa?"
"I could drive sometimes. Who said it always has to be you?"
The silence following her offer could mean a lot of things. She decided she didn't like either of them. Menacingly, Lisa leant forward.
"It better not be one of your male-driven, chauvinist bullshit that women can't drive."
"Fact-based." He was smirking, completely unfazed by the warning in the green sparkles of her glare. Clearing his throat, he added: "No."
"Then?"
"I like driving."
"I like driving, too. You think I can't read a map?"
"It's not about that."
"Then what?"
Sighing, his eyebrows turned into an annoyed slope above his bored stare. "You want another argument, that's why you're bringing this up?"
Lisa laughed coldly. "Oh, what a pathetic attempt to evade the topic, I'm clearly disappointed in you, Mr. Mindbender… I thought you could use some sleep, you look like crap."
"Thanks."
"Anytime. So?"
"No, thanks. Very considerate of you, I'm pretty touched, but no, I'm fine."
"Yeah, I'm sure that's why you're drinking the third cup of coffee today. Like it'd have any effect on you, anyway."
Rippner wasn't even surprised that she knew him that much, down to his physiological parameters. Despite that he wasn't so much against the offer, he made the topic drag on only to taunt her.
"It's not just about mindless driving, Lisa. We have to check if we are followed."
"And you think I wouldn't spot a tail? Unlike you in Missouri, right?"
He groaned. "You'll bring that one up forever, right?"
She had a very annoying smile on her face. "You know you can always count on me… The roads here are practically empty, doesn't take a genius to see if something's off."
"You never spotted me."
Lisa glared at him, and exclaimed with a pissed tone. "Because I wasn't looking for you, you jerk!"
"You've got a point there," Rippner admitted to calm her down. He really had a headache forming.
"Rippner, pull over now!"
"Jeez, all right." He stole a glance at her, and decided it was better if he complied. "If looks could kill…"
As the car came to a halt, Lisa climbed out, and remarked darkly. "It'd be over long ago. Two and a half months ago, actually."
Rippner climber out, too, skirted the front of the car and mumbled morosely. "I always knew you liked me so much."
He was in a foul mood, Lisa could tell it. As they met halfway at the front bumper, she grabbed his wrist with a small smile. "I'm talking about the past, silly. The flight."
Something in her told that it was a wrong thing to say from different aspects – first because it sounded just simply not right considering who he was; secondly, because of the effect it had on him. A teasingly cocky smile lit up on his face, purely self-confident yet captivating, and with his free hand, he brushed a lock behind her ear.
"So you say my irresistible charm finally got to you?"
"Agh, you're unbearable," she slapped away his hand grudgingly, and he laughed.
They settled back in the Audi.
"So, where's the clutch?" she asked jokingly as she adjusted the seat to her height. Rippner did the same with his, and leant against the door.
"Try not to draw attention."
Lisa looked over at him incredulously and started the car.
"What's that supposed to mean, huh? I shouldn't drive topless? Or in zigzag? Backwards maybe?"
He smirked, and Lisa knew she had it coming. "Option one is fine. The other two are ruled out… Give me an hour, okay? Then wake me. One hour, understood?"
"Sure. You think I'll be able to watch the road and pay attention to the clock at the same time?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, and he rolled his eyes at its familiarity.
"And if anything's off-"
"Yeah, I'll wake you, jeez."
He chuckled. Sometimes it was like talking to himself.
Lisa, in all honesty, was positively surprised that he actually fell fast asleep. In the growing darkness she could hardly see his face as he turned toward the door; only his calm, deep breathing could be heard above the soft music. She relaxed in the driver's seat, peeked at the map in her lap, and smiled to herself.
It was already pitch black outside when he stirred.
"Had a good sleep, dormouse?"
He was slowly gaining back awareness, and her hands tensed on the wheel. "Mmhm. What's the time? I slept three hours?" he snapped, and glared at her accusingly.
"Yeah, it seems I couldn't split my attention between driving and the clock. Not to mention that suspicious patrol car behind us."
He turned back agilely, and groaned. "Really funny."
"You look way better," Lisa peeked at him. He still looked a bit drowsy but definitely less irritated. "I didn't feel like waking you."
He rested his head on the seat, and frowned at the clear night sky. "Lisa… we're not headed west!"
"Uh, I knew something wasn't right," she cracked cynically, earning a glare from him.
"Why did you turn north?"
"The road did," she smirked, reveling in annoying him.
"It's not another fucking safari, right? We're not going to visit some goddamn marmots?"
"Chill. You remember what my grandma's secret was for long life?"
Dumbfounded, Rippner stared at her. "Huh?"
"Grape-nuts and…?"
He racked his brain. "And… some guy… We're not going to him?"
"Duke. Yeah, we are."
For a moment, he was speechless. When he spoke, Lisa was surprised that instead of an immediate objection, he simply commented: "I thought he lived in Texas."
"He did. After the funeral, though, he moved back to Wyoming. Said the house in Texas reminded him too much of my grandma."
"Lisa, I don't want to get you down but we cannot go to your folks."
She felt desperate to convince him; anything but being locked up in a small cabin with him.
"Why not? It's safe, no one would know it, no one even knows about this place. I'm sure even you didn't have it in your dirty files," she narrowed her eyes at him, checking for confirmation. He simply gave a lopsided grimace. "I haven't been there for years. Before… even before the divorce, my parents were still together. It was one of the last occasions we were a real family," she whispered wistfully. "My brother wasn't still married, and I…"
Lisa didn't finish it but he could easily guess what she was thinking of: she had been a different person back then.
To move her out of the emotional pothole, he asked: "And what exactly are you planning to tell him? Hi Duke, meet my abductor?"
Seriously, with a thoughtful frown on her forehead, she nodded. "Something like that. He would love the set-up story you have here. He's into all these conspiracy theories. Has tons of books about the CIA, KBG and so on."
"I know nothing about JFK's assassination. Or Lennon's."
"Too bad. Then you have to sleep in the garage," she chuckled. "Tonight we have to check in a motel, I don't want to barge in on him at midnight. We can proceed tomorrow morning. Is it fine for you?"
He didn't say anything, simply pressed his temple to the glass and stared ahead. Lisa smirked, realizing that he, wordlessly, reluctantly, approved her plan. It was a small victory to be in control over him.