Part II: The Flight

When it happened at last, it did not seem real.

The instant the irate doctor rounded on Lisa, Jackson flung himself into the fray, driven by an ironic sense of protectiveness, the same that had impelled him to chase after the drunkard in the car two weeks before.

"Listen, sir…" He was too angry too quickly, and almost laughed at himself. Tone it down…tone it down… He resumed in his most persuasive manner. "Umm, she's the only one standing between us getting out of here at all and total anarchy. She's exhausted, she's worked eighteen hours straight, and she suspects we all hate her just as much as you do," Jackson continued, unaware that he had grabbed the man's arm in frustration when he tried to turn away.

The doctor scowled at him.

"So what do you say we give her a break? Let her get back to her job I'm guessing is a lot more thankless than yours." Jackson fixed the taller man with his most piercing stare, all the while sensing Lisa beside him, watching.

Sullen, the man gave in. "This airline sucks," he grumbled, and moved away.

Jackson watched him go. Lisa turned around, and he met her eyes for the first time, only a quick flash.

He had caught her attention now.

But the line was shortening; if he were to make any sort of connection with Lisa at all before the flight, he would have to be quick and creative. Already he had displayed sympathy for people who had to work with the public, and she would identify with that.

Lisa had turned her back on him. Mentally, Jackson ran through several possible lines of dialogue in rapid succession, discarding each. Though his heart raced, he maintained his air of cool self-possession.

In a fortuitous turn, the older woman in front of Lisa directed her attention back to Jackson, saving him the trouble. "Thank you," she said, gesturing to Jackson in gratitude.

"You're welcome," Jackson replied, in as humble a tone as he could muster. As if he moderated arguments every day.

"Yeah. Thank you," Lisa said earnestly, relief plain in her features as she faced him.

Here it was. His open door.

"Oh. Not at all. I was just back-up, you got the ball rolling," he said as they moved forward in line. Give her the credit. She'll warm right up.

Lisa met his eyes again, only briefly. "Yeah. Reflex, I guess," she confessed.

An unguarded invitation for more talk. Jackson jumped on it. "Why's that?" He wanted Lisa to look at him; her gaze had returned to the floor.

"I work in a hotel. Deal with people like that all the time."

No mention that she was the manager. Most people would have been unable to resist the opportunity to boast about such a position. From Lisa, no pretentiousness whatsoever.

"The Marriot? Hilton?" Jackson said, as if hinting that her refinement was such that she could not possibly be employed by a Holiday Inn.

"The Lux Atlantic," she revealed.

"Miami," Jackson said. "Right. I know it well." So well that I know your favorite parking space, in fact.

Lisa's face lit up at his recognition of her hotel. Her smile broadened. "Yeah."

For a moment she resembled the picture concealed in his jacket pocket, and his heart skipped a beat. Jackson rushed on, keeping the tenuous conversation alive. "So, you're on this, uh…"

"…very delayed flight to Miami, yeah," Lisa finished for him. "You?"

"Yeah. Sadly, yeah." Jackson had begun to notice that Lisa seemed to have trouble maintaining eye contact with him, keeping her gaze downcast most of the time. When she did meet his eyes, he was taken with the softness and sincerity there. He plunged ahead. "But you know what? That's why God created the Tex Mex. Best nachos in the airport, and right across from our gate." Jackson knew his chances of Lisa inviting herself along were almost nonexistent, but he could not resist enticing her.

"Good tip. Thanks…" she said, smiling politely, and Jackson found himself looking at the back of her head again.

Don't push her… Jackson waited a moment, looking hungrily at her, in a desperate attempt to hold back. To his dismay, the pent-up feelings he had restrained for so long were not to be denied, and they broke through in a painful rush. "Save you a seat," he offered, loathing himself instantly. This was precisely how not to behave with her.

"Oh…uh…" Lisa turned back to him, her eyes darting back and forth over his. Jackson could see her mind working frantically for an excuse to say no without appearing rude; then she broke into a wide, embarrassed smile and laughed.

Jackson laughed with her, though he was stung. Lisa could not cloak the interest in her eyes, but she was about to reject him nonetheless. Looking away quickly, Jackson backpedaled to save face. "Yeah, you know, that was…I just thought, since we were on the same flight…I didn't mean to invade your personal space…" He hated how he sounded.

"No…no…" Lisa said quickly, trying to placate him. "I just…I have a few calls to make."

Calls? You, Leese? That's a good one. "Sure. I understand," Jackson said, sustaining a small smile valiantly. "Go ahead," he indicated the counter ahead, where the clerk was waiting. "Have a good flight."

"Okay…you too," Lisa said, almost meekly. She was clearly ill at ease refusing him, but her relief was palpable.

Sick, Jackson watched her go. He was no different to her than any other man.

Not for long.

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He needed a drink.

Taking a seat in the most conspicuous place possible at the El Paseo bar, Jackson scanned the crowd. Lisa was nowhere to be seen.

The instant the glass was in his hand, he felt better. Lisa had not rejected him, not really. She had rejected men. Jackson took a healthy swallow, remembering the evident attraction in Lisa's eyes. It had been there, plain as day. It had simply hit her too suddenly, and her knee-jerk response in such situations was to retreat. As soon as she gathered herself and recognized what she felt, she would seek him out.

In the meantime, he would keep his distance from other people. Lisa would spot him at the bar, see how lonely he appeared after her dismissal of him, and feel responsible for his solitude. She was ultimately a people-pleaser. He smiled into his glass.

He felt a flash of guilt for his intended dalliance with his subject. Tempting Lisa to have nachos with him was certainly not part of the plan. Deviating from the plan, if only in this harmless way, had been a symbolic middle finger from Jackson to his boss, an expression of disgust with the way the operation had gone.

But that wasn't all.

He had finally met Lisa. And wanted more of her. It had not been enough to merely speak with her as they stood in line; he had learned nothing. After eight weeks of keeping his distance, his appetite for her would not be satiated by so little contact. He knew that once the plane left the ground and his plan was put into motion, any favorable impression Lisa had of him would be completely destroyed. Terrifying her was in his job description, and something he had prepared for since day one. But before that, he would get as much pleasure out of Lisa as time allowed.

Jackson stuffed a nacho into his mouth and turned to look over the crowd again. His eye found Lisa just as she collided with another woman, the woman's large drink smashing into Lisa's chest and spilling its contents over her. Jackson froze in mid-chew and sat up straighter. Whoops… shit, I hope that's not something hot. The concept of Lisa missing her flight as a result of third degree burns shot through Jackson's mind disturbingly. The way things had gone so far, he would not be surprised.

Lisa stood back, arms raised, looking more embarrassed than injured. Jackson relaxed and continued eating. No harm, no foul. Iced latte, maybe. He directed his gaze elsewhere, not wanting Lisa to know that he'd seen. If she thought he had witnessed her humiliation, she would never approach him.

He ate some more, though his stomach soon protested the combination of nachos, alcohol, and the earlier espresso. Finally he gave up, pushing the plate away. This was not the time for a self-induced stomachache. He sighed and checked his watch.

And suddenly she was there.

"Oh… hi!" Jackson said, the pleasure in his tone genuine. He felt the same sort of delighted wonder that one experiences when finally coaxing a wild animal near enough to touch. Wow… she came right up to me…

"Is… this taken?" Lisa asked hesitantly, indicating the seat next to him. She had changed her clothes after the spill, or at least removed the navy jacket, and was now wearing a slightly clingy white top. Jackson liked it, knowing she had perhaps chosen it with him in mind.

With a welcoming gesture, Jackson smiled. "No, it's all yours."

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Lisa watched Jackson walk away, cell phone in hand. Oh well, she sighed to herself. He had been nice, and good-looking. Gorgeous enough that he probably had a girlfriend somewhere. Or everywhere.

Jackson had done nothing more than buy her a drink and engage her in an ordinary chat; but from him it had seemed anything but commonplace. The conversation had been wonderfully effortless and devoid of awkwardness, as if she'd known him before. But his disconcertingly blue eyes - she'd had trouble meeting them.

His name. Jack Rippner. Something she would normally have dismissed as a bad bar joke. But from him, it rang true.

Lisa started toward the gate on legs that were slightly rubbery from vodka and nerves. God, I hate to fly. Her mind drifted back to Jackson, wondering what his profession might be. At first, his clothing and smooth manner had made her think salesman, but his hair had been a touch too long for that to be likely. She could imagine him as a radio personality somewhere; he had the voice for it.

He was intelligent. And decent, she thought wistfully, as she gripped her purse and carry-on and headed for the gate. How often do I meet someone like that? There had been a spark between them, undoubtedly. Though he had never mentioned her appearance, she had sensed a quiet attraction from him. Jack had articulated an intense but gentle interest in her, an approach that she found safely flattering. Jackson, Jackson… not Jack, she reminded herself. It didn't matter. She wouldn't see him again.

She furrowed her brow, chewing her lip as she waited for the airport attendant to take her ticket. She was glad she had forced herself to approach Jackson. And proud. The mini-date had proven to her that, under the right circumstances and with the right person, she could still talk to men socially.

Already her organized mind was compartmentalizing Jackson, filing the memory of him under Lost Opportunities. She would never forget his disarming blue eyes and soothing voice.

And the unsettling way he had guessed her favorite drink.

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Jackson settled into seat 18F and looked over at the empty space to his right, anticipation growing in the pit of his stomach. Watching the other passengers board, and realizing how close they were to him, he knew how difficult it was going to be to make his deal with Lisa without attracting outside attention.

His gaze drifted out the window to the well-lit tarmac. It's almost over. Within a half hour, his part of the job would be done, and there would be nothing left to do but baby-sit Lisa through the rest of the flight. Then what? He was still unsettled about what to do with Lisa when they landed. The fact that he debated it yet within his own mind was a cause for concern. He knew his orders.

He tried to anticipate Lisa's reaction when she realized her seat was next to his. He flattered himself with the prediction that she would be pleasantly surprised, if his analysis of the Tex Mex exchange was accurate. It had been easy to walk away from her then, knowing he would see her shortly on the plane. But Lisa's disappointment at their parting had been unmistakable.

Jackson unfolded his paper yet again, so that he would look as unassuming as possible when Lisa located her seat. His drink at the bar had afforded him a warm tranquility that lingered, but the pages of his newspaper quivered in his fingers, a sign of nerves he could not hide.

Meeting Lisa had been comparable to walking up to an exquisite new sports car and peering in through the windows at last, having only previously admired one from television commercials or ads in magazines. Up close, she had seemed both larger and smaller than he had imagined - larger in presence, but smaller physically; almost delicate.

Beautiful.

He was impatient for her arrival. The sooner she found him, the more time he would have to talk with her before the plane lifted off the runway and hurtled them irreversibly toward their fate. More time to know her. As Jackson had questioned her at the bar about herself, he had ticked off a mental checklist at each correct reply.

Except one…she had lied about the Sea Breeze. His jaw tightened.