A/N: Sorry I made you wait so long, I'm dealing with quite a lot real-life and writer issues as well.
Funfact: Ecce homo (=Here is the man), both in title and characterization, is the twin of chapter 2 (Ecce diabolus=Here is the devil).
Evelyn, a big thanks again! Dear readers, thanks for sticking with this story.
Chapter 14: Ecce homo
The next three days- their last three days, as his mind, like a malicious vulture, never failed to remind him- were marked by Lisa's newborn and sudden tendency to distance herself from him both physically and emotionally, and Rippner was rattled in a way he'd have never expected. Whenever he touched her, let it be accidental or deliberate- the latter more and more often-, she either flinched or froze completely. Ever since they'd left Wisconsin, she retired behind her shields. It wasn't that she was angry with him, about that he was sure. She was willing to talk to him in a diplomatically demure and timid way that drove him absolutely mad. He certainly didn't welcome her anew inhibitions and uncertainty, and if nothing else, it left him aghast as to what could possibly cause it.
There was no denying, though, that he missed it: the old comfort between them, her increasingly docile- and still annoyingly independent- behavior. The endless talks with Lisa starting a sentence and him finishing it. The lazy look of ease she would give him. Something was troubling her, and he had no idea whatsoever about its nature and origin.
Maybe she was counting back the days.
He surely was.
Somewhere beyond the all-engulfing irritation, he sensed it was for the best; in his mind he knew he shouldn't chase what they built and left at Duke's. Just a chapter in an impossible and unreal story. Alice in Wonderland where not only Wonderland was unreal but Alice too. They were. The way they behaved. There was no sense in it, and he always strived to avoid doing senseless things. They had no future: he was to go off to the left and Lisa to the right. This is how he always planned it, how it should happen. Left and right. Anything else was beyond logic and rationality.
He had to focus on the task ahead, and nothing else, but hour by hour, day by day, he turned grimmer as Monday was drawing closer. Keefe had finished his Pacific tour in San Francisco on Friday, and now was back again in Washington.
They reached Maryland early afternoon on Sunday, and a little after sunset they checked in a stuffy motel near where I-70 leading to Baltimore met I-270 towards Washington. This one, too, was one of those last things, last motel, last night together; the last time he would wake up beside her. Rippner wanted to kick himself for the row of melodramatic inward remarks.
After settling in their room, they left their suitcases unpacked, walked back down to the lobby and out to the parking lot. There was a small restaurant a hundred yards down the street, and they approached it without hurry. The air was very crisp, heavy with the threat of a snowstorm, and the narrow sidewalk was covered with patches of thin ice that couldn't entirely melt during the day and grew thicker during the night.
The restaurant was dimly lit with small lamps on each round table, pouring warmth from under tattered old shades. The stripy wallpaper, mint-green curtains and framed sepia photographs gave the place a bit cheap but certainly nostalgic charm; like a set from a '20s gangster movie where mysterious, darkly attractive Mafiosi in pin-striped suits would take their beloved in knee-long dresses topped with cloche hats on a date in the peak of Prohibition. Lisa smiled to herself. She definitely had her own mysterious and darkly attractive companion, if not a mafia member – as it seemed those were the fossils of the past, clearly lagging behind in the unofficial contest of financially attractive illegal jobs: the new age was for high-profile assassins.
She sank down heavily at one of the tables in the back of the restaurant. It was nothing if not horribly morbid that she could think of it so lightly.
Their food was served fairly quickly, and they ate it in relative silence.
It had no taste but it wasn't necessarily the fault of their meal. The future beyond next day was not only obscure but somewhat dreaded too, and it dulled everything they touched.
Above the small lamp, Lisa stole a glance at Rippner, and was met with his gaze, as much stealthy as hers. Self-consciously, against her own wish, Lisa turned away. She had the strange notion that his gaze could penetrate her, and like a searchlight, creep closer to her secret with each minute she maintained the glance. She hated herself for it: for her feelings for him, for not being able to look at him fully anymore – and in fact, what she really regretted wasn't the former. Somehow it made the burden she had to carry even heavier.
They finished at the same time, just like they usually did, subconsciously adjusting to the other's daily biological rhythm like in a perfect symbiosis. She sat with her back straight as Rippner reclined against the back of the plush headrest of the chair. Their knees touched under the table, shin against shin as he stretched his legs, and she didn't pull away. If anything, she moved closer. Her chest constructed with grief, suddenly too tight to contain the longing, alive and hungry, never asleep, in her heart. This could have been real, in another world, the cozy little restaurant, an intimate dinner with a man on the other side of the table, a man she was able to touch, she wanted to touch. She hadn't felt this way for years. In the eradication of her old life she somehow ended up believing she would never be able to feel such yearning for a man that could easily overwrite every single reason and fear she'd built into the walls of her mental and physical abstinence. It was just so typical, so ironic, that it had to be someone she should hate, fear and very much avoid. Someone she wouldn't see again. Someone who didn't reciprocate because, Lisa reckoned, and he also had confirmed it, wasn't able for anything she expected from him, from someone evoking such emotions in her. Wasn't able for anything beyond his misguided philosophy along the line 'I know you, I own you': his obsessive interest in her life- meant to eliminate the risk factor, the unknown in the equation, by far not being based on emotions- was the natural consequence and means ruled by his inner drive for control. The same control she eventually took back from him.
She frowned, a recent memory assailing her mind. Maybe he was never really in control, in the first place. Never on the top of his unquestionably steady confidence.
She waited patiently for him to ask for the bill. Then to pay. Waited as he gulped down his drink. Waited for her rapidly hammering heart to get out of the way of her words.
There's nothing to lose, she told herself and let her eyes overhaul his features languorously, wholly, his hand, strong and manly and warm, she remembered how warm, how soft- how ruthlessly strong-, on the tabletop, nothing you haven't already lost.
Nothing you ever had at all.
"Jackson."
He looked up, frowning slightly at the finality in her eyes. This was the first time in the last few days she fully returned his gaze, he realized, and at the thought, his body leant forward on its own volition, absorbing the determined yet bashful glint of her eyes.
"This will be a question I don't like," he smirked. "On second thought, a lot of questions I won't like."
She smiled but only faintly, her mind preoccupied with collecting the proper words. "The times while you were watching me, did you have a dangerous affair?"
Rippner was clearly taken aback. "What?"
"Were you in a relationship?"
"If by relationship you mean the orthodox way, then no. I told you I'm not cut out for that."
For a long moment Lisa was giving him a taste of his own medicine by looking at him intensely, pryingly. It smuggled a smile on his face, an amused one, full of anticipation.
"Why did you fight with your friend, Michele? Why did you hit him?"
The smile dropped. "How-?"
Somewhat smugly, Lisa announced. "I have my own sources."
It didn't take him long to find the answer to his own unfinished question. A dark frown descended on his forehead, and to her sinful satisfaction, he appeared clearly discomforted.
"Giovanna…."
As he looked away to the side, fixating a point somewhere on the floor beside her, Lisa knew he was very likely rewinding his memories back to that event, pondering what Giovanna could possibly share with her that he wouldn't approve. He didn't seem to elaborate, just like Lisa had expected, so she pressed on nonetheless. It's not like she'd have a second chance as things stood.
"Why did he accuse you with not being objective anymore and endangering the assignment?"
"Ask him."
"I'm asking you." Emboldened, Lisa chanced. "Were you talking about me?"
"You? Come on," Rippner jeered. His eyes glinted in the diffused lighting as he shifted in the chair. "Nope. About the job."
"That time wasn't it the same?"
That time. Was there such time at all when the two were the same? Perhaps for two weeks in the very beginning. Rippner stared at her, at the superiorly raised perfect eyebrows, the smart, sharp green eyes, and suddenly he understood there was no elegant way out of this. It didn't mean he wouldn't try, though. Dismissively, with a tone he hoped conveyed concentrated indifference, he remarked. "It happens sometimes. When you spend extensively long time with the same assignment, you start to get lost in the details, lose focus."
"It didn't have anything to do with a woman?"
"Excuse me?"
Lisa leant closer above the small lamp, and Rippner found himself struggle not to retreat into safe distance, unnerved by the cruelly clear-sighted gleam on her face. Her gaze didn't falter, and Rippner sensed the determination behind her whole posture. He sensed a wispy despair, too, that he was sure Lisa wasn't even aware of.
Lisa cocked her head to the side, probing the words on her lips. Even the suggestion she was about to utter made her flush in sudden timidity.
"Why did he say then that you shouldn't follow… your physical needs?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
Lisa smirked wryly. "Oh but you do."
"Stop this. It doesn't look good on you." He stood abruptly.
"How hypocritical of you to say that just because you're on the receiving end of it!"
Lisa stood too, as he, not bothering with a comeback, dashed towards the entrance with angry strides. Outside, she fell in line with him with some difficulty, hopping across a smudge of ice on the pavement in the last second.
"Jackson. Why can't you answer me?"
"You don't want to know the answer."
"It's for me to decide. And I wouldn't ask you."
Flatly, he scoffed. "Mind your own business."
"What was it about? What happened back then? Why can't you just be a notch more open to me?" she exclaimed, not even sure anymore why exactly she was persuading this particular topic. His steely resistance stirred something up in her guts, an instinct maybe. It was like bait for a hunting dog.
Thrusting his hands in his pants pockets, Rippner snapped testily. "You don't understand anything. Anything."
"Then explain it to me. I might surprise you."
"The fuck you would."
"Give me a little credit, will you?"
He laughed; cold, crispy laughter, devoid of humor, full of tautness. His steps faltered. He skirted a frozen pond. Shook his head incredulously, stared up at the darkened sky, not really seeing beyond the embarrassing memories of that summer. She was calling fate against her and didn't even seem to catch it wasn't a funny game anymore. He could crush her newfound bravery with a single word of the truth, bring back good old hatred and repulsion. Was that what she wanted? Because it sure as hell was not what he did.
"This is how you always get into trouble. You had it coming, you know."
"I'm not that easily scared, so cut this ominous speech."
Lisa grabbed his elbow and pulled him back, so he was forced to make a half-turn toward her. Here, beyond the range of the nearby lampposts, they stood in relative darkness, their features accentuated by deep contrast from the background light. The orange hue smeared a vivid glow around his hair, emphasized the perfectly cut lines of his cheekbones, the well just below his lips. Her gaze was roaming his face with open gentleness and maybe admiration, too.
Softly, she asked. "Why?"
Shift of shadows on his face; the composition of light and dark made him look comics-like, like a mysterious character in a battered trench coat in those old detective books with black-and-white illustrations.
"Why." He groaned. It wasn't much above a whisper. A sigh.
Was she really provoking this out of him? Was it possible? To his all too confused mind it really seemed so.
Lisa studied him. His face was hard, that of someone before the final battle – before falling. Briskly, he closed the gap between them, almost stepping on her toe. To her credit, Lisa didn't budge. Glaring at her from under his eyebrows, through the tangle of words he'd never planned to tell her milling in his eyes, his forehead brushed against hers as he repeated brusquely like it was nonsense, like it wasn't a question but an answer: "Why."
In the focal point of his gaze, Lisa stood motionless, bewitched, straining her eyes to catch the perfect blue in his, catch what he'd do next. And as if it was an answer to all questions- and maybe in a very symbolic way it really was-, Rippner simply leaned in and kissed her; kissed her with eight weeks of vain, barren yearning, with the fatigue of tedious nights in his car, with all the embarrassing secret longing for obtaining a part of her small private moments; kissed her with the month-long emotional journey she forced him on; with the mental clock counting their minutes back. He caught her bottom lip, nipped it in a way only he was able to: imperatively yet with affectionate tenderness. His arms restrained her with a wiry embrace, full of anticipation of a physical battle, of refusal.
The kiss, like a shattered glass, cut in their lips.
His mouth moved against hers, greedy to get closer and claim its stake, just now, just this one time. Let me- Let me.
He told himself it was nothing but a keepsake – that much he deserved; he'd take it, the token of the memory of her kiss, and proceed on his way. Left and right. No harm in it.
No harm at all.
But it felt like a lie; one of the many he recently tried to shove down his own throat.
He knew he was falling. He undoubtedly was. He could feel it in his chest, in his head, the looming presence of something he could not control or resist. The world, with him in it, got derailed.
Deafened by the frantic thumps of her heart, Lisa found the desperate, almost forlorn desire in herself to respond. Her lonely, secret burden, her sinful, illogical foible seemed ten times heavier now, out in the open. Within reach. Her heart jolted at the ghost of the idea- within reach-, and suddenly everything she'd ever believed in, the deep-rooted standards and sound guidelines she'd lived her life following, were smashed into pieces within her, and her whole heart was smashed with it, too, and for a moment it seemed there was nothing to keep her alive, nothing to make her blood circle in her veins but his lips, his hands on her back, his breath on her cheek, and she pushed away. Pushed away because she couldn't decide if he was binding her to life or perishing her.
The world, that had come to a halt moments before, was yet to move on. The whoosh of the passing cars was dulled to a low hum, everything went silent around them as they were standing there on the remnants of their old lives and lies.
He stared at her, his face grave and solemn, mouth slightly open, her kiss still lingering on its fullness. His eyes a shade deeper, darker than they usually were. And suddenly Lisa recognized the expression that was so alike hers, and also realized he'd just revealed himself and she could turn it against him, destroy whatever trifling humanity- heart- he was still possessing, treat him with his own medicine triumphantly – she could easily do all of that, but didn't want to. And just then, Lisa felt the fragments of that shattered heart melt away, away with her insides, with her mind, with something vital in her. In the overwhelming sense of grief, she felt a sudden rush of hatred for him, because they could have been so many things, so long ago, and because they couldn't be anymore. She hated him, and not because he kissed her, but because he hadn't kissed her earlier.
And somehow he understood what went through her mind, and it made it even worse. Lisa collapsed against his chest, resignation, complete surrender to something bigger than her in her movements. She clung onto him desperately, and he held her tightly like he didn't want to let her go anymore. Lisa felt his head stir searchingly, slowly. His stubble brushed against her skin as he planted a long kiss on her forehead, on her temple.
At his fleeting touch, something snapped within her, something that flooded her with warmth, burning everything in its wake. She'd always been a bit of an emotional self-torturer, and this time it wasn't any different: in the full knowledge of what it was going to catalyze, Lisa clutched his shoulders in the engulfing tide of her own passion, and tilted her head to meet his lips.
His reaction was all-consuming, overpowering. The sensation was incredible, threatening to madden him, and he groaned into her lips, not able to contain a moan of passion. He had imagined this, he didn't deny it now, not once, not twice – his seemingly innocent fantasies that burnt themselves deeper in his cells than he'd ever suspected or was willing to admit. Reality just proved to him again how tenfold intense it could be. It discharged his senses. Not the kiss itself, not even the maddening sensation of her mouth dancing against his, much more the fact per se, the fact that she let him kiss her. The fact that she kissed him back. With all those things that'd happened between them in the past; with the full awareness of who he was.
His mind, the ever rational, whispered to him that it was temporary, that eventually she would come to her senses.
Lisa opened her mouth to taste him, succumbed to the dazing feeling of his lips against hers. Her arms crept around his neck, fingers finding their way in his thick hair. As a reply he encircled her waist, and pulled her close to his body like she'd always belonged there. In the giddiness of the sensation that put out every rational thought in her head, Lisa couldn't doubt it for a minute. The urgency in his move, as if there were no tomorrow, almost broke her heart because for them, there really weren't.
They broke apart, reluctantly so, a sweet, painful throbbing in their lips.
"Lisa." He buried his face in her hair, leaving hot patches of moist as he breathed in her neck, and she shivered with cold and warm. Even through their coats she could feel his heart beat rapidly. She smoothed a chaste kiss on his earlobe, and he sighed again with broken voice that made her belly quiver. "Lisa."
He could have repeated her name for hours, till he'd believe it was true, it was happening. He ran his lips along her jaw, and felt her tremble.
"It's getting cold. We should go back," he mumbled softly. Lisa didn't answer, only nodded against his shoulder.
They walked back hand in hand. Even on this short distance they stopped twice to get themselves lost in each other's feel.
As they hopped up the stairs to their room, Lisa felt like she was levitating a foot above the ground. Her body seemed to revive from its years-long slumber, and she was shimmering with excitement. Every single touch from him ignited something in her belly. She stepped slowly in the room, hesitantly pulling off her coat. She turned toward him only when the door clicked shut, a resounding, deep noise in the silence. She was unsure what would happen, how it would continue, how they should behave now, in this upside down world, but a look at his face told her everything. His eyes, deep, deep blue now, smoldering blue, were alive with unwavering desire, so thick, so dense, that her stomach jostled around with anxiety, and she was short of breath. She'd never seen him this way, open and unguarded, bare to his very raw emotions. There was also something predatory in his gait as he advanced on her. Lisa took a step back, more as part of her role in the usual game than out of fear, and he smirked. She smirked back. His hands sneaked to the back of her head, and he pulled her to his lips, crushing hers with the full force of his passion. Lisa, bold and chaste at the same time, slipped her hands under his coat, running her fingers along the stretched muscles of his back.
The insistent vibration at their hips went unnoticed for the first five seconds. It was Lisa who identified the source of interruption. She glided her mouth down his chin, nipped it, and murmured.
"Jackson…"
He hinted an affectionate peck on the tip of her nose, and groaned. Easily the worst timing ever. His phone was ringing. This is the beginning of our end, he thought somberly.
"I have to… sorry."
Her eyes followed him to the screen door leading to their balcony. He pulled it shut behind him, the phone already glued to his ear. Through the glass, their gazes met, and Lisa frowned, resenting the fact that he didn't want to take his call in front of her.
"Monday at eleven. Room 139 in the main building, western wing. You got it?" Alvarez was asking. Rippner rolled his eyes.
"I didn't. Information overflow, sorry."
"It's not a game, Rippner."
Tell me about it, idiot, he snapped inwardly but let it slide this time. "How will I get in?"
"I have someone wait for you at the entrance on Massachusetts Avenue. He will lead you to the room. It's on a corridor closed on account of construction works, no one will be around. There is a security camera inside, right above the door, identification number 139B. I've just sent you the security code to access it. The customer has to watch the scene, understood?"
"Sure, no worries."
Harshly, emphasized by a long pause in the conversation, Alvarez remarked. "A group of agents will be outside the room. I'll lead them personally."
Rippner didn't have to be a genius to recognize the threat behind the words. "Tomorrow at eleven, then."
He ended the call before the agent could slip in any more threats, and checked the message waiting in the phone: the long security code of the camera. He pushed a button to forward the message to Henry. After it was confirmed the message was sent, he initiated a call to his ex-higher-up.
"What's this code?" Henry asked.
Rippner briefed him, sharing the details Alvarez had just given him.
"The guy will watch the show. Don't screw it, Jackson, that's your only chance."
Pinching his nose bridge, Rippner affirmed. "I won't."
"Where are you now?"
He leant over the balcony rail to see the cheap neon sign on top of a pillar at the entrance of the parking lot. "In some motel called Sunshine, just off I-70. Is the dummy ready? The place?"
"Already secured for days. Good luck, Jackson."
Rippner pocketed the phone. He clutched the ice-cold rails, and stared ahead, beyond the straight line of the interstate, the occasional yellow-red stripes cars pulled with them as they sped away. It would be over tomorrow, the event he had been waiting for, planning for weeks now, and yet he didn't feel the relief he was supposed to.
Lisa was still standing at the foot of the bed when he returned, fixing her pondering, serious glance on him. She couldn't believe how easily his face could transform back into the expressionless mask of the manager she loathed, like he wasn't the same man who'd been just kissing her with all his unleashed passion not so long ago.
Rippner shut the cold gush of wind out with a firm pull at the door, and locked eyes with Lisa. He could see her gaze cloud, the wiry frown enter the line of her eyebrows, and he understood the tender moment they'd shared was lost forever now, and he couldn't help but feel a sudden tide of grief.
"You're not going to hurt Keefe, right?"
Coldly, he answered from the corner of his lips. "I told you already, Leese. I won't. I'm giving him what he wants, simple as that."
"When is it then?"
"Eleven, tomorrow."
"Where?"
"At the DHS," he replied flatly, and before she could proceed, he added warningly. "And that's all for you to know."
When an hour later Lisa climbed in her bed, she thought mournfully how sad way it was to end the day. In the other bed he was already fast asleep. She switched off the lamp, secretly glad for the meager light sneaking in the room from the street outside. Propped up on her elbow, she squinted at him. Only a nightstand stood between them, and he was close enough for her to see his face if she strained her eyes. When he was sleeping, when he wasn't pulling on expressions, or as it often happened, pulling them completely off his face, his lips looked different. There was an innocent look to them, maybe because of the slight pout of the upper lip or the slightly sad curve of the fullness of the lower, she couldn't quite decide. He looked so different that she mused whether nature was ridiculing him by giving him this particular look and this particular personality, or he was decidedly ridiculing his own looks by choosing what he was doing for a living.
It was irreversible, the change in her feelings for him, and Lisa couldn't help but wonder if he knew it, if he did it on purpose. If he was capable of achieving such thing. But it didn't matter anymore, she'd had enough of what-ifs and should-have's for a lifetime.
Lisa sat up straight in her bed, threw her legs over the edge, and let her eyes roam his form. She wanted to watch him sleep because no matter if it ended one way or another, it was the last time she could do that.
: :
It was half past seven in the morning when Rippner awoke to a sore feeling in his shoulder and a complete lack of feeling in his left arm. He soon found an explanation when he opened his eyes, his gaze falling on Lisa's curls spread across his chest and gleaming reddishly in the timid sunlight. Sometime during the night, she had slipped in beside him and was now curled up at his side on the narrow bed. The way things went these days, it didn't even take him by surprise. Although he had sworn she wouldn't sleep with him again, he wasn't about to kick her out of the bed. She didn't leave him any choice, he soothed himself, not really bothered what a transparent excuse it was.
He looked up at the ceiling with his heart beating against her palm, and for the first time in many years, in his whole almost thirty-year span of life, he wanted to begin a sentence, many-many sentences a way he never thought he once would: I wish.
He wasn't used to this passivity; when he wanted something, he took it. But now it was beyond his reach, out of his control. And in many, many years it was the first time he felt regret. Regret that he hadn't met her earlier, under different circumstances, regret that he wasn't somebody else, or she wasn't somebody else. That it wasn't real, the moment, Lisa in his arms, the peace descended upon them. And he wasn't real either. He regretted so many things he'd done to her, and even those he would do but especially those he'd never done. He didn't regret the blood he'd shed, he regretted he wasn't the man she could accept.
I wish…
I wish I'd never met you, his mind settled with an ending eventually, and his arms tightened around her on their own volition.
And in her sleep her fist tightened around his t-shirt, too.
: :
An hour later he was freshly showered and dressed. Lisa started to emerge from sleep when he was zipping his suitcase close, scanning the room for his belongings. She sat up a bit disorientated, blinked against the light. With her tousled hair, the bashful expression on her face when she realized she'd been sleeping in his bed, with the solemn, sad look she was giving him, he all but strode over to the bed and gathered her in his arms.
He swallowed it down, though, and slipped into his coat.
"You're already leaving?" Lisa asked quietly, her voice still hoarse and thick from sleep. She swept her hair out of her face, and he followed the locks with wistful eyes. She was beautiful, and his heart could not contain the loss that he would never see her again this way. He couldn't help but detect the sadness in her eyes as she watched him prepare to leave.
"Give me an hour or two head start, then you're free to go." Rippner cleared his throat to sound steadier. He looked sideways at the table against the far wall. "I left enough money there for a cab and plane ticket. You don't have your own driver's license, so use the one I placed there. You don't have to be in hurry, have a breakfast, a lunch, take your time. I paid the room for one more night. When it's over, I might come back here, that's why," he added explanatorily at her unasked question.
He picked up the laptop bag, grabbed his suitcase.
"After I leave, please don't call your father, I don't want to jeopardize anything."
She didn't seem to be able to find her voice, only nodded a bit absently, dizzily. Rippner turned away, opened the door. How symbolic, he thought wryly, closing this chapter of his life literally with closing a door. Never before felt it so difficult, so wrong. He bowed his head, fighting the urge to go back to her, slip in beside her and continue just where Alvarez's call had interrupted them.
It would have only worsened things. Above his shoulder, he glanced back at her. Were there words efficient and appropriate enough in this situation? He pretty much doubted it.
"Take care, Lisa, and thanks for everything."
Lisa eyed him silently, with achingly thumping heart. It was one of those moments; if it were a movie, the main characters would share a passionate, desperate good-luck kiss. Good-bye kiss. Most probably, very easily, it would have been their last. But it wasn't a movie, and she let him go, and he left without any sign he intended to part otherwise.
He walked out of her life just like that. And it left her just as much thunderstruck as when he'd entered it for the second time. It couldn't be this, just this. An end without an end. There were so many things she wanted to tell him, so many things she wanted him to tell her.
Lisa slacked against the headboard heavily, suddenly feeling very drained.
He wasn't cut out for saying tearful goodbyes, that one she knew for sure but the way he left hurt her. He was going to live under Witness Protection and disappear completely, while she was supposed to go back to her normal, dull routine. Their lives would never cross each other again.
Lisa curled into a fetal position, and sighed miserably. She couldn't process the thought. His absence left a void in her chest that seemed to stretch its physical boundaries. She wanted to see him again, just one time. Just to know how he felt about this, even if it was ridiculous. Even if he would mock her for being overly sappy and emotional. Probably for him it didn't mean that much, probably for him she was one of the many women in his life.
She buried her face in the pillow, and whimpered. It still held his scent, and she sniffed, feeling tears brim her eyes.
"Don't be pathetic," she reprimanded herself but it didn't really help.
Suddenly, she bolted upright.
He had said he might come back here. She could wait for him. That one day didn't really count when she'd been away from home for a whole month now.
Finding relief in the thought, Lisa crawled out of bed, and stumbled toward the bathroom to get ready for the day.
: :
They were on time, his Longines confirmed it for the third time in a minute, and Rippner resented his own involuntary display of anxiety. Keefe had a minute to arrive. The room they appointed for the meeting was a mess of bricklayer tools, buckets and ladders. A huge rectangle of white plastic cover was hanging before the window, dotted with grey splatters of plaster. It filtered the natural light, and enveloped the room in constant dimness, giving an ominous glare to the scene for the security camera above the door.
Just as they'd agreed with Alvarez, he'd been waiting at the entrance of the Naval District, just off the buildings of American University, and according to the instructions, an FBI agent- morose, well-built, man of few words- had led him to the main building in the middle of the huge site, a red brick, four-story complex. The corridor they'd walked down was indeed under renovation, though there were no workers in sight, obviously they got a day off today. Alvarez was waiting for them in a niche just across a door with the embedded black sign of 139. Though he'd said it otherwise over the phone, he was alone, except for Rippner's tour guide. Rippner snickered inwardly: it hardly could be called a group of agents.
At the sound of the door opening, he turned around, and greeted Keefe with an arrogant smirk.
"I hope this little meeting is really worth it," the politician remarked sharply.
Rippner smiled coldly. "Oh it is."
Keefe fixed a piercing, hard glare on him he usually used to accompany his moral speeches about the threat of global terrorism. When Rippner didn't appear to be affected by it, he snapped impatiently. "You said you'd give me a name and proof."
"I know what I said," the superior grin never left his face, and Rippner pulled on an expression of deep concentration that was all but real. "But the thing is, it set me thinking: what kind of a deal do we have after all? Was it good enough? Because you see, in a way I'm a businessman, there's no deal without a good offer."
"The offer's that you'd go under Witness Protection."
Clicking his tongue, Rippner pursed his lips with mock disapproval. "You know, I can't decide if this term is offending or simply pathetically naïve. Not to mention if living like that would qualify as life at all."
"Then what do you want? Money?"
"No, definitely not. I probably have more money than an immaculate and honorable politician like you might possess."
"You want to be released? To be set free?" Keefe guessed with increasing annoyance and nervousness. He watched with rising temper as the younger man lifted his eyebrow in a sardonic manner, the wrinkles on his forehead were carved with irony and condescension. It was all he could do not to smack his nose just like that – he'd been famous of his right hook in the army.
"To pick up the role of the poor game in a bloody chase?" Rippner shook his head with a pout. "No, thank you."
"Okay, don't play with me. Why don't you just tell me what you want?"
Rippner smiled as an old memory invaded his mind. He had enjoyed incomparably more their private question and answer game back on the plane with Lisa. His heart unexpectedly skipped a beat. Lisa. Irritated, he forcibly pushed the thought out of his mind.
"Let's see. My old life?"
"I'm afraid it's impossible."
"This is what I thought, too. But you know, the idea makes me really sad. Then I started to think about it." He snapped his fingers. "I thought: why not show loyalty to those who'd been nice to me, and maybe in return, they'd show loyalty to me, too. Give me another chance. You know: quid pro quo. Don't think bad guys are all rotten. We have our own moral codes."
"Oh, yes, I can imagine how lofty they are."
"Lofty enough without being cheesy, don't worry. So, where was I? Oh yes. I won't bore you with the details of my inner musings, but what eventually concerns you is that I decided not to rat on our poor guy and spare him. After all, what good would it bring on my associates."
Alarmed, Keefe watched Rippner walk up and down, with his hand behind his back like a professor on the podium.
"So, what now? You plan to bid farewell and walk away?"
"No, unfortunately I can't do that. As a politician you surely understand how we need to sacrifice things sometimes. To show how earnest we are. Symbols, diplomatic gifts, gestures, all that shit."
With strained muscles, Keefe's body tensed. "What are you talking about?"
Rippner's strides came to an abrupt halt as he turned fully toward him. He cocked his head slightly to the side, and studied him with the patience of a parent lecturing his child. "Of course, I'm talking about you."
The moment froze between them. Keefe took a step toward him, an intimidating long stride when out of nowhere, Rippner produced a gun, cockily dangling it around his index finger. Keefe drew back a step, completely shocked.
"How could you bring a gun in here?"
A smile, creepy and arrogant lighting up on his face as Rippner smacked his tongue again. "Tsk. I don't think it should be your gravest concern, now, shouldn't it?"
Keefe was a tall man, well-built, and for his age, in perfect condition. He'd always prided himself for not really losing the physical quickness and balance he'd gained back in the army. Jackson Rippner, shorter, light and lean, looked like a man he could break in half anytime.
So when Keefe lunged at him, the result of the ensuing fight seemed to be all too obvious.
Apparently, Rippner knew everything about pressure points, muscles points, reflex points, as in dazing rapidity, he applied three different ones on him in a row. In the blink of an eye, Keefe found himself kneeling on the dirty floor with Rippner behind his back. The metal tip of the gun's silencer marking a sore point on the back of his neck, signaling how foolish the whole plan had been, showing the real price he had to pay for making a deal with the devil – right now, he wouldn't have given a dime for his own life. Rippner was either a talented actor or betrayed them just how he'd said. Probably both.
If he could take a look at Rippner's face, Keefe would have realized how in line their thoughts were at the moment.
With a contented sneer, Rippner cocked the gun. Standing with his back to the door, he could only hope the guy on the other end of the security camera was enjoying it just as much as he did.
Here they were, in the final act of a too long play. Keefe was so eager to find out the truth about the attempt against him that he went as far as releasing him from prison and giving him a gun while he was standing there defenseless. Rippner regarded him incredulously. For a politician, for the deputy secretary he was incredibly naïve; he was too small for this game to fold up something so vast as this crime organization. It was like a disease, like cancer. Finding the customer, a chessman on the chessboard… so useless. Keefe thought if he burnt out the infection on one point, that would cure everything else, too – but the tissue was scarred and damaged, the malignant tumor too wide-spread to be cured. A whole net of infection.
With voice remarkably steady, though Rippner still could feel the tremble of underlying terror beneath it, Keefe chanced. "You can't get away with this. Don't be foolish!"
Rippner watched him, gun in hand. All it took was a bullet. A well-placed- or misplaced- bullet. And it'd be over. It'd be over either way. Keefe was crazy. How could he trust someone like him? Someone so corrupted. A tiger cannot change its stripes, now, can it?
How could she trust him, to begin with?
They were all crazy. And maybe he was nothing more than the fool who followed the other fools.
"It'll be a real pleasure, Keefe, to finally finish the job."
He smiled drily, and did what summed up the biggest issue in the past half year of his life: pulled the trigger.
: :
"Got the room. We're on the way," came the hasty report over the com. Alvarez acknowledged it with a satisfied grunt as he pressed himself closer to the wall just beside the door to room 139. Several minutes passed in nerve-wrecking anxiety when all he could hear was muffled shuffle of rubber soles against concrete first, then polished parquet a minute later.
As his ears caught the unmistakable pop of a silencer on the other side of the door, he barked in the intercom: "Hurry up, Coulson."
On cue, shouting came over the headpiece, and soon a collected voice announced: "Agent Alvarez, we have the suspect secured."
"Good," was the answer, and Alvarez charged at the door, signaling to the other agent and a med to follow.
The door opened without resistance.
Inside, Keefe was lying on the floor in his own blood, and above him, the creep of a criminal was standing with a disturbing, insolent smirk on his face.
: :
Agent Coulson didn't really come across as a chatty person. That much Martin Carter, Military Advisor of the Office of the Secretary could determine very quickly.
"Would anyone give me an explanation on what's going on? Is there anyone willing to talk?" he repeated for the third time in a row but instead of the four FBI agents swarming his room just a few minutes before and keeping him in place with drawn guns, a fifth voice replied.
"Yes."
The new man was dressed in black, alike his fellow agents but his gait betrayed he was in charge here. After all, Carter had been serving in several different military positions over the last twenty years, and such seemingly trifling signs couldn't go unnoticed for him.
"I'm agent Alvarez."
Pulling himself to full height, Carter glared up at the other man, so much in harsh contrast with the athletic, strong built of the agent and his own ever growing belly and slumped shoulders.
"Good, are these your men? I was just telling them that…" his eyes shifted sideways, rested somewhere above Alvarez's right shoulder. His hand jerked upwards accusatorily. "That man… that was the man who killed Charles Keefe."
With a calm smirk on his face, all Rippner did was perk an amused eyebrow. Alvarez did the talking for him.
"Yes, we know."
"Then why is it me who get arrested? It's unacceptable!"
Shuffling noise came from the corridor, rapidly approaching, nervous steps, and a moment later, with a wan medic in his heels, Charles Keefe stepped in the room. With his right hand, he was pressing a fistful of gauze to his neck, right below his ear. Carter, abashed, gaped at him with unhealthily whitened face.
"I… I thought…"
"No, I'm not dead, Martin… Mr. Rippner here is evidently a lousy shot."
"Rippner? But that's…" A moment of silent process of information. He apparently gave it up, because not without a hint of annoyance, Carter admitted: "I don't understand."
"You've been on my list, but never suspected it really could be you."
Confused, Carter shook his head. "Could be what?"
Calmly, especially for a man with a bullet-carved wound on his neck, Keefe stated. "The one who ordered my assassination back in Miami."
Carter physically recoiled as if Keefe had just hit him. "What are you talking about? I've never seen this Rippner other than in the news."
"Of course, you haven't. We never get the assignment in person. Not the operatives, at least," Rippner interjected smugly.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"I'm talking about someone close to me placing my name on a death note. To find out who exactly it was, we orchestrated this little setup. If you'll excuse me," Keefe said, as if it was a courtesy visit, and sank onto the chair just opposite Carter's walnut-wooden desk. The nervous medic immediately rushed to his side to change the bloody gauze to a clean one and check on the injury. "The security cameras in this wing were turned off this morning. The official reason was the ongoing construction work. We were monitoring everyone's system, every single computer and mobile. Switching to camera 139B, you rebooted the security monitoring system."
His voice thundering, Carter exclaimed. "It was a routine check. I accidentally saw it."
Keefe had a dry smile across his lips as he remarked: "Till this morning, 139B hadn't existed. You couldn't just accidentally find it unless you were specifically searching for it."
Turning a shade of angry red, Carter growled with increasing anxiety as if only now realizing what a mess he'd gotten into: "This is ridiculous. It popped up on my monitor out of nowhere. I thought it was an old footage!"
"Oh really? We'll see." Gesturing toward the other man, Keefe looked back over his shoulder. "Rippner?"
Without the need for further instructions, Rippner pulled out his cellphone while every eye in the room focused on him. Henry picked it up almost immediately.
"It's me. Keefe's out. I'm just outside the complex, could barely escape the FBI. Hope our guy's satisfied. When the coast is clear, we'll talk how to proceed, right?"
"Don't worry about that. Good job, Jackson. Clear out of there."
Confidently, Rippner pocketed the phone without any comment. For a moment the room was enveloped in complete silence while Carter fidgeted without a clue as to what this new step was escalating into. Then a soft buzz of a phone resounded, and Alvarez leapt to Carter, without asking for permission, reached in the other man's breast pocket, and retrieved his mobile.
"I guess it's for you," he gazed cursorily at the display, and placed his thumb over the button to accept the call. With his other hand, he lifted the gun, and aimed it at his head. "Not a wrong word."
He put the phone on speaker. On the other end of the line, it was silence, before at Alvarez's nudging, Carter forced out a hoarse 'yeah?'. The voice answering him was cool and matter-of-factly. Keefe turned toward Rippner for confirmation, and he gave an assuring nod.
"Rippner's just called, says the job's done," Henry informed. "He managed to escape but don't worry, he'll be taken care of. We already have the girl."
Spotting Keefe's confused look, Carter mumbled absently. "What girl?"
"Lisa Reisert, remember? We found her back in their motel. Rippner's the next. Don't worry, we'll take this over from here."
With that, Henry ended the call.
The ensuing silence was heavy with dread from both sides. Carter seemed to slowly understand it just had been the seal on his fate, and protested with full volume when Alvarez informed him that he was under arrest. In the chaos, Keefe called to the four agents guarding the door.
"Okay, take him. Then seize everything here, his laptop, cellphone, everything. I don't want anything to miraculously disappear."
As Carter was lead out of the room, there was a silent exchange of glances between Alvarez and Keefe before the agent strode up to Rippner, and with a smooth, fast move, he clicked a pair of handcuffs around his wrists.
"What are you doing? We had a deal!"
With barely concealed delight, Alvarez grabbed his elbow to hold him in place.
"We first make an investigation. When everything is cleared, you can go." Slyly, he added. "Besides, we've yet to prepare your witness profile, right? Turning you into an inconspicuous middle class citizen."
Ignoring the agent, Rippner glared directly at Keefe. "It wasn't mentioned in the deal."
"That's the procedure."
Trying to contain his temper, Rippner hissed. "What about Lisa? You heard him, right?"
After a beat of unsure silence, Keefe promised with his guarded politician-face. "We'll make our move."
Rippner suddenly grew incredibly angered. Shaking off the agent's hand, he took a heavy step toward Keefe and spat with all his venom and bitterness he could muster: "The hell you will. You don't give a damn what happens to her! Collateral damage, right?"
That made Keefe jump to his feet, losing his cool.
"Some nerve you have. If I remember correctly, it was you who kidnapped her. Did you give a damn what you were pushing her into?"
Rippner blew the air out loudly. He breathed in. Anger wouldn't take him far, he knew. He exhaled. Lisa was in danger. Quietly, calmly but letting the well-portioned despair seeping through his voice, he tried to negotiate.
"Let me go after her."
Alvarez snorted. "Yeah, like you would."
Rippner disregarded him, and stared at Keefe instead. "Mr. Keefe, I'm the one they want, and I'm the only one who could find her. I could talk to them."
"Agent Alvarez is right. I can't let you go to run around freely, Rippner."
Rippner bit his bottom lip. His heart jostled around in his chest. They had to let him go. Never before had he despised Keefe like he did at the moment when the politician was in the full knowledge of sacrificing Lisa. Lisa, who was so naively devoted to him.
"Without me, you'd never find her. You know that. And you have nothing to fear: they'd never take me back after what I've just pulled. Sooner rather than later when word gets around. Probably they already know I misled them."
Keefe eyed him curiously, and Rippner sensed the wavering determination in his stance, and with weak hope he realized, Keefe just as much wanted to have Lisa safe as he did.
"Why would you risk your life for Ms. Reisert?"
Rippner set his jaw, his gaze turning cold and unreadable. "I have my own reasons."
"You understand that it's not good enough an explanation, right?"
Rippner glared silently, the muscle in his jaw twitching with annoyance. Suddenly Alvarez barked an incredulous laughter.
"Can the Stockholm Syndrome work the other way around?"
"Fuck you," he growled with low voice. Alvarez only smirked at him, reveling in his fury and embarrassment.
Ironically, this was what granted him what he wanted. Keefe heaved a sigh, and gestured to a very dumbstruck Alvarez to take off the handcuffs and release him.
: :
His hand froze on the key in the ignition. It was both the metaphorical and, seeing the junction ahead, literal crossroads.
He could do two things: either run, play the hero and probably get killed, or what he was the best in: taking care of himself, withdrawing his funds from the various bank accounts and fleeing the country, leaving everything behind, Keefe, the FBI, the company, Lisa.
Yes, Lisa, too.
He didn't delude himself anymore: the last one wasn't an option. Even the dilemma popping up in his mind seemed to be nothing but routine, old instincts reviving, habit of saving himself and only himself coded in his DNA ever since he could remember. He wasn't suicidal, that was true. But this was the first time it occurred to him that he'd never really wanted to look deeper under the surface, never questioned things that were given, and never tried to figure out if things could or should be otherwise in his life. Now Lisa made him ask the question, made him doubt himself, his way of living and seeing things, and she did it without force, without any expectation, without words. It was enough she was around. That she existed. That she kissed him back. That she'd been waiting for him at their roadside motel. Ridiculous enough, the mere thought of her not existing anymore qualified as some form of suicide for him.
The life he was conducting, technically, in fact, wasn't anything more than the reflection of other people's lives. He, the mere onlooker, let their train pass him by, and on the platform, he was watching them go by, the draught slapping him. With detached calmness, he became the part of their everyday courses, having nothing on his own; and later, all these details, all these secondhand memories were wiped away with their lives, and he moved on to the next. Between two assignments, he hated the breaks, the time he was granted to build something for himself, but always was forced to make it short for not knowing how long the pause might last. In these intermissions, only momentary indulgences could require a slot in his days, and it was fine with him because on the other end of the spectrum, all he saw was a 9-to-5 pattern of boredom that he despised ever since a child.
Or rather, till he met her.
And ironically, Lisa's life was one of the most boring ones out of his marks, and still, it shook something within him, stirred a desire he'd never even known existed.
Rippner had never had illusions: their ways could cross only by force from his side, the likes of them never matched, and there was no way he could expect her to behave with anything but animosity toward him. Toying with the possibility of them ending up together was like a child daydreaming of being an astronaut when growing up. Something that the very inner part of him was craving for, but knew would be impossible. An alternate universe he could build up for himself and it wasn't anything but ointment for wounds he wasn't even aware of. Maybe a bit of normalcy and innocence he liked to sink into, like a cushion in leisure time, and that was all.
This was how he liked to label it.
And then, suddenly the tables were turned when she reciprocated whatever twisted and sick desire he poured on her. It was far beyond any comprehensible explanation. It brought his astronaut-dreams to light, within reach, intrigued, challenged him if he still wanted it, and what he would possibly do for it.
Saving the day. Going against everything he'd ever been and believed in.
And ironically, by doing so, he was aware of something else that came with it: losing everything.
Losing her.
: :
The wires were the first they ripped off him. The second was the tracker hidden in his shoes. He'd told Alvarez these men weren't idiots.
Next thing, they retrieved his luggage from the trunk of the Audi, loaded it into their black Cherokee. Never leave a trace behind, the number one golden rule in this business.
The three men waiting for him at the motel were vaguely familiar; the third, named Lloyd, he never really liked. Lloyd had no style, and more importantly, no objections in any form. His presence here was definitely not a good sign.
As Rippner got in their car, his eyes travelled along his captors' features, along the chopped lips here, the fresh bloody scratches grooved with fingernails there, and smiled. Lisa had apparently put up a good fight. A surge of pride shot through him that got immediately trampled down by worry. He had no idea in what state he would find her wherever they were going to take him, and his stomach sank.
It was an industrial area with warehouses situated far from each other on the lots divided by cracked concrete roadways. The snow looked almost untouched, except for the few track lines of car tires crossing it. The huge hangar they parked with the car in showed no difference from the others around. Inside it was cold and poorly lit, the air heavy with the smell of steel and gasoline. Apart from an old bulldozer, there was no stock in the warehouse.
In the back of the premise, huddled on a wooden pallet, Lisa gazed up at the approaching group. Rippner's throat constructed at the look of worry in her eyes as she recognized him among the men. His eyes roamed her, searching for serious wounds but apart from fright and minor injuries, she appeared fine.
"Ah, Jackson," Henry welcomed him with a tone as though he was surprised to see him there. He was standing a few yards off, in the doorway of a room that once had to be an office. He pulled the door close, and the men surrounding Rippner took a step back, giving space.
Catching the glance Rippner had shared with Lisa, Henry gestured toward her with the ghost of an amused smile.
"You'll be pleased to hear what an interesting thing happened here. I tried to get some information about the infamous flight since Miss Reisert seemed so keen on sharing her memories with me before, but to my utter surprise, she didn't elaborate now."
Feeling a proud smile force its way on his lips, Rippner replied flippantly. "Oh, haven't I mentioned she can be very adamant when forced? Maybe you should have said please."
"Well, unfortunately, it will forever stay a mystery," Henry shook his head, a hint of regret shooting though his expression. "You realize you're gonna die, don't you, Jackson?"
"Everything comes to an end," he remarked softly.
"Always so stoic. Even before the end. I always liked that in you. For the memory of good old times, your death will be as painless as possible. Such a shame it had to end this way but I understand, really. You created a very delicate situation for yourself."
Lloyd stepped closer again, and steered him toward the pallet Lisa was kneeling on.
"You can watch her go first." Smirking hungrily, Lloyd added: "Her death won't be so humane. There're quite a lot of people at the company who'd happily kill her, including me. All that work and time invested in that case…"
"What are you talking about? It was my case, my time and work!"
"And we added ours to the preparation, the techs, ops, everyone."
Rippner shook off the hand gripping his elbow, and snapped. "Yeah, right, but it was nothing compared to mine. My eight weeks wasted on it, my wounds, my fucking body and life on the line."
"It doesn't make any difference." Lloyd pulled Lisa roughly to her feet, pushed her against the wall, and kept her there with his forearm pressed against her throat.
Suddenly, Lisa's arm shot out, and the base of her palm connected with Lloyd's nose. He hollered and clutched his face before backhanded her. As a payment, Lisa spat the blood at him.
That's my Lisa. As soon as the thought sprang to life in his head, Rippner bore down it cruelly. She was about to ruin everything, including her well-being.
"Lisa!" he said authoritatively, warningly. Lisa blinked at him, and seeing his serious glare, she went motionless. She leant her head against the wall, and watched him with haunted, longing eyes. He knew what she was thinking of, because that was exactly what ran through his mind, too.
Henry stated apathetically. "She's a pain in the ass, Jackson. I see why you failed."
Crossing his arms, Rippner gave just as an apathetic nod toward the other man, using the patronizing expression that he was the master of.
"You know, I wouldn't be so rushed with your little execution party. I happened to know there are some very intriguing pieces of information about you in the FBI database. So intriguing that the company might not even give you a chance to clear your name."
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't worry," Rippner only gave him a cocky smile. "Anything can be undone with a bit of good work and cooperation."
Henry turned on his heels, and disappeared in the back office for a few long and heavy minutes before returning with a taut scowl.
"You're aware that you've just signed your own death warrant, right? There's no way I'd let you go after pulling this."
"Good because I didn't have this in mind."
"What did you have in mind?"
A heartbeat-long silence. Rippner shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and claimed. "Let her go. Safe and sound, and leave her alone for good. She's harmless, knows nothing."
The silence seemed to freeze everyone in the warehouse as they gaped at Rippner, at Lisa. Eventually it was Lloyd who lost it.
"What are you, Jackson? Some fucking Crusader? Or is she your new fuck?
Losing all sparks of smug humor, Rippner snorted. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Care to tell me why would you ask something like this?"
"It's my business."
Lloyd pulled his gun out. "Wrong answer."
"Jackson, answer the question," came Henry's authoritative voice. Rippner shrugged, stole a glance at Lisa who was fixating him with unwavering attention.
"An old promise I plan to keep. My conscience wants you to let her go. She's been a great opponent, one of the best I've ever met; that alone earned her the right to live."
Lloyd laughed coldly, swirled the gun pompously around his finger like a Western hero. "Always so proud of your skills, right? If someone happens to match you, they can't be anything but magnificent."
"Something along that line, yeah."
Lloyd snapped his fingers. "Too bad you're in no position to trade."
"Really? Then go ahead without my help."
"Or I just go ahead and shoot you right now."
"Then shoot me."
"Okay."
In the enormous space, among the metal walls and fixtures, the shot rang deafeningly. It was followed by Lisa's strangled cry of terror as she watched Rippner fall on the floor. For a moment, the world darkened and ceased moving with a sudden stop like it crushed against a wall.
Through her dread, Lisa stared. She was relieved to realize he was only shot in his right leg, but as he struggled to sit upwards, plastering his hand on the wound, her heart skipped a beat at the look in his eyes. It was fleeting, only for those perceptible who knew him that much: the cloud of fear. That was when she realized they were going to die.
Through clenched teeth, with voice wavering with pain and anger, Rippner growled up at Lloyd with pure disgust. "I still won't help you, dickhead. Let her go, and I'm all yours. She's of no use for you anyway."
Calmly, Henry stepped closer, directing Lloyd away from Rippner. "Why are you so sure we wouldn't kill her afterwards?"
With a strangled smile, with the remnants of his old respect for the other man, Rippner remarked. "You've always been a gentleman. Just as I, you keep your word. I trust you."
Henry gave the same smile as was on Rippner's face. "Fine, we have a deal then."
"Good." Rippner was all business again as though he weren't sitting in his own blood in a distant warehouse somewhere in Maryland, just between life and death. Closer to death, actually. "Put her on the first plane to Miami, and give her a phone. When she calls me and I'm sure she's safe, we can have the deal."
There was a moment of hushed exchange between the armed men while Rippner felt his eyes search for her gaze. Lisa, not forced to stay at the wall anymore, yet pressing her body to it like she couldn't move away, returned the gaze so sadly that made Rippner bite in his own lip.
"All right, Jackson. She'll be taken to the airport right away."
One of the men Rippner could not recall the name of gripped her arm and led her toward the Cherokee. Over her shoulder, Lisa locked her gaze with his, a desperate glint in the depth of the green orbs as if it was she who was marching into death, not him. His heart wanted to break out of his chest as millions of thoughts rushed through his head, millions of words and acts and glances they'd shared or were to share if things were different.
Before he knew it, Rippner spoke up: "Let me talk to her for a moment."
Lisa, not waiting for permission, tore her arm out of the steely grip, and hurried back to him. Her gaze fell on the rapidly increasing red blur on his pants as she crouched beside him. For a moment neither seemed to be able to talk.
"Why are you doing this?" she mumbled, unable to look at him. "I thought you weren't suicidal."
"Sometimes there's no other way. I'm already doomed anyway. I'd been so ever since-" he faltered to an abrupt halt. Ever since. Ever since he'd started to see her for more than a mark. Ever since he allowed himself to watch her for two months for nothing but his own delight. Ever since he stopped being professional. He couldn't tell that, though in hindsight, it was probably the closest to the truth. "Ever since the flight."
"The flight." Her head was reeling. Those had to be someone else's memories.
How could they get this far? Their journey across the country was just as much physical as emotional, maybe even a bigger journey than killing miles and miles of road. After everything they'd gone through, her old safe and normal life had never been less appealing than that instant. She had no doubt now, whatever way it ended, he eventually managed to break her heart, ruin her life yet again, if unintentionally. You'll never forget him, her heart whispered, and she realized how tragic it was. How utterly sick and screwed, too. Never forget him, and not because of what he'd done but for what he'd never done to her.
"Call me when you're safe. Let me know if something's off. I don't think they'd hurt you but still…"
"I'll be okay, Jackson," she breathed weakly. She refused to cry, not in this grim dirty warehouse, before these men. Her fingers brushed the back of his hand still pressing against the wound. It was a secret touch, she hid it from the prying eyes; it was only theirs.
Rippner watched her intensely, and this time she didn't mind it.
"I'm sorry," he said suddenly.
And he really was. For the mayhem he'd put her through, the half-lies and half-truths, the pain, fights and blame ever since he'd waltzed into her life through the backdoor. He watched her face, knowing all too well it was very well the last time they would see each other.
He was still selfish enough to relish in the knowledge what irreversible changes he'd had on her life, turning it upside down – it was his legacy. He thought back at the immeasurable impact she claimed on his life in the past almost half year, and Rippner realized his apology wouldn't lead him that far that he'd change any of it. No matter the fall that left him shattered, the rage that'd consumed him and made him run into his own demise. Knowing that probably he was as much of her undoing as she was for him soothed him.
"For what?" Lisa whispered, looking utterly confused.
It wasn't a look saying 'for what exactly of all those things you've done to me', and he knew then, knew very well she really didn't understand, couldn't guess what there was for him to be sorry for. That very minute, at the manifestation of such forgiveness and absolute lack of regret for her past lost-forever life, all the things he'd robbed her of, something shifted in him. With a belated thunderbolt of realization he recognized what, in fact, he'd just lost with her; also recognized he was not in control anymore; something all-powerful took it over, and very probably all he was granted was the choice between two different kinds of misery. And this time regret was real because he was being selfish again, mourned the possibilities he would never take with her now.
He stilled his hands that wanted to reach out to touch her but couldn't still his heart. If he could kiss the right now invisible dimples beside her lips, the evidence that she could wear a true smile all for him…
He let her go without any physical contact, still wary of its irresistible, irrational power over him, still thinking that eliminating it, he would eliminate, cut off the puppeteer strings pulling his heart, his will in unpredictable ways. With the last shred of a coherent old-Jackson thought, he dismissed her with the inward farewell: This is our last time.
He hoped it would serve as his absolution, would redeem him in a way, wash him clean and bring his rest after it ended here.
: :
The phone was shaking in her hand.
The first outbound flight from Baltimore to Florida was scheduled to Fort Lauderdale.
After a numb and long drive to the airport she spent lying on the backseat with a blindfold covering her eyes, and after the nerve-racking routines of the airport security check, Lisa boarded the plane. Now with her seatbelt on, she turned toward the window, and slumped against the wall, staring at the only number programmed in the memory of the mobile she was given. Almost all of the passengers were already seated when her thumb pushed the call button, dreading what might wait for her on the other end of the line.
He picked up immediately, almost before it properly rang out. "Lisa?'
Her voice came as a whisper. "Yes."
"You're okay?"
"Yeah."
"Are you sure?"
Lisa groaned, tears bubbling in her throat. She could hear him softly chuckle on the other end. How absurd it was that he chose to bring back this particular memory now; now that she was on a plane again.
"The plane's about to take off…" she remarked, rather just to say something. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her fingertips to the corners just like he used to do it. "What will happen to you?"
"We'll have the deal."
"But… then?" At the ensuing silence, her heart clenched so vehemently that it took her breath away. "They will-?"
She couldn't make herself say the word. But she didn't really have to.
After another stretch of silence, his voice came. "No."
Lisa choked on her tears, realizing only now that she was crying. "The first time I know you lie to me. Does it serve you now?"
"It was meant to serve you," he said softly.
"Jackson." Lisa fought back a sob. "Jackson… I just… we…"
"No, don't."
With voice thick with emotions, Lisa groaned. "You don't even know-"
"Maybe I don't. But it's too late anyway. It's always been too late."
For us. She could hear the two trifling words lingering in the air. Her heart dropped. How could he say that?
Weeping openly, Lisa watched the flight attendants bustle around. She was afraid her heart might spill out with the words she had to say. "I have to switch it off."
"It's okay. Just take care. I'm sorry for all of this, Leese."
"No… don't…" She wanted him to stop speaking with such infinity. Below her the floor started to tremble as the rotors roared into life. "I can't end this."
He knew just as much as she did that Lisa wasn't only referring to the call.
"I'll do it for you," he whispered quietly, calmly. She wished she could see him just one more time, with that soft look in his eyes. "Forget me, Leese. Forget everything and move on."
When he ended the call, something else, something obvious and simple and naïve ended, too.
Lisa didn't really remember the rest of the flight. Before take-off, she texted to her father, telling him to pick her up at the airport, and she hugged her sweater to her chest, silently crying into its folds; on its sleeve, his blood from when she'd touched him had already dried.
The irony of the situation wasn't lost on her: the last time she was on a plane, she was threatened with her dad's life by a high-profile assassin, and now, the next time she had to fly, she was crying her heart out because somewhere in an abandoned warehouse, after trading in everything he had for her safety, the very same assassin was most probably bleeding his life out.
The sun had just started to set when she landed in Fort Lauderdale. The familiar form of her father drew an askew smile on her face as he hugged her tightly. One full month had passed since they met, and Lisa felt that this month was a pivotal point in her life and personality, changing everything forever.
"Lisa, honey, are you okay?"
She couldn't make herself lie because nothing was fine and she hadn't been so much not okay for a long time. Ironically enough, this time her father let it drop as he examined her from head to toe.
"Is that blood?"
Lisa, fresh tears swarming her eyes, was still clutching the sweater. "Not mine."
"Give me that, I'll trash it."
"No!" she exclaimed fiercely, hugging it even tighter to her chest.
How could she tell him that this sweater, the brownish, dry blood-flowers on it, was the only thing that remained for her of a man her father shouldn't even know she had feelings for?
"Don't ask anything, please. Just take me home."