Chapter 13: The House That Jackson Built
July, 2012
They had only been back at the house for two days, but Jackson was ready for another vacation. Lisa had gone on a manic cleaning spree when they returned, so naturally her compulsion meant that he had to work as well. After a day and a half of scouring the inside of the house, Lisa had finally migrated to the yard to attack the weeds in her outdoor flower beds while she put Jackson on mowing duty. He quickly charged through his assignment and then disappeared into the greenhouse, claiming that he was going to tend to her enclosed plants. It was a partial truth, as he did do a little "tending" here and there, but for the most part, he sat under one of the tables and hid from her in case she decided to build an addition to the house before nightfall or do something else insane. He knew why she was keeping herself busy and why her busywork had to be cleaning, but he wasn't in the mood.
He was in stand-by mode as his last minute plans constantly lingered in his mind.
After Lisa had finally rid the flower bed on the kitchen side of the house of weeds and rearranged the dirt to her satisfaction, she planted some white trillium flowers that she had brought back from the farm in Virginia. She had found quite a few wild patches of them on the property and the angular three-petaled flower was so unusually shaped yet oddly beautiful that she had to have some for herself. As she guided the last flower beneath the soil and started securing it with her hands, she felt her heart constrict in sorrow at the idea that this white wildflower seemed almost like a flower for a grave.
Anxiety loomed over her as Death lay in wait for them.
"How was the trip?" A startled yelp escaped Lisa's lips as she fell back onto the ground. Anna was instantly by her side to help her stand up. "I'm so sorry! I didn't realize that you were so into it."
Lisa brushed the dirt off of her bottom and her knees. "No, no, it's fine. I was," Lisa began, rolling her eyes illustratively, "somewhere else." Lisa half-expected Frank to be at Anna's side since his vulnerable wife was in enemy territory, but he was nowhere to be found.
Anna grinned and nodded knowingly. "I guess it's true: Virginia is for lovers."
Lisa blushed in a moment that mixed her real life with her character. "How are things?" She knew how things stood with Frank, but she wanted to hear Anna's perspective on his sudden coldness toward his friends.
"He's been a little down lately," Anna cryptically stated. "He just celebrated his second year of retirement a few weeks ago and I think he's feeling old and useless. You know men. If they can't control the world, they feel like they shouldn't even be in the world."
"I think I know exactly what you mean," Lisa corroborated, observing Jackson over Anna's shoulder as he approached them.
"Anna," he greeted, wrapping an arm around her back in an open hug for a small, friendly exchange.
She patted his hand where it rested on her shoulder. "Jack, how are you?"
"Fantastic! Frank at home?" he asked as he moved away from Anna and toward his fake wife.
"Yeah," Anna replied. "Maybe you can bring him back to life. He hasn't even tinkered around in his shop for weeks."
Jackson smiled and nodded understandingly. He kissed Lisa on the cheek. "I'll go say 'hey,'" he told both of them before taking a few steps backwards and turning for Frank's house.
Jackson watched Frank stare him down through the window before he even made it across the street, and once Jackson reached the sidewalk, Frank had the front door open.
"You've got some balls," Frank spat at him, opening the door all the way. "Get in here," he barked without any pretense.
Jackson smirked smugly and did as instructed. Frank shut the door and locked it. Anna didn't have her key with her since Frank was in the house, so if something happened, she wouldn't be able to get in and possibly find herself in trouble.
Jackson shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I need your help."
"I take it back. Hugging my wife after you threatened to kill her doesn't qualify you as having balls. Asking for help after threatening to kill her—now that gives you balls." Frank crossed his arms across his broad chest and waited for whatever Jackson had to say. He was sure it was going to be good.
"I have a plan, but in order for the plan to work, I'm going to need some supplies."
Frank shrugged indifferently. "Then go buy them."
"Not these supplies. These items are the types of things that people on FBI wanted lists don't stroll into police and army surplus stores to buy."
"Order online," Frank proposed, not budging.
Jackson shifted his weight and exhaled softly. "No can do. It's something that would raise flags that shouldn't be raised for us."
"For you. She's innocent," Frank corrected him.
"She's in just as much danger as I am. If I get caught, so will she."
Frank uncrossed his arms and put his hands on his hips authoritatively. "What's this master plan of yours?"
Jackson made a small hissing sound. "Can't say."
"'Can't,'" Frank echoed. "You mean 'won't.'"
"That too. You know, Frank," Jackson began as he made himself at home on the loveseat while Frank stiffly sat down in his usual upholstered chair. "I think it is in your best interest to get over this judgmental attitude and help me."
Frank chuckled. "I love how you can threaten me with such ease and arrogance. Now why would it be in my best interest?" he probed, more out of curiosity than weakness.
"You're an ex-cop. Buying this stuff wouldn't draw any attention to you because I'm sure you know people. And if that doesn't convince you, then here's one: the faster I resolve my problem, the faster I'm no longer your problem."
"What do you need?"
When Jackson left Frank's house, Lisa was in the process of slowly walking Anna home. The two parted ways and Jackson took his place at Lisa's side, subtly sliding his hand into hers. She beamed at him in an approving response and his eyes twinkled in a way that she hadn't seen in a long time.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw Frank glaring at them out the window, his gruff and disgruntled expression reminding her of an overprotective father. She remembered all the times that she believed her own father was overprotective. Now, after all the information she had pieced together, it seemed that he had been demoted from overprotective to merely protective—if even that. She had been resentful at first of her father's choices and actions, but now she was apathetic. What was done was done. She knew her father loved her dearly, but love had no place in business. Jackson had made similar statements countless times, and upon learning of her father's impact on her life, it suddenly made sense.
Jackson opened the front door of their house and gestured for Lisa to enter first. She headed straight for the kitchen sink while he locked the door. "You're both alive, so I assume it went well," she commented as she washed her hands.
"Frank was simply overjoyed to see me." He joined Lisa at the sink and started washing his hands as she dried hers on the towel.
"What did you talk about?" she quizzed as she passed him the towel.
He shrugged it off. "Things."
"'Things,'" she repeated slowly, dragging out the word so it would hang in the air over them.
Jackson briefly wondered why everyone was repeating his words to him today. "Yeah, things," he insisted. He tossed the towel down and headed for the dining room with a persistent and determined Lisa hot on his heels.
"And would those 'things' involve any more death threats?"
"Nope," he said while collecting a scattered pile of papers on the table into a neat stack. "Actually, Frank's going to help us. We need some stuff and he's going to get it for us."
Lisa crossed her arms suspiciously. "Out of the kindness of his heart?"
Jackson stopped what he was doing for a moment and narrowed his eyes in mock contemplation. "More appropriately, out of the kindness of me reimbursing him with cash."
"What are you buying?"
"Supplies. We're leaving Tuesday."
Lisa scoffed. "Tuesday?" Repetition yet again. "Thanks for the heads-up." She had two days to prepare herself for a confrontation that would forever change her world and possibly end it.
"I didn't even want to tell you at all," Jackson declared, backing up from the table to lean against the now-iconic wall. "I don't want to freak you out by letting you think too much about this. We need to just do it. We're ready. Let's do it."
She shook her head. "Great pep talk, Coach." She pushed aside the short strands of hair that refused to stay in her ponytail. "I guess I need to start packing up this place—"
"Don't bother," he interjected. "If we're not dead, we'll have time to take care of it ourselves." Lisa shot him a strange look. "What?"
"That's a weird thing for you to say," she noted. "I figured you would insist that we close this place down, tie up all loose ends, clean up the trail and all that."
Jackson shrugged. He felt like that was his only response to anything anymore. Everything in his life right now was nothing more than something he would shrug to, offering an uncaring "eh" or "whatever" because it all seemed to lose meaning more and more every single day.
"The odds say it won't matter. We'll be dead anyway. I'm going to go do some laundry. Want me to wash your stuff?" he spoke casually, as if impending death and laundry were of equal importance on his agenda.
Lisa was rendered speechless by his lack of concern. "I'll take that as a no," he said, stepping by her to go do the brainless chore.
Tuesday around 3 a.m., Jackson's eyes opened wide and alert of their own accord. He was in work mode and his body was programmed for certain things, including waking at full attention and compartmentalizing his lack of sleep. He reached out and turned the bedside light on to the lowest setting so that the lamp would project a soft, hazy gold into the room. He had expected Lisa to be too anxious to sleep, but the mass of arms, legs, and rich golden brown hair that covered him at the moment proved that even under stress, she still managed to reach deep sleep. Jackson breathed in the fresh scent of her hair. He would miss that smell of apples under his nose at night. The porcelain skin that had once been an unhealthy shade of malnourished gray was now bright white—slightly sun-deprived, but healthy. He gently trailed his knuckles down her back. Goosebumps formed on the warm and inviting soft flesh.
"Mmmm," she moaned. Lisa twitched and Jackson took that as an invitation to wake her fully by brushing her hair back out of her face. "'s mornin'?" she mumbled into his chest.
"Yeah, a little after three," he told her. "We need to get ready and head out." Their two days of preparations, of talking about where they were going, what they were doing, whom they were doing it with, all left Lisa's head and a surge of panic seared through her for an instant. Her head jolted up and her fingers clutched at his chest.
"I can't do this," she confessed.
"You can," he reassured her. He sat up with his back against the headboard. "You'll be great," he promised her, stroking her hair. Jackson never lied, but they both knew his confidence in this plan was indeed a lie.
Jackson drove the Mustang while Lisa sat curled up against the passenger's door. Their trip had been disturbingly quiet, the kind of silence that actually made a heavy deafening sound. Lisa finally turned on the radio with the volume down low just so they could have background noise. In school, she had always listened to music at a low volume while working. It had kept her from going crazy with her own booming thoughts and she needed that now.
Lisa looked to Jackson. He was in Manager Mode, complete with a suit. As usual, he was without a tie and the top button was undone to reveal a glimpse at the white undershirt he wore beneath it all. He seemed oblivious to things that bothered her and she was fairly certain that he hadn't even noticed that she turned on the radio.
She resorted to blankly staring out the window, her eyes open, but her vision not taking in anything that fell in her line of sight. She felt hollow, as if her body was in one room and her consciousness was in another. This was all so surreal and it was happening. There was no going back and no escape. All of those hours studying, thinking, recalling, brainstorming, theorizing, scribbling, correcting, planning, writing—it all came down to this. If every job had this much prep work, she could understand how Jackson had snapped so easily during the Red Eye flight. She was probably the straw and he was the camel.
The next day, Lisa finally realized that they were going the wrong way. Instead of heading south, they were driving southwest. She had seen all the highway signs, but she had never paid attention to their words, and Jackson had never told her anything about where they were going. She had merely assumed they were heading straight to Florida, so the "Welcome to Tennessee" sign was a little shocking, but the "Welcome to Mississippi" sign was even more of a shocker. In Tennessee, she reasoned that Jackson was avoiding the direct route or was opting for more rural areas. When they crossed the line into Mississippi, however, she finally spoke up.
"Geography has never been my strong suit," she began, "but I'm pretty sure that Florida is in the other direction." She turned up the air conditioning. She was a nervous wreck about all of this to start with, but going in a direction that she didn't know about upset her a bit more.
"I have some business to take care of," Jackson vaguely explained.
"What kind of business?"
"Personal."
Lisa recalled Jackson's story about his family. His mother was born and raised in Jackson, Mississippi. Jackson was on his way to what was more than likely going to be his death, so it was only natural—only human—that he would want to return to his roots one last time.
"Have you been to see her lately? I mean, before you found me?" Jackson had never told her in detail what he did between prison and his fateful rendezvous with her one year ago.
"Who?" he asked, utterly baffled.
"Your mother. I assume she's buried here," she said, referring to the state rather than the unknown small town they were currently passing by on I-55.
Jackson finally turned to acknowledge her. "Why would I?"
Lisa felt like she was talking to a child who didn't understand death and cemeteries. "She's your mother. Don't you visit her grave?"
"No," he responded matter-of-factly. Despite the darkness inside the car, Jackson could make out a disapproving expression, tinged with pity, on Lisa's face. "Save your pity," he ordered her with a harsher tone than he had used in a while. "There's nothing wrong with that. It's a rotted body in the ground with a concrete slab on top telling me who it was. Why would I visit that?"
Lisa's mouth gaped open. "She's your mother, Jackson!"
"It's a box of bones and dust."
An hour later around midnight, they arrived in the city of Ridgeland, just outside of Jackson. Since they had slept in the cramped Mustang the previous night, they planned to spend this night in a hotel. They found a small Holiday Inn Express and Lisa checked them in while Jackson remained in the car.
With Lisa inside handling the paperwork and payment, he took a moment to compose himself. She had completely blindsided him with the issue of his mother's grave. She had no right to assert herself into his personal business, using against him information that he had shared with her in confidence. It was to help her understand him, not for her to use against him or to dictate his actions or emotions. Jackson was not a moron; he knew that she meant to help him. Unfortunately, directing his mind to such thoughts was not wise at this point in the game.
He was so lost in his own problems that he didn't even realize Lisa was already back in the car with the room key. "Jackson?"
He flinched when she reached for his hand. Jackson evaded her touch and instead returned his hands to the wheel and the gear shift so he could drive them to their room.
The next morning, Lisa awoke to Jackson entering the room with a bag of breakfast goodies from the hotel's free selection. It wasn't much, just coffee, orange juice, biscuits, and some fruit, but it was enough.
"Did you sleep any?" she questioned with concern, noticing how the whites of his eyes were starting to share a striking resemblance to roadmaps. He had spent the entire night hugging his side of the bed, particularly the edge, with his back to her. She missed being wrapped in his arms and she knew not to take it personally, but she felt she was entitled to things that would help her mentally brace herself for the job rather than always having to accommodate his quirks. Then again, a lone wolf like Jackson probably felt the same way about her.
"We're going to the bank," he redirected, completely ignoring her question.
She took a sip of the harsh black coffee and grimaced at its bitterness. "Withdrawal or deposit box?"
"Box."
Lisa nodded. "Same plan as last time?"
Jackson mirrored her nod. "Your alias," he said, providing her with a fake license for the state of Mississippi. "And your key. It's going to be an inconspicuous envelope, so you won't need to worry about concealing it."
"What's in it?"
Jackson stiffened. "It's personal, Leese," he told her, his voice strained and uncomfortable.
Lisa sighed, disheartened that Jackson still kept her at arm's length regarding so many personal matters. He knew her life inside and out, and she even shared things with him that he wouldn't have known otherwise. She gave him full disclosure, but all he gave her was distrust and isolation. She reached out to him where he sat at the opposite corner on the foot of the bed and put her hand on his knee. "Let me help you. Let me in," she begged.
"Stop doing this," he pleaded. "I have to handle this and I have to keep my mind focused. I can't do that if you're in there playing Dr. Phil with my memories. Just drop it, okay. Drop it."
The bank was easy, perhaps too easy. Everyone knew everyone in the bank, and as the lone outsider, they greeted her with an enthusiastic chorus of "Hi, how are you?" and enough small talk to make her feel like she was in the presence of long lost relatives. She had forgotten the difference in the personality of the Deep South versus Miami or Connecticut.
After a few minutes of waiting on the manager to finish with a customer, Lisa was escorted to the "back room" less than ten feet away from the main counter. The chubby, middle-aged manager hobbled out of the room, her high heels clicking away. When Lisa could no longer hear their sound, she retrieved the box and opened it. It was empty save for a medium size manila envelope that was sealed shut only by the closed metal prong on the back. Lisa couldn't fit it into her purse and Jackson had made it seem like it wasn't life or death, so she walked out the front door with it in her hand.
In the car, she wordlessly passed it over to Jackson. "You opened it," he accused without looking at her or the envelope. Lisa scoffed and yanked the envelope out of his hand so she could flip it to the back. The metal closure was perfectly flat and stiff, revealing that it had not been opened since Jackson had originally sealed it. "My apologies," he muttered insincerely as he slid the envelope down the driver's door compartment.
"Where now?" Lisa asked as she put on her sunglasses. She gazed out her window to avoid him. If he wanted to be temperamental, that was his business, but she wasn't going to put up with his moodiness.
"Florida." He stared her down from behind his sunglasses. "It's time to pay Daddy a visit."
August, 2012
Lisa and Jackson spent four days monitoring her father and his house. No one from the Company was watching. Her father hadn't done anything out of the ordinary. Lisa insisted that the coast was clear, that it was safe to confront him, but Jackson still heard warning bells in his head. He didn't share his intuition with Lisa, but she could tell from his cool reserve that he felt something was afoot.
"Take this," Jackson ordered, snapping the mag back into Lisa's handgun. He passed it to Lisa, who regarded it as if it were Typhoid Mary's lollipop. "You never know."
"He's my father, Jackson," she insisted with a hint of warning in her voice.
"He's Company, Lisa," Jackson mimicked her tone. "Even if Daddy truly is the light of your life, he might have some friends nearby that we missed and I want you prepared for anything. Now take it." Lisa scowled and pouted, but she reluctantly took the weapon. "Thank you," he diplomatically told her. "Follow my lead and don't speak out of turn."
She should have felt insulted by his words, but she knew what he meant. Jackson didn't want her sharing their plan with her father. He wanted her to listen with her ears, not her mouth. He wanted her to think in her mind, not on her lips. He wanted her to plan with her head, not with her heart. Jackson wanted her to remember that it was the two of them versus the world and they had proven their trust only to each other. Her father had violated her trust not once, but twice before and Jackson wasn't about to let it happen a third time.
The two parked several blocks away and had to walk down the sidewalk, hand in hand like lovers, dressed in their dark—but not suspiciously so—clothes while avoiding major light sources that would illuminate them clearly for witnesses. When they reached her father's house, Lisa took the lead and brought Jackson in through the carport around back. He picked the lock and they both considered it the same as a key because it was all in the family. The sound of the Weather Channel could be heard as plain as day and that made Lisa stop and hold her hand up to halt Jackson. She shook her head, silently communicating: something's not right. Her father listened to his television loudly enough to hear it, but he didn't blast it to this point.
The lights went out. Lisa felt movement behind her and realized that Jackson had slipped away. She pulled her gun from the back waistband of her jeans and aimed it in the darkness. She heard a hand hitting the wall to flip the light switch. The lights came back on and Lisa found herself face to face with her father's gun.
"Lisa?" He sounded surprised to see her. He was obviously expecting someone else.
She gulped. "Dad," she replied evenly.
"Leese, honey, are you here alone?" Each still held the other at gunpoint.
"No," Jackson answered behind him, bringing his knife around Joe Reisert's neck.
"Put the gun down, Dad," Lisa commanded as she placed her free hand atop her father's weapon and pushed it toward the floor. Jackson confiscated the gun from him. She put her own gun in her waistband again.
"Are you okay, sweetheart?" Joe asked, his eyes urgently taking in every aspect of his daughter's appearance as he looked for even the slightest hint of distress.
"With the exception of the Company wanting me dead, I'm swell."
Her father frowned and held out his open hands in surrender. Jackson removed the knife. Joe turned around to look at Jackson for the first time since shooting him seven years prior. "Jackson," he said, addressing the younger man by his first name since that was the only name Company Managers were allowed to have. It was their code and Joe abided by it still.
"Joe," Jackson returned. Jackson was waiting for the screaming, the hitting, the threats, the gunshots, the—whatever—that Joe wanted to throw at him for all the foul, evil deeds Jackson had done to his daughter then and now, but it never came. Instead, Joe extended his hand for Jackson to shake.
"Thank you," he said, waiting for Jackson to accept his handshake. Both Jackson and Lisa were stunned by Joe's gesture, but Jackson recovered and shook his proffered hand. "I'm glad I was right about you."
And for twelve seconds, there was peace on Earth. No one dared to breathe. No cricket chirped. No baby cried. The wind ceased to blow. Everything came to an abrupt, unprecedented halt at the words...
I'm glad I was right about you.
Jackson and Lisa let his words sink in as they struggled to process their implications. For Jackson, it made sense of many variables that he had not been able to qualify, but for Lisa, it opened an entirely new can of worms.
"…'Glad you were right?'" Lisa repeated.
Joe exhaled. "Oh, sweetheart. There's a lot you don't know."
Joe turned off the television before going through the house to drop all the curtains. Meanwhile, Jackson conducted his own security evaluation of the premises by double-checking all of the doors and windows, and making sure there were no bugs or other surveillance equipment hidden in the house. Lisa stood in the living room, her eyes roaming over the furniture arrangement as if seeing it for the first time.
Her father came to her side. "Leese, honey, what's the matter?"
"I see it now," she mumbled under her breath as she examined the furniture. "The curtains are thick. The sofa and chairs are at indirect angles to the windows. The lamps are closer to the windows so whoever is sitting near one won't cast a large shadow or silhouette through the curtain. The backs of the chairs are opposite the window so you can see what's coming and take cover if necessary." She looked at her father with an enlightened expression. "I'm right. I know I'm right."
Jackson entered the room. Lisa wasn't sure if he had heard her or not, but he seemed unimpressed. Joe's version of interior decorating was a more optimistic version of Jackson's, a version that did not compromise the comfort of a home in the name of safety.
"You trained her well," Joe complimented Jackson. "I assume you're satisfied with whatever you found or didn't find in my home?"
"For now," was Jackson's clipped reply.
"Next time you're in my home, you ask before you start wandering around, got it?" Jackson glared at him, meeting Joe's eyes with an intensity that clearly expressed how undaunted he was by the older man's pathetic caveat. Jackson redirected his gaze toward Lisa, who was shaking her head, silently mouthing don't to him. She was right. They had more important things to worry about right now than a grudge match.
Jackson and Lisa sat on the couch while Joe remained standing. "Coffee?"
"Tea, please," Lisa answered on behalf of the couple. She and Jackson drank coffee, but this was definitely a time for tea. They were both so adrenaline-pumped that coffee was the last thing they needed.
Joe looked from Lisa to Jackson, and then back to Lisa. His Lisa had been a coffee drinker. He nodded and went to the kitchen to boil the water.
"What do you think?" Lisa whispered to Jackson.
He smirked grimly. "I think we're going to want something a hell of a lot stronger than tea or coffee by the time this night is over."
A few minutes later, Joe returned with peach green tea. He sat down in his recliner, perched on the edge of his seat rather than making himself comfortable. "Where have you two been all this time?"
Jackson responded before Lisa had a chance. "We have a safe house set up. It's secure."
"In Florida?"
"It's secure," Jackson repeated, leaving no room for further discussion.
The three sat uncomfortably together, no one daring to look at another until someone had the nerve to speak again. Her father took that as his cue. He sat back in his chair. "Where to start?" he mused. Jackson leaned forward, his hands held together over his knees as if in prayer while he peered attentively at the floor.
"I have a thought. Let's start with you being glad that you were right about Jackson," Lisa suggested. The two men exchanged a subtle look, as if wondering which one would keep to the Company code and which one would violate all of his training by confessing his sins. Joe pushed his glasses up and scratched the back of his head. "You didn't shoot to kill last time because you knew he was Company, so apparently that's not what you just found out you were right about."
"It's not a coincidence that you ended up on the Red Eye flight together." Jackson sat up, suddenly interested in this conversation. Joe hesitated, uncertain of how to continue. "What do you two know?"
Although Joe addressed the question to Lisa, she kept her mouth closed. Joe realized then that Jackson had taken charge of this operation and Lisa was on guard. He was grateful for that. A paranoid daughter was a safe daughter.
"We know you're Company," Jackson stated the obvious. "We know that your involvement with the Company has brought certain…" Jackson's eyes drifted toward Lisa as he gave consideration to his word choice. "…events into Lisa's life."
Lisa slammed her mug onto the coffee table in front of her and tea spilled out at the hard movement. "I was raped because of you and you knew about it," she blurted out without any effort to maintain appearances. Lisa shot a quick apologetic look to Jackson, but he knew she had to speak her mind on this part at least. "And if that weren't enough, I ended up on a plane as a pawn in a criminal game…once again, because of you."
Her father put his fingers to his temple as he took a few deep breaths. "They needed the Lux Atlantic hotel and you happened to be the manager. They wanted Keefe—"
"Because he's Company," Jackson provided.
Joe nodded, now looking slightly disappointed at Jackson and Lisa for knowing maybe too much. "They wanted Keefe and you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"She wouldn't have been there if Keefe hadn't favored her," Jackson clarified. "He always stayed at Lisa's hotel because he's always been fond of her, 'always' as in since childhood. Yeah, we know about that too."
Joe forced a smile. "I see you two have done your homework and a little extra for bonus points."
"We'll discuss the rights to the book deal later," Lisa intervened impatiently.
Joe was a bit taken aback by Lisa's sarcasm and candor. She had been growing into this person for six years, but now she was more confident in her cynicism and more comfortable in her jaded darkness. He couldn't blame her, really. However, despite this, there was a suppressed, perhaps even subliminal warmth in Lisa that he had not seen since before the flight. That spark was alive again, but just barely, and it was concealed behind layers of protective covering. He could only figure that her time with Jackson had given her a chance to resolve the inner issues that had caused her to build such impenetrable stone walls around herself.
"They wanted Keefe," she continued. "Keefe was at the Lux Atlantic. I was the manager. What does this have to do with the flight not being a coincidence? Did they kill—"
"No!" Joe exclaimed, holding his hand up to silence Lisa. "No, I promise you, your grandmother's death was of completely natural causes."
"Then what—"
"I picked Jackson for the job."
Both Jackson and Lisa's jaws dropped open in accidentally synchronized shock.
"For those of you playing along at home, raise your hand if you saw that one coming," Jackson quipped. "But you were retired then," he seriously declared, his question lurking underneath his words.
"So how did I arrange it?" Joe asked aloud for him. Jackson nodded once. "I remembered you and a lot of the other Managers. I knew some of them weren't all there in the head and others had some pretty messed-up ways of handling assignments, particularly female assignments."
Lisa's face turned red, anger flaring in her with every passing second. Lisa had discussed so many things about her father's life and career with Jackson. None of this was new to her. But what affected her so much now was how neutral her father was about everything. He was telling her a story not unlike how he told her "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" as a little girl.
One Manager was too crazy, another Manager was too violent, but the last Manager was just right…
"I knew about the Keefe job from the moment he took the Homeland Security position, but when I heard whisperings about it happening at the Lux Atlantic, I knew that Lisa would be in the middle of it. I couldn't get you out of it," he spoke directly to Lisa, "and I couldn't avoid it. I couldn't stop it. The best I could do was make sure someone was there who would be professional so you could live through it unharmed."
"But you would have died," Lisa pointed out. "If I had cooperated, Keefe would have died, but if I hadn't cooperated, you would have died."
"But you would have lived," her father reminded her. "And I had to find someone who would honor the specifics of the assignment. Someone who wouldn't improvise. Someone who wouldn't lay a finger on you."
Lisa laughed loudly and inappropriately. Jackson faced her with what she knew was his hurt expression, but that made her laugh louder. "So you sent me someone who would snap and try to kill both of us? Not your finest hour, Dad," she judged, wiping tears from her eyes. She was overly emotional right now and she knew it. If she hadn't laughed hysterically, she probably would have sobbed inconsolably.
Joe shook his head and Jackson looked rather embarrassed at having his record criticized while simultaneously forcing all of them to relive that unfortunate breakdown he experienced seven years ago.
"Jackson was the only Manager who had a perfect record for his jobs. He never instigated violence on his assignments. He got results. The jobs were always clean and efficient." Lisa watched Jackson's eyes take on a nostalgic sense of pride as he remembered the good side of what he once was. "And more than that, his personal record was something that caught my eye. He had no history of mental illness and he lived the life of a monk. He was asexual enough that I thought you'd be safe with him."
"'Asexual?'" Jackson interrupted indignantly. Lisa rolled her eyes. Joe shrugged, unapologetic for vocalizing the facts. "I've been having sex with your daughter for the last six months. That's not asexual," he childishly spat.
"Seriously?" Lisa gasped. "We're going to talk about that now?"
"Just correcting the 'facts,'" Jackson assured her. "Continue," he instructed Joe.
Joe seemed like he wanted to vomit or strangle Jackson. Lisa was sure he would feel equally better after doing either one.
"My daughter had been assaulted and I wasn't going to let a sexual predator torment her. You seemed safe enough, so I suggested you for the job."
"How?" was Lisa's question.
"He has contacts," Jackson concluded. "You don't just hear this kind of stuff. You still have contacts on the inside. You're still involved and up to date."
Joe closed his eyes and popped his jaw forward and to the side, a habit he had during times of stress. He contemplatively rubbed his lips with his fingertips before speaking. "I have a few contacts here and there. That's how I found out about the Lux Atlantic. That's how I found out about the details of the job. That's how I made sure you got the job. I only hear stuff that is relevant to me and mine."
"Who?" Jackson pressed.
"Someone who always had dignity and took jobs for the right reasons."
"Samuel," Jackson instantly answered.
"Samuel," Joe concurred. "He knew about what happened with the assault a few years before and he gave me a heads up that she was going to be targeted again on a job. I asked him about you and he agreed that you were the safe choice. You can imagine our surprise when you flipped out like you did."
"Samuel worked his magic and I was given the assignment. My last assignment ever ended up being exactly that." Jackson stopped and silence filled the room. Lisa beheld her lover. He was sitting up straight, his hands once laced together were now clinched in a large singular fist. "Samuel died telling me to get to Lisa," Jackson prompted.
"He did. Last year, I was offered Tabula Rosa. All I had to—"
"I'm sorry," Lisa broke in, "but what's Tabula Rosa?"
"Company talk for a fresh break—clean record, they'll leave you in peace. It's freedom and it's a rare reward that few receive," Jackson explained softly as her father nodded in agreement with his definition.
Joe continued. "They offered me freedom in exchange for taking the new Keefe job. They figured that since I knew him during our Company days and that we were again connected through the incident seven years ago that I would have a better chance at accomplishing the mission. I knew I was going to say no, so I warned Samuel. He told me he couldn't protect you, but he knew someone who could and would…" Joe trailed off.
"I didn't even know I would at first," Jackson admitted. Lisa was startled by this revelation. "Before I came to you, I didn't know what to do or even what I wanted to do. But when I saw you again," he said gently, earnestly, "I knew I had no choice in the matter." Lisa's heart skipped a beat. She wished she and Jackson were alone so they could discuss that, but now wasn't the time. They were on a job and that had to come first.
"Samuel knew that too," Joe revealed. "He told me that he was going to have you protect Lisa and I hit the roof. He swore to me that my gut instinct about you was right, that you were the man for the job, for any job, because you'd get it done. He said Lisa would be safe with you because she was a job, but she was also…more than that," Joe said, forcing the words out of his mouth. "I had suspected something like that was what made you go crazy on Leese, but I thought I was reading too much into it. Beggars can't be choosers, so I agreed and asked him to make it happen. I took a gamble that we were both right about you, that you were capable of feelings and you just happened to have the ones that would save my daughter. When I figured out that you two were on the run together, I knew that you'd protect my baby girl. I just had to keep my mouth shut and my head down."
"I can't believe this," Lisa proclaimed under her breath. "Any of this. I can't believe it." She rubbed the back of her clammy neck and fought to control the nausea that was starting to brew in the pit of her stomach. "You've been orchestrating everything."
"Not everything," Jackson attested, reaching out to touch her hand. Lisa intertwined her fingers with his and they gazed supportively at one another for a few moments, oblivious to Joe's presence or scrutiny. Jackson seldom practiced displays of affection outside of the bedroom and most certainly not in front of other people (with the exception of Mr. and Mrs. Roberts' undercover relationship). This was a major step for Jackson, or perhaps it was a sign of things to come—or things not to come if they couldn't survive their impending Company showdown.
"I definitely didn't orchestrate this," Joe stated, his eyebrows raised high above his glasses as he glared in parental disapproval.
"You may not orchestrate everything, but you definitely have no trouble letting things happen." When Joe didn't react, Lisa realized he wasn't following her. "Mom," she told him harshly. "You let a Manager infiltrate our family and murder my mother."
"She knew the risks. We never talked about it, but she knew what I was and how dangerous it was. I told her to be careful about whoever she got involved with, but she didn't want to listen."
"She didn't know to listen," Lisa argued. "She couldn't protect herself. That one is on you, Dad."
Joe didn't have anything else to say on that matter. He loved Lisa's mother dearly, even after their divorce, but what was done was done. Lisa and his sons were all that mattered to him now. "So what are you two doing here?"
Lisa turned her head away from her father and Jackson. Jackson watched her a few seconds before responding. "We're settling this with the Piper once and for all, but we need your help."
"What can I do?"
For another two hours, the trio discussed the plan in meticulous detail, particularly focusing on Joe's involvement. Once everyone knew his or her role, an awkward silence fell upon the room. Tension sparked in the air like a live electrical wire.
"Say something, Leese," Joe begged. "I can't stand this. You look at me like I'm a stranger."
"I need some water," she said abruptly. When she started for the kitchen, Joe followed in line behind her.
"I'm not ready to discuss any of this," Lisa told him as she filled a glass with cold water from the pitcher in the refrigerator.
"What if I'm ready to discuss this?"
"That's your problem." She set her glass in the sink and moved to walk away, but her father put out his arms to block her exit. He claimed her hands in his own against her wishes and she pouted like a child who wasn't in the mood for affection.
"Are you alright, Leese?" he wanted to know yet again.
"I'm fine."
"Has he…" Joe glanced over his shoulder and when he was satisfied that Jackson was still sitting on the couch and out of earshot, he tried again. "Has he…forced you into anything?"
Lisa scoffed at the suggestion. "Everything is consensual," she assured him, sounding not unlike Jackson in her choice of detached words. "He takes better care of me than you did."
"Whatever anger you have at me over everything that has happened to you is nothing compared to how I feel about myself. Leese, sweetie," Joe began, softly touching her cheek and smoothing the loose, messy curls in her hair. "I've made a lot of bad decisions in my life, but I've done the best I could do. I love you so much, Leese," he promised her. She had seldom seen tears in her father's eyes, so seeing them now made her tear up as well.
"I know," she reluctantly confessed. "But I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself. You don't have to feel obligated to take care of me anymore."
Her father chuckled softly. "It's not an obligation when you love someone. I'd sacrifice anything for someone I love." Joe sniffed and hugged his daughter in a rigid, uncomfortable version of what used to be a great display of warmth and adoration. Lisa wasn't quite ready to resume their formerly healthy father-daughter relationship. She needed time to process everything and to heal before she could see her father as anyone other than a coward and a pawn. "Speaking of love," he shifted the discussion after they separated. "Do you love him?" he inquired unexpectedly.
Lisa looked away from her father's prying eyes. There was no way she was going to answer that.
"Okay, do you trust him?" he asked instead. "This plan, this house of cards that Jackson's built, it's all coming down on him. Do you trust him enough to keep it from falling on you?"
Lisa remembered Jackson's advice. This man may be her father, but she couldn't be sure she was talking to her father and not the Company. Any information, personal or professional, that she gave to him could very well be used against her at some point.
"Do you?" she posed, answering his question with a question.
Joe didn't hesitate in responding: "As much as he trusts me."
Lisa was too focused on her father to see Jackson's intense death glare in their direction.
After bidding Joe goodnight, Lisa and Jackson returned to their hotel. Joe, meanwhile, turned off all the lights except the lamp next to his recliner. He picked up the cell phone from the small table beside his chair. He pressed a button and his contact's number started ringing.
The expected voice answered.
"Jackson Rippner plans to negotiate with the Company," Joe said as his burner phone altered his voice and blocked his number and location.
"How do you know?"
"That doesn't matter. What matters is that he is endangering Lisa Reisert and I'm not going to let that happen. You have to step in."
His contact chuckled dryly. "I don't have to do anything. You've done nothing for me except throw useless tidbits my way whenever you feel like it. What's in it for me?"
"I'll give you two Company agents," Joe vowed.
"I already have names," he said. "So thanks but no tha—"
"I didn't say names," Joe corrected him. "I said I'd give you the agents. I'll turn them over to you if you help save Lisa Reisert."
"Who are they?"
"I'm one."
"And the other?"
"Jackson Rippner."
The contact was quiet as he contemplated his options. "How do I know I can trust you?"
Joe pressed a button on his cell phone before speaking again. "Because I can't save my daughter alone," he said, his own natural, unmodified voice going through the phone.
"Joe Reisert?" asked a disbelieving FBI Agent James King.
At the hotel, Lisa and Jackson attempted to sleep, but it didn't go well for either party. Jackson ended up crawling out of bed to do push-ups. His mornings always commenced with sit-ups and push-ups, but he was going to break tradition and do some at night because he needed to do something…anything. It wasn't long before Lisa was out of bed as well. She flipped on the small bedside light.
"Sorry," Jackson apologized, holding himself in the up position for a few moments. His shirt was off and the smooth curves of his muscles were just starting to glisten with sweat.
"I was already awake," Lisa assured him. She started doing some stretches and a few simple yoga moves while Jackson continued his push-ups with aggressive enthusiasm.
"Do you trust my father?" she wondered casually, as if this sort of drama was just another ordinary part of a relationship.
Jackson again stopped his push-ups in the up position so he could answer her. "Nope," he chirped in a mock cheerful voice before dropping back into his exercise routine. "He was Company," Jackson panted out, this time not stopping to speak. "And he admits that he still has open lines of communication with them."
"You would too if Samuel were alive," Lisa countered.
"Maybe," he conceded, "but your father asked too many of the wrong questions. He's a Company man, like me, and we know which questions to ask and not ask. He asked about too many sensitive topics that could jeopardize both of us."
"Maybe he did it on purpose?" Lisa guessed as she stretched her arms over her head and bent down between her spread legs.
"To tip us off at something going on? I doubt it. He seemed like someone who took our ignorance and inexperience for granted and made mistakes under the belief that we wouldn't catch them."
Lisa stopped stretching. "You think he'll betray us?"
Jackson pushed himself off the floor to stand. "Do you?"
"He's my father," Lisa meekly responded.
Jackson put his hands on his hips. "I had a father too. Look how that turned out." A father who claimed to want the best for his son. A father who killed his son's mother. A father who was cold and dead. A father who died at his son's hands for all of the sins he committed. Their fathers were nothing alike, yet Lisa couldn't shake the nagging ideas that Jackson had planted in her mind. "Stop answering like a child and grow up. Do you trust Company man Joe Reisert?"
"My father loves me," she attempted to convince herself and Jackson.
"Do. You. Trust. Him?"
"As much as he trusts me."
Lisa's answer bothered him when it should have pleased him. She was definitely not the same woman he had known all this time and that disappointed him. He liked her goodness, her innocence, and her unintentional optimism amid her outer disenchantment with the world. She no longer seemed unreachable and Jackson wasn't sure if it was because she was lowering to his level or if he was rising to her level, or perhaps it was a blend of both.
"Leese," he began. Lisa stopped stretching and stood passively in place, waiting for what he had to say. He noticed how her eyes wandered across his chest and arms, surveying the scars that she had memorized in the darkness of the bedroom yet had seldom seen in the light. His outward imperfections were constant reminders of his failures and the ugliness that lurked just beneath the surface of his being.
"I—" he started, but sighed. The moment had passed and there was no going back. "Never mind," he insisted.
He could only hope that a chance presented itself before it was too late. She had to know the truth about him, even if it changed how she thought of him for the rest of her life.
The news covered the hurricane more every day and it was getting to the point where Lisa was sick of hearing about it. Since Hurricane Katrina ravaged Louisiana and the Mississippi Gulf Coast, meteorologists were obsessive about forecasting every little swirl in the Atlantic and the state governments of the south began their precautionary measures at least three days in advance of any potential storm threat.
Lisa asked Jackson to reconsider the time and date of the meet, or to just simply change the location, but he refused, citing this as the perfect place and time. He came to Miami before hearing about the storm with the intention of ending this, and now that he knew about the storm, the only change that would impact their plan was having one more element that could possibly aid them. The Company would no doubt prefer the symmetry of it all—Lisa, Jackson, the Lux Atlantic, August 19th—but Jackson was a fan of the storm serving as a distraction and possibly as a cover. After several last-ditch attempts to sway his decision, Lisa surrendered and agreed to the meet just before the hurricane made landfall. He made the arrangements one day when Lisa was out picking up dinner and he was tight-lipped about what happened when he made contact with his old employers. He assured her that all was well and she took him at his word.
For the last few days before the 19th, Lisa and Jackson had to hop from hotel to hotel to avoid arousing suspicion by staying in one place for too long a time. It was unpleasant, but she knew it had to be done. Most of the final arrangements had been made for the meet (with a few exceptions), so their time was typically spent either watching the seemingly apocalyptic weather reports or silently going about their own business. Jackson was closed off to the world as he prepared himself for the challenge ahead. Lisa clammed up in fear and dread as her own personal storm cloud grew darker and more powerful with each day, not unlike the incoming tropical event.
"…and then you simply slide it like you would any other card," Jackson explained, passing the iPhone back to Lisa. She carefully examined the new addition to it: a card cloner. It was an extension on the right side of her phone that would make an exact copy of any credit card, license, or ID that she slid through the thin scanner. "Are you ready?" he asked.
Lisa was wearing a ridiculously short black skirt with a tight-fitting white blouse and black suit jacket. Her hair was straightened and parted to help conceal her face while simultaneously contributing to her character's style. She was a businesswoman, powerful and confident, and everything from her hair to her four inch Louboutins reinforced that image. No one would see Lisa. No one would doubt her credibility. No one would suspect a thing.
"As ready as I'll ever be dressed like this," she replied as she stood up and carefully straightened her suit.
Jackson stood as well. His eyes predatorily scanned over her. He smirked to himself.
"What?" Lisa demanded, automatically reaching to pull down the back of her skirt. She tried to look over her shoulder to see how much of herself she had exposed, but she never saw anything that suggested she had embarrassed herself.
"Nothing. It's just…you look so incredibly hot right now."
Lisa cocked an eyebrow at him. "Either you have some kind of work chic fetish I didn't know about or you are really desperate…"
Jackson considered the questions for a moment. "Yes," he answered mysteriously as he put on his suit jacket over a plain dark blue t-shirt and jeans.
A naughty smile graced Lisa's bright red lips as she followed him to the car.
After twenty minutes of making small talk in Spanish with a taxi driver enjoying his breakfast, Jackson finally managed to pick the car keys off the man when he rushed to the bathroom after unknowingly downing a laxative-filled Coca-Cola. With the keys in hand and the driver occupied for the next hour at least, Jackson had time to pick up Lisa from the rendezvous point and complete the job with time to spare. The taxi would be returned to the café with several hundred dollars to cover its use and the driver's inconvenience.
Jackson jerked off his jacket and clumped it under his arm. He put on a baseball cap and his sunglasses so that he'd be unrecognizable yet in character for a taxi driver. As he approached the vehicle, he removed his cell phone and pressed a few buttons. He pulled on a pair of translucent rubber gloves to conceal his fingerprints. As he sat down in the cab, the cameras were disabled by his cell phone extension and could not record in the front or back seat.
Jackson drove a few blocks down to pick up Lisa from where she was waiting at Starbucks. It was the same Starbucks she had gone to with Josh during her awkward "not a date" date thing and even though it had been years, she had the sneaking suspicion that the baristas remembered her for ordering a plain, ordinary coffee.
"Are you clear on everything?" Jackson asked into the rearview mirror.
"Yes," Lisa responded to his reflection.
"Any questions about emergency procedures?"
"No."
"Do you remember your time windows?"
"Yes."
"Do you—"
"Jackson!" she interrupted sharply. He peered into the mirror at her again. "This isn't my first job," she reminded him.
He tried not to cringe at the way Lisa spoke about "the job." It was like listening to a recording of himself. He awkwardly nodded and adjusted the cap on his head. "This is our last assignment before the meet. I just don't want to screw it up."
He pulled the taxi into the circular drop-off at the lobby of the Lux Atlantic. "If anything gets screwed up, it's your fault," she deadpanned before stepping out of the taxi and taking a deep breath.
The Lux Atlantic. This place had become a monochromatic prison in her mind since the Red Eye flight, and now the massive structure seemed much smaller to her somehow. She rearranged the large purse on her shoulder and smoothed her hands over the back of her short skirt just in case. Confident in her appearance, she held her head up high and strutted into the hotel as if she belonged there. The facility was blanketed in cameras, but she knew every location and angle, and ultimately every blind spot. She knew when to turn her head in just the right way in order to avoid a direct encounter with a camera. One of their emergency procedures included what to do if she was in a situation that forced her to be filmed and she hoped to save that as a last resort only.
There was a distinct sense of organized chaos around the hotel this morning and anxiety filled the air so much that it even put Lisa on edge about the impending weather. With the voluntary evacuation window growing smaller and the mandatory evacuation looming nearer, all of the out-of-towners were packing up and getting out of the hotel as quickly as possible before traffic became an unmoving mass. As families nervously fluttered about in and out of the lobby, Lisa realized how brilliant Jackson was to use a hurricane as cover. Once the storm was closer to shore, there would be next to no one near the Lux Atlantic and they would be invisible in that area of the city. Of course there were safety concerns, but between her knowledge of hurricane survival and Jackson's knowledge of Company survival, they might actually stand a chance.
Lisa remembered how in her first year at the hotel a representative for a cosmetic company came in to negotiate for the hotel to include their products in the guests' rooms. She had never felt so degraded in her entire life as the woman, dressed not so differently from Lisa at this moment, stalked the lobby and critiqued everything with words like daggers. That awful woman would be her role model for this job.
Lisa did not want to approach the main desk because there were cameras aimed at the guests. Instead, she glared at the black-haired young man behind the counter from afar. When he finished with his clients, he approached Lisa timidly.
"Welcome to the—"
"You're not the manager," Lisa interjected impatiently. "I was told I would be able to meet with the manager at 10 a.m." She melodramatically took a long, lingering look at her watch. "10:01," she breathed over her elevated arm.
"You must be—"
"I mustn't be anything, but I am Linda Maxwell from Weaver Enterprises."
"I'll just go get—"
"Please," Lisa insisted. "Go. Get. Now. I'll just make myself comfortable in your manager's office." The hotel employee gazed at her blankly as he attempted to understand what she was saying. "Where's her office, young man?" Lisa had wanted to slam her fist into the representative's face all those years ago for calling her "little girl," but now she realized the power in such words.
"If you'll come with me," he said, directing her with his outstretched arm.
Lisa was escorted to the hotel's formal office for the on-duty manager. It was a nicer room that was equipped for entertaining and schmoozing rather than accomplishing actual work like the more practical, but less showy, managerial office. There were no cameras at all in this office due to the delicate nature of some of their dealings, so this was the ideal meeting place for Lisa and her old acquaintance.
The door opened and Lisa could smell her perfume. Cynthia walked in and shut the door before she realized there was no one in sight in the room. "Hello?" she asked softly. A hand clamped over her mouth and a stronger body maneuvered her into captive stillness.
"Shh, shh," Lisa ordered in Cynthia's ear. "It's me, it's Lisa," she whispered.
Cynthia's large eyes attempted to bulge to the side so she could see her captor. "Memmaa?" she mumbled closed-mouth into Lisa's hand.
"Yeah, it's me. Don't scream or call for help," Lisa instructed her as she reached down and retrieved Cynthia's cell phone from her jacket pocket. "Understand? Don't scream. I'm going to take my hand off now, okay?" Cynthia nodded vigorously and Lisa fulfilled her promise. Lisa turned the phone completely off and gave it to Cynthia, who mindlessly put it back in her pocket.
"Lisa?" Cynthia asked as she rubbed her cheeks and chin. "Are you okay?" She stepped closer to Lisa, but Lisa inched back and locked the door behind them. "Is he here?"
Lisa's face was unreadable. She wasn't even bothering to put on appearances, not even her "Customer Service" face for the occasion. All sense of pretense was lost to her. "No, he's not. I'm fine, Cynthia. Everything's okay. I just need your help with something," Lisa said, briskly walking around Cynthia and over to the conference table to get her purse. "I need your ID."
Cynthia didn't react at first. Lisa had been missing for a year. A year. She expected that if she ever saw Lisa again, there would be something epic, a friendly reunion worthy of a Lifetime tear-jerker movie of the week, but there was nothing. Lisa was here in body, but her soul was not quite the same. Coldness radiated from her as she demanded a favor rather than requested or begged.
Cynthia shook her head to snap herself back into the present. "Yeah, here," she cooperated, reaching into her other pocket to pull out the ID. She was about to hand it over to Lisa when she stopped and drew it back to her chest. "Why?" A few years prior, Cynthia would have never doubted Lisa. She would have never asked why. She would have done anything for any reason at all and she never needed the reason.
"It's best if you don't know. Trust me. It won't be traced back to you."
Cynthia always really liked Lisa, and more than that, she respected and admired her. This person was not the Lisa she knew. "Are you going to kill someone? Is he?"
Lisa left her purse at the table and went to Cynthia. She put her hands on the redhead's shoulders firmly. "It's nothing like that. And the less you know, the better. Cynthia, I really need you to trust me."
"He's doing it again," Cynthia muttered, pushing her ID back into her pocket as she broke loose from Lisa. "What is it this time?"
"What?"
"Last time, he was going to kill your dad. What is it this time? How is he making you do this? We can call Danny and he can help—" Cynthia's husband was with the FBI. If anyone could help Lisa, it would be him.
"No! I am not being coerced or threatened. I'm in trouble and he is too. We need your help if we're going to make it. Danny can't know. No one can know! Cynthia, I need you on this."
Out of the entire conversation, that was the first time Lisa demonstrated anything that might actually be a sincere emotion. She was passionate about completing her mission here today and she was also afraid of what might happen should she fail.
"Okay, fine!" Cynthia surrendered the ID and Lisa took it to her purse. She pulled out her cell phone and slid the card through the extension on the side. She waited for the message on the screen to appear. "That's it?"
"That's it," Lisa guaranteed. "If anyone questions you about anything, you never saw me, you never talked to me, you never let me scan your ID, and you still have your ID on your person," she said, holding it up for a visual cue. "There are four other managers with your clearance level, so they can't pin anything on you. You know nothing. Understand?"
Cynthia nodded and reclaimed the offered ID.
Lisa tossed her phone back into her purse and closed it up. She was heading for the door when Cynthia stopped her. "Lisa, are you okay? Seriously?" There was honest concern in her former co-worker's eyes. It seemed impossible that someone like Cynthia could actually care for her when she wasn't anything special, then or now.
"I'm fine," Lisa said in a small voice. "I think I might actually be close to 'happy,'" she admitted with a small chuckle. Of all the bizarre behaviors Cynthia had observed from her old friend in the last five minutes, watching Lisa talk more to herself than Cynthia was the most chilling of all.
Dr. Walker clicked the send button on the last email of the day. Part of him wished that he had his own medical practice where he could dictate more tasks to his trusted subordinates, but with employment in the prison system came an obligation to maintain a smaller, more intimate structure in which he took responsibility for more than just his patients' health alone. The paperwork was monotonous, but he had to do it.
He leafed through the scattering of paperwork that littered his desk. He didn't find what he was looking for, but he did find the day's mail. In the stack was the usual collection of solicitations from medical publishers and suppliers, each asking that he read their current research or contribute an article, that he recommend the prison switch from one brand of bandages to another, and so on. He threw all of it in the trash without bothering to open any of it, but as he walked away, his mind realized that one of the envelopes was not like the others. He took a step back to the garbage can next to his desk and picked up the envelope from the bottom of the mail stack. There was no outside return address. A postmark that partially covered a patriotic stamp was his only clue to its origin aside from the mysterious handwriting sample. He opened the envelope and found a small piece of folded paper.
Only two words were neatly written on the paper: Thank you.
Dr. Walker couldn't figure it out. Who would send him such a note? Why? He had helped any number of inmates over the years, but this—
As he was sliding the paper back into the envelope, the postmark caught his attention.
Jackson, MS.
Dr. Walker smiled broadly, nodding to himself in understanding and approval. "You're welcome," he whispered below his breath.
Frank opened the mailbox and pulled out a large batch of magazines, catalogs, circulars, and other junk that had been haphazardly shoved into the box without consideration. He grunted and grumbled as he flipped a catalog over to be face-up, then put a smaller envelope on top of it, and moved a crumpled magazine to the back of the stack. By the time he made it from the mail box back to the front door, he had the mail neatly arranged in size order. On top was a small envelope with no return address. He ripped it open with no regard for resealing it later.
I would never hurt your family, but I had to protect mine. I'm sorry.
"That son of a bitch," Frank cursed.
Jackson was tying up loose ends and putting his final affairs in order. Whatever he had planned was apparently a one-way trip. Frank stared at the empty house diagonal from his own. It had been uninhabited for two weeks, and even though he was glad that Jackson was gone, the entire situation still didn't sit right on his mind.
The gray house across the street, the safe house, had never been lively, but it had seemed to be full of love when Jackson and Lisa had lived there under the alias of Mr. and Mrs. Roberts. Now the gray house that Jackson had built appeared soulless as it loomed over the neighborhood like Death.
TBC…