Author's Note: Haha, go me, two updates at once! Whoooo! Anyway, review lots, and I'll try to have some more up shortly. Hopefully by later this week. Cheers!

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Ah! the perfidious English!

-Jacques Benique Bossuet

Jackson had always hated England. The weather too downcast and the natives too cheery, he tried to avoid the country as much as humanly possible. Unfortunately, much of his work seemed to be centered there, like this project, and he always wound up at the same old motel.

The Cheshire Inn, a drab old dump of a place, rested on the outskirts of London, roughly twenty miles from the hotel. It was a waste of time to drive from the inner city all the way to the motel and then all the way back in again, where he would later be residing with Lisa and Sarah, but necessary. If Jackson was ever traced by the police, they'd find this backtracking odd and become disoriented and thus it guaranteed his safety.

A car was waiting for him at the airport, driven by an old associate of his, one who'd grown with the company into old age and was now demoted to playing cabbie. The man, Arnold, had been in Britain so long that he'd begun to add an English lilt to every word and 'oi' to every other sentence. And judging by the way he stared at Lisa as she slid into the backseat of the rundown car, he was very, very lonely. Jackson merely glared at the man as he slammed his door.

"Where to, boss?"

"The Cheshire. Of course." Arnold nodded and they took off down the winding street towards the inn.

Lisa had been quiet for the duration of the flight, sighing every once and a while and groaning whenever they hit turbulence. Though he'd been bored, Jackson had graciously opted out of badgering her. Though he'd never been celebratory, his silence would be her only Christmas present.

Now, he silently kept his eyes on her as she watched London fly by her window. He knew that she had never traveled out of the states before, and also that she had a strong sense of curiosity. If anything else, she must be interested, at least. "Do you like it?" he asked thoughtfully.

"What?"

"The scenery."

She shrugged dejectedly, obviously lying when she answered, "It's fine."

"Big Ben 'ere, erected in 1893," Arnold sang as they passed said tower. Jackson rolled his eyes.

"We're not tourists, Arnold."

"Sorry."

It was snowing when they arrived at the Cheshire, and Lisa shivered as they stepped onto the curb. Jackson grabbed their bags and ushered her inside.

A sleepy concierge dozed at the desk, head lolling on the keyboard. Jackson tapped impatiently and the girl snapped to attention, nearly hitting her head on the bulky, outdated computer. "Name?" she inquired hastily with a thick Welsh accent, her fingers tapping away on the keyboard.

"Wilkins."

"Ah, Mr. Wilkins," she greeted warmly with an air of familiarity. Jackson's company regularly used the Cheshire as a drop-off point, always under the name Wilkins and always under Jackson's face, but always with a different story. The concierge smiled. "Miss Peterson is waiting in room 19 with your daughter. Have a lovely Christmas."

"You as well." Jackson noted smugly that the girl didn't even glance at Lisa before returning to her nap. The guise had worked well.

They walked down a narrow hallway that smelled sickeningly of tomatoes and cat food before arriving outside the splintered door of room 19. Lisa looked at Jackson. "I don't understand," she protested. "What's going on?"

"We're picking up my daughter," he explained, sighing impatiently as he rapped on the door. "From my ex-wife, as per custody agreements."

Lisa muttered something under her breath, something that sounded like 'sneaky, despicable bastard' but Jackson ignored her and returned to pounding on the door with a satisfied grin.

It swung open seconds later, and he was greeted by a scowling albeit recognizable face. Yvonne Brenton, aka Laura Peterson, glared at him, grabbing him by his jacket as she yanked him inside. Jackson growled, hating the way that women always felt they could push him around like some sort of toy. Not only did he pull the insipid woman from him, but he also shoved her brusquely so she fell into the wall to emphasize his point.

"You're late," she barked as she picked herself up. Jackson heard Lisa snort, and forced himself not to hit her. Obviously she was amused by this woman's aggression with him.

Grabbing Lisa and pulling her next to him, "I also had this, and, Brenton, may I remind you of where your paycheck comes from?"

She opened her mouth to protest, then fell silent as Jackson pushed past her to address Thomson and Garr.

Lisa was whining something at him, something about her distaste at being referred to as 'this', but Jackson's mind was occupied with more important matters. He turned first to Thomson, whose face paled considerably under Jackson's icy glower.

"The next time that your need to piss upsets one of my jobs," Jackson spat angrily, "I will permanently arrange it so that you will never have that need. Ever. Again."

Thomson nodded meekly, shamefacedly stepping behind Garr, who cleared his throat nervously and gestured to the bound and gagged teenager resting on the only bed in the room. Lisa, noticing the girl, made a strangled noise and broke away from Jackson, kneeling at her side. She glared up at Jackson, futilely struggling to free the girl of her restraints. "Is this really necessary?" she hissed at him, her fingers fumbling at the knot of the rope binding the conscious teenager's feet.

"Is it?" Jackson raised an eyebrow, turning to Garr, who nodded avidly.

"She's more fiery than you would expect," Garr announced, pointing to a small indentation on his hand with an expression of martyrdom plastered over his face. "She bit me!"

Jackson sighed, helping Lisa to untie the girl amidst the protestations of both Garr and Thomson. "How do you expect we explain this to all the people we pass on the way to the hotel?" Jackson questioned derisively.

As soon as he callously ripped the tape from her mouth, Keefe's daughter began screaming a steady stream of curses at him. He instantly clapped his hand over her lips as Brenton leapt to her feet to assure that the hallway was empty.

"If you want to die," Jackson hissed at Sarah Keefe, "then I'd suggest you keep screaming."

"Leave her alone!" Lisa yelled at Jackson, crazily pushing him backwards and away from the girl. The room quieted as Jackson backhanded Lisa sharply across the face and she flew to the floor in a heap.

"Do that again, Lisa," he snapped. "I dare you."

She exhaled sharply, her eyes conveying hate to him as she weakly rose on shaky legs. Brenton laughed coldly at her, hawk like features unsmiling. Lisa ignored the other woman, her jaw tensing. "Don't hit me," she muttered to Jackson. It was enough. Jackson raised his fist, willing to hit her again merely to prove a point to his colleagues and Lisa alike, when he felt himself being restrained by an unknown figure behind him. He yanked his arm from their grasp and turned to see Sarah Keefe facing him, fists raised bravely in front of her.

"She was standing up for me," Sarah told him, apparently trying to be courageous. Jackson tried not to chuckle as he glanced at her trembling body. "You shouldn't have a problem with that."

"I have a problem with stupid women who think that their big mouths compensate for their weakness," Jackson answered angrily, rising from the bed and clapping his hands together. "Let's go. I don't have all day."

Brenton nodded, also standing. "I'll walk you out. Make sure you don't have any problems with her." She jerked her thumb at Lisa.

"I can handle her, Brenton," Jackson snarled defensively. Just because she fucking stabbed me in the throat doesn't mean that I'm afraid of her, he thought bitterly. Nor does it imply that she's stronger.

Brenton smirked smugly. "Well, then. Just in case."

"Like I'd be afraid of you," Lisa snorted, apparently surprising both Brenton and herself. Jackson grinned. Brenton really has no idea… "Who are you pretending to be, Cat Woman or something?"

Brenton scowled, stepping closer to Lisa and radiating a furious energy. Jackson cautiously pulled Lisa to him. Lisa jerked away, moving towards Brenton. He sensed a fight and forced her back. "Like you're much better there, Princess Jasmine," Brenton snarled.

Lisa growled, obviously itching for a fight after all the time spent cooped up, behaving, on the airplane, and slapped the other woman in the face. Jackson sighed. This again…Jesus…I don't get paid enough. Brenton, of course, hit back, and before the situation could get worse, Jackson dragged Lisa away, with Thomson, hulking Neanderthal that he was, restraining Brenton.

"Are we twelve?" he whispered disapprovingly in Lisa's ear.

"Fuck you," she barked at him, struggling.

"Daddy and Cousin would be proud, Leese," he reminded her, and she stilled, her chest heaving from her efforts. Brenton wrenched away from Thomson, marching off to glower in the bathroom.

Garr nervously spoke up. "Uh…Jackson?"

Jackson rolled his eyes. "What now?"

"Where did she go?"

Looking down at Lisa, he sneered, "Where did who go?"

Just as he asked it and Garr replied, Jackson remembered, and cursed himself for his stupidity and negligence.

"Sarah Keefe."

Lisa grinned at him as Jackson shoved her away and took off down the hall, Garr's words echoing in his ears, "Fuck."