"Sorry about the paperwork, Lisa," Mathis said. "Do you want me to get you something to eat?"
Lisa shook her head. The thought of eating had no appeal. Somberly, she looked over the form again, her pen hesitating over the line at the bottom that awaited her signature. In typically intimidating language, the paper enumerated the risks and benefits of becoming an informant for the Miami Police Department - dwelling mostly on the risks. She stared at the words until they merged on the page before her eyes, and still her pen hovered.
She had not expected her conviction to waver so soon; immobilizing waves of doubt crashed over her.
With Mathis watching closely, she clicked the pen repeatedly, pretending to read the sheet over once more. This shouldn't be hard… At last she had the opportunity to do something. To end the insufferable conditions that Jackson had imposed upon her life.
But ending the pain would also irrevocably end the pleasure. By signing the document, she would deal a death blow to her poignant link with Jackson. She drew a finger along her bottom lip and glanced at Mathis. Startled by his intense stare as he waited, she coughed out a nervous laugh.
"This is your decision to make, Lisa. You don't have to sign. If it sounds like too much, just say the word. We'll go back to what we were doing before."
"What we were doing before wasn't working for me," Lisa said, rubbing the edge of the paper in her fingers fretfully.
Another officer entered the room and handed a blue sheet to Mathis, who sat up sharply. The officer nodded at Lisa before exiting, and she gave him a weak smile. Mathis read the paper's contents quickly, then tossed it on the table, spinning it with a harsh wrist snap.
"What is it?" Lisa asked, grateful for even a moment's distraction.
"Rippner's gunshot residue test results," Mathis said. "Negative," he cast a thwarted eye at the offending page, before turning his attention to her again.
Negative. Meaning there had been nothing on Jackson's hands to link him to the shooting outside her condo. It had been her last hope. If the test had been positive, Mathis could have arrested Jackson immediately, and she would not have to involve herself as she had so rashly proposed. But now…
Gritting her teeth, Lisa signed the paper.
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The BMW's temperature gauge displayed a ridiculous 114 degrees - a measurement more representative of the car's black metal hood than the air temperature. Already broiling hot, and just past noon. It was nearly the end of September, and Jackson wondered when, or if, it would begin to cool in Miami. He would not be here to find out.
Jackson lifted his cell phone from the car's console, making sure it was fully charged. He had driven around town for over an hour as a test run for his final bolt from Miami, and, as far as he could tell, he was under relatively light police surveillance. Only two unmarked Crown Vics shuffling around in his slipstream; vanishing and reappearing at various intervals.
They were less troublesome to Jackson than the possibility that an additional vehicle might be tailing him - one carrying the latest assassin from the organization. Surely by now that person was in town, but Jackson had yet to spot a likely candidate in traffic.
Jackson ran errands. He stopped at the store for bottled water and a newspaper, and visited Starbucks in hopes that the steaming, frothy potion would smooth the last vestiges of his hangover. The only cars that cropped up repeatedly in his travels were the Crown Vics - just a couple of cops keeping an eye on him for Mathis.
He sipped from his tall cup and eyed the newspaper on the car seat beside him. Loper's death had made the front page. MAN SHOT TO DEATH OUTSIDE HOME OF LUX BOMBING SUSPECT. Below the dramatic headline was a large color photo of Lisa's Camry and environs festooned with yellow police tape.
Jackson had been to blame for dozens of headlines in his career, but had never been worried by them. Until now. This was too close to him… and it hadn't even been necessary. If he had fled weeks ago, upon his release from the hospital, by now he would be a long way away; cleanly separated from Miami, instead of generating additional mayhem. But his old code of conduct had deserted him, and he had been unable to make himself leave. It was that disturbingly simple.
Staring down at the stark headline as he waited for the traffic light to change, Jackson had the disconcerting feeling that he had overlooked some vital element. Wouldn't be the first time… he reproached himself. Not knowing about Lisa's rape had left him unprepared to clamp down on her sufficiently during their flight. Even then, he had felt that there was something about Lisa he was missing, but had underestimated its importance. He did not want to make the same mistake again.
Last night, when Lisa had come to him, he had considered the possibility that she could be wearing a wire for the police. But, having later removed every article of clothing from her himself, he knew that was not the case. No, she had come to him out of fear… and primal attraction.
The light turned green and Jackson moved on, the Crown Victoria hounding him a dozen car lengths back. I don't have to take her. I should be more worried about whether I can even make it out of town tonight.
The idea of jettisoning Lisa was attractive in its way; it would leave him free of any encumbrance, significantly more agile for the sudden moves being a fugitive required. It was insane to even consider taking Lisa with him. Last night's pleasure should be left to stand alone and untarnished; an immaculate send-off for his journey into darkness.
I don't need her.
He turned for home, wanting to grab a final few hours of relaxation. Life was about to change.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ugly. Lisa's first impression upon seeing the body-worn surveillance equipment as the female officer set it on the table was revulsion. God, it's ugly.
"Hello, Lisa. I'm Officer Diaz." The officer had black hair pulled into a severe clip, exposing a broad but attractive face.
"Hi," Lisa said, staring at the intimidating jumble of slender wires. Band-Aid colored and flexible, they were both smaller than she had expected and bigger than she had wished for.
Mathis stood away, letting Diaz, who was all business, take over. "This is the body wire you'll be wearing. It's worn under your shirt, on the front of the upper body. With women, we generally try to conceal it in the bra." Diaz picked up the equipment from the table and handed it to Lisa. "It has a maximum range of five miles, so we'll never be farther away that that."
"Five miles?" Lisa blurted, her eyes darting to Mathis.
The detective stepped in. "We can't risk getting too close, Lisa. Have to stay well out of Jackson's view. Most times we'll be only one mile away, two at most."
"How will you know where I am?" Panic was setting in. Abhorring the feel of the wires in her hands, she put them down.
"With this," Diaz said. She handed Lisa a small, dense-feeling black object the size of a matchbox. "This is one of the smallest GPS devices in production. Just slip it in your purse, or your pocket. We won't lose you, Lisa. We'll know exactly where you are at all times."
Lisa stared at the lengths of body wire, trying to imagine it secreted beneath her bra. "Um… what if… what if Jackson decides…"
"…to get a little frisky?" Mathis finished for her. "Lisa, all we can do is hope that he doesn't."
A grave silence descended over the room. Mathis could make no promises. If Jackson discovered the device, she would be on her own. If he finds it, he'll kill me. The daunting mission was beginning to seem more and more impossible. Her pulse raced.
Mathis spoke slowly. "Lisa, how do you think Jackson might react when faced with capture? Is there a chance he might take his own life?"
Lisa furrowed her brows, shaking her head. "No. No, that's not Jack at all. He would see that as a coward's way out. And… he likes himself too much."
"People can do drastic things in desperate situations, Lisa. But, to be honest, we're much more concerned for your welfare than for his," Mathis revealed. "We have to be prepared for the possibility that Jackson might want to take someone down with him when we move in. And it's not out of the question that he might hold you hostage at that moment."
Leaning forward until her elbows rested on the table, Lisa remembered Jackson's eyes in the airplane bathroom; the way rage had ignited there with terrifying swiftness. He had bounced her around the walls and choked her for lying to him - how would he react to such a calculated betrayal as this? The thought chilled her to the bone.
But there was last night between them now, and she clung to the memory desperately. Jackson's surprising tenderness; his lips on her scar… healing her. Their intimacy might have elevated her to personhood in his eyes, but more likely it would dangerously intensify his feelings of betrayal in the end. Lisa shut her eyes, as if doing so could block out the memory of Jackson's soft voice as he had caressed her at his door last night…
"We'll make it, Leese."
The wire on the table before her had taken on new meaning; no longer a purveyor of justice but a vile instrument of deceit. Gripped by sudden nausea, Lisa stood so quickly she nearly knocked her chair over. "Excuse me," she muttered, and dashed from the room.
---------------------------------------------------
Backing out of the driveway, Jackson paused to survey his stunning home for a last time. Night wind hissed through the tall palm trees in a breathy farewell. Though he had only lived in the house for little more than two weeks, he had enjoyed it and its luxuries - particularly the bed, since last night - and it would have been nice to stay.
But nice things didn't happen to him.
He put the BMW in gear. Two minutes out of Imperial Lakes, the first Crown Vic appeared in his rearview mirror. Jackson settled into his seat more comfortably, shrugging to relax his taut shoulder muscles. As soon as he could shake the police surveillance, he had a long night of driving ahead of him.
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Lisa longed to scratch and shift the wires lining the undersides of her breasts, but with Mathis standing by her open car window, she could not. The device pinched beneath her bra was uncomfortable, both physically and psychologically. She fingered her cell phone, lifting it and checking yet again. The sun had set, and darkness was taking command.
He's not going to call. He's too smart. He doesn't trust me. Lisa recited the mental mantra, as if thinking the words would make them happen.
Lisa glanced at Mathis. He was the picture of patience, standing next to her car to keep her company as they waited for the cell to ring. Two unmarked vans waited a distance away, parking lights glowing in the dusky, moist air - Mathis would follow her in one of them when Jackson called. The wind was picking up, and a few stray raindrops splattered on the windshield.
Mathis, his attention caught by another officer, raised his eyebrows questioningly at the man, then nodded in affirmation. He turned back to Lisa. "He says that Jackson just slipped our surveillance a few minutes ago."
"Isn't that a bad thing?" Lisa said, surprised at his unconcerned tone.
"No. The officers let him go deliberately. We want Jackson to think he's in the clear, so that he'll feel confident enough to call you."
"He might leave without me."
Mathis shook his head, pouching out his bottom lip. "I know obsession when I see it. Jackson's not going anywhere without you, Lisa."
Lisa's mouth was dry in her anxiety; her hand held the phone with a limp shakiness. She tried to inhale deeply, but it seemed she could not pull air into the depths of her lungs where she needed it most. Where had her determination gone? That morning, she had come to the police station with icy steadfastness. Now, only twelve hours later, it had evaporated.
Please don't call me, Jack…
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The BMW crept to a stop, tires crunching over gravel and limestone.
Jackson looked over his shoulder once more to confirm his isolation. He was free, but only for a short time. The smart thing to do now was keep moving, but here he was, idling under a half-built overpass that looked long abandoned. Rusty rebar protruded from the edges of the silent, unused monolith that loomed high above his car. Jackson turned off his lights and monitored his surroundings.
This was the ugly side of Miami - docks, hulking ships lolling on the dark water, strip bars across the street. It was depressing. A drunkard with a greenish beard shuffled past, head turned towards the glittering black BMW lurking in the shadows. Jackson laughed at himself in disgust, knowing that he probably looked like some rich junkie waiting for his dealer. And it was not that far from the truth.
Earlier that day, he had resolved not to take Lisa with him when he ran. No matter what. His departure from Miami was going to be dicey - it needed to be made solo.
But, like the addict who increases his dose each time, knowing that the next needleful might well be the one to kill him, Jackson gravitated inexorably toward the promise of the rush. Each time he had been with Lisa had moved him farther from rationality, until he no longer recognized his own thought patterns. Stroking his cell phone with a finger, he blew out a breath of self-loathing.
He could obtain some compensation for the whole pathetic mess that had once been the Keefe operation - Lisa herself. The truth was, he was greedy; he had never denied himself a hard-earned reward. And as a prize, Lisa could make it worthwhile; balancing the suffering he'd endured with ample pleasure.
He deserved her. God, yes… Jackson leaned back in his seat, remembering Lisa in his bed, eyes glowing with her understanding of him… and something else.
Acceptance.
-----------------------------
The phone beeped in Lisa's hand, jolting her as if with an electric shock. Green letters lit the display with the ominous word Unknown. "I think this is him," Lisa said, her voice thin.
"Answer it, Lisa," Mathis said, leaning down close by her window.
She put the phone by her ear, praying that it was a wrong number; Jackson was leaving her behind, he was on the interstate already, driving at breakneck speed away from her treachery… "Hello?"
"Leese."
Lisa's eyes closed. "Yeah?"
"It's time. Are you ready?" He sounded so calm.
"Yes. Where are you?" Lisa distractedly leaned away from Mathis, to focus on Jackson's voice.
"There's a highway under construction… I'm parked under a half-built overpass. Do you know the one?"
Lisa's mind ran frenetically for several seconds before his description clicked. "Yes," she answered. He was in the industrial district, beneath an expressway that, when the budget ran dry several years ago, had never been completed.
"I'll be here for ten minutes, Lisa. Not a second longer."
"All right, J…" But he had already ended the call; the cell slipped from Lisa's clammy palm. She faced Mathis. "He's under the Bayshore Expressway."
"Okay," Mathis reached through the window and put a hand on her shoulder. "Good luck, Lisa. Remember, go easy. If it takes you a few hours to get what we need, that's fine. Just be careful. We'll be with you all the time."
Yeah. A mile or two behind me. She could only nod, a faint squeak of assent escaping her airless throat. Mathis left her, jogging to one of the vans.
Biting down on her lip until it throbbed, Lisa pulled onto the street. Behind her, the vans' lights winked on like eyes opening, and she pressed the gas pedal to the floor.
Jack was waiting for her.