Jackson knew he was too close. Breathing down Mathis' neck - the Pontiac only two car lengths ahead of him and the downtown Friday night traffic at a dead stop. His incredulousness at the situation was just beginning to tick over into the red zone of anger, and he clouted the car stereo into silence. It was hard to think.
Hold it together. You'll figure out a way to deal with this. The attempt to calm himself was ineffective and quickly forgotten as he tried to see through the car in front of him and into Mathis' car. The fact that he was so near to Lisa but could not see her was bothersome, and he strained forward in his seat, as if this would bring him closer to her.
The traffic began to stutter forward. Mathis made a sudden left turn into a parking garage that Jackson had not even noticed. "Goddamn it," he growled, seeing that he could not directly follow Mathis, who had stopped the car to retrieve his ticket from the automatic meter. Jackson sighed in frustration; the only thing to do was to go around the block again and enter the garage on the next pass.
He did so, on the way observing the area. Jaywalkers crossed in front of his car as they headed toward the hub of activity. Sunrise Harbor Promenade, proclaimed a huge, arcing sign. The place was a posh open-air plaza, replete with restaurants, bars, high-line shops and some sort of museum or art gallery as the main draw. Whose idea was it to come here? Jackson wondered. Was Mathis trying to demonstrate a culturally impressive side, or was Lisa longing for an evening of artistic stimuli? Either way, it was sickening.
Coming back around to the front of the parking garage, Jackson swung the BMW into the entrance. He snatched impatiently at his ticket, tearing it out of the meter almost before it had finished ejecting itself, and waited an interminable two seconds for the gate to raise. He stomped the gas, and the tires gave a sharp, shrill bark like a small dog that had been kicked in the ribs.
Jackson accelerated, climbing one level, then another, eying each parked car and watching for Lisa and Mathis on foot. The first two floors were filled, but on the third, Jackson began to see open spaces, and as he turned onto the fourth, he spotted the detective's dark blue Pontiac. Mathis and Lisa were just emerging from it.
Jackson bypassed the floor quickly and proceeded straight down the exit ramp, swearing, his heart pounding. They had almost seen him. He descended two levels, shaking his head with an ironic chuckle. Shit… that was close.
Once he was sure he had given the couple enough time to reach the elevator, Jackson started back up. He drove faster, overhead lights flashing past rapidly, and marked the detective's Pontiac as he passed it. Up two more floors, increasingly vacant of cars until, almost dizzy from his swift circling of the garage levels, Jackson at last reached the roof.
The top of the garage was utterly devoid of vehicles, and Jackson let the BMW meander over the open asphalt, the wheel loose in his hands. He saw that the elevator did not reach to this level - instead there was a single stairwell on the same side. Jackson parked next to the doorway to the stairs and got out of the car.
Buffeted by a chilly wind, Jackson hurried to the wall at the building's edge and peered over, holding his breath in suspense - it had taken him too long to park; surely he would not see them.
There they were, six stories below: Mathis escorting Lisa along the attractively paved and landscaped passage that led between the garage and the Promenade. Even from his vantage point far above them, Jackson could see that they were talking, their faces turned toward one another. He leaned forward on the wall and to one side, almost losing sight of Lisa behind the bushy top of a tall palm tree.
Moments later, Lisa crossed the street with the detective and disappeared into the crowd. Exasperated, Jackson gripped the cement wall hard, his arms rigid and aching with tension. For now, there was no more he could do. He could not risk being seen in public and possibly identified; and that meant no mingling with the crowd, no following Lisa to whatever shop or restaurant she and Mathis had chosen.
Restless, Jackson prowled back and forth along the wall, hoping to catch another glimpse of Lisa. As he paced, eyes fixed on the colorful glow and bustle of the Promenade, the injustice of the situation became increasingly galling. Lisa was alive because, unbeknownst to her, she had been under his protection for months. She lived, breathed and dated detectives only at his whim.
But now, upon his long-awaited return to Miami, Jackson was relegated to spectator status in her life. The crowd continued to mill around the brightly lit plaza across the street; a world where Lisa could still enjoy the everyday pleasures her freedom offered; while he roamed the dark roof of the parking garage like an outcast, the wind cutting through his jacket and carrying snatches of music to him from the festivities below. Jackson stopped pacing and stood still, hands jammed down into his pockets, mouth open slightly as he thought.
It was colossally idiotic to even consider going down there and mixing with hundreds of people… since there was always the less palatable option of waiting for the date to run its course; and for Mathis to take Lisa home. After the detective dropped Lisa off at her condo, Jackson would be free to deal with her. Assuming Mathis leaves at all… Jackson had no way of knowing how new their personal relationship was; no idea if Mathis might stay at Lisa's overnight. His stomach gave a nasty lurch at the thought.
Suddenly, waiting for the pair to return home seemed too great a gamble. If they spent the night together, Jackson could not confront Lisa tonight; he would have to stay in Miami at least another day. And he was adamantly unwilling to do so; this night had been planned for too long to delay it any more. Mathis was not about to fuck it all up for him. No. He isn't taking her home… I'll see to it.
Jackson started toward the stairs.
-----------------------------------------
Lisa recrossed her legs and poked at the salad, chasing a crouton around the plate with her fork. She wasn't hungry, but forced the food down out of a sense of decorum. Mathis was a perfect dinner date, courteous and kind. But the feeling of fraud within her grew by the minute. Why did I agree to this? she thought hopelessly.
Mathis had, just after picking her up, set one boundary for the evening - that they not talk about his job. Lisa understood it as his formal attempt to move their relationship from professional to personal, but rather than pleasing her, it had been cause for chagrin. Mathis was, above all else to Lisa, an indirect link to Jackson - someone who would have first word of his whereabouts - and she did not want the detective to purposely close that pipeline. If Mathis would no longer discuss Jackson with her, what good was he?
Lisa glanced around the restaurant, Mathis' stream of conversation flowing around her without resistance. Up to this point in the evening, she'd had trouble meeting his gaze; the honest fondness in his dark eyes was too guilt-inducing. This was a big mistake. She had always felt a faint vibe of attraction from Mathis, even through the investigation, but now she had stupidly put herself in the position of having to deal with it directly… and eventually let him down.
Knowing she must make a better effort at being good company - at least for this one night - she bit the bullet and faced him. He's reasonably handsome, she thought in an academically detached way that did not seem at all as if it had come from her own brain. With analytical precision, she studied his features, willing some spark of attraction for him to ignite.
Mathis' neatly slicked back dark hair was the antithesis of Jackson's scruffy mane. His facial structure was rounder and fuller than Jackson's angular visage, and his voice had none of the smooth depth that Jackson's possessed. But the most striking difference was in the two men's eyes, and in this they could not have been farther apart. No one had eyes like Jackson's.
Feeling nothing, Lisa gave up, her attention drifting out the window, and she blankly stared at the hordes of people outside. She could not make herself desire Nick Mathis; there was no possibility of his competing with the ghost of Jackson. A deep feeling of defeat engulfed her. She had ventured on this date to break the depressing cycle of missing Jackson; and to move forward in the new year without being haunted by his abandonment. But the date only served to viciously underscore the aching fact that her intense experiences with Jackson would never be matched by anyone else… she was locked in an eternal search for him.
The meal finished, they lingered at the table and Mathis ordered coffee. Reaching across the table, he gently took her hand in his; dark eyes alight with a warmth that Lisa found discomfiting. It took all of her willpower not to jerk her hand away. Innocent of her internal struggle, he clearly thought the date was playing out fabulously.
Let him enjoy this. Don't spoil it for him. That would come at another time - this was their first and last date.
-------------------------
Jackson loitered in the long corridor by the Promenade restrooms and checked his watch. The damn dinner had to be almost over by now. Was there more to come afterwards? Shopping, perhaps? He ran his tongue over his front teeth, his lips twisting in grim impatience.
Lurking in the hallway by the bathrooms was a safe course of action, considering his limitations. The passage was a shortcut through the plaza as well, so people did not linger there long, and those who saw him standing around would merely assume he was waiting on a companion who was using the facilities. But being out in public was a nerve-jangling venture, and he did not want to prolong his exposure.
Moving closer to the wall to let a group of youths pass, Jackson lowered his head and feigned another glance at his watch, maintaining a low profile. One of the young men shrieked with laughter at his buddy's joke, and the attention-drawing noise echoed throughout the passageway. Cheer the fuck up, asshole… Jackson scowled.
After the youths had passed along, buzzing amongst themselves in Spanish, Jackson peered over their heads to the more brightly lit area outside the corridor. To Azul - Lisa's restaurant. In a stroke of pure luck, she had been seated by a window, so he was able to periodically establish whether her dinner was still underway, though it was hard to see most times. Jackson squinted hard, trying to see past the crowd and through the glass.
Their table was vacant; a busboy in white bent over it, clearing the dishes. Jackson's pulse raced. The dinner had ended at last. With caution he came forward into the open plaza, searching for the pair. In seconds, he had located Lisa's auburn hair, not thirty feet away.
Jackson froze in his tracks, surprised by the affecting jolt upon seeing her so close again… it seemed forever since he had been so near to Lisa. It was not a sense of danger that stopped him cold; it was the sharp and devastating awareness of her.
Every sense went hyper-alert: the Latin décor around him screamed vibrant colors into his retinas, snatches of strangers' insipid conversations burned themselves into his brain, the smell of spilt beer and wafting cigarette smoke filled his nostrils… Yes. The rending intensity he had hungered for ever since leaving her on the highway that night… Jackson had never forgotten it.
He had never forgotten her.
----------------------------------------
In the crisp outside air, Lisa felt better. The situation was less claustrophobic outdoors, but this did not decrease her sense of failure over the date. She turned to Mathis with a small smile. "Thank you for dinner, Math… Nick," she said, flushing at her slip-up. "It was really nice of you."
Mathis pretended not to notice her blunder. "What next? Feel like checking out the gallery?" He nodded toward the centerpiece of the plaza.
Lisa considered, fingering her small satin handbag. She wanted to go home. But she enjoyed the gallery and had not been there in several years; there might be exhibits she had never seen. Emotional fatigue battled with her personal interest for a few moments before the latter won. "Okay," she said with an acquiescing smile.
A warbling beep emanated from Mathis' belt region. "Hold on, I better get this. I'm sorry, Lisa," the detective apologized, reaching for his cell.
"That's all right," Lisa held up a tolerant hand and stepped away. With greater distance between her and Mathis, she discovered that she felt less stifled, as if she could take in a full breath. Reveling in the sensation, she unobtrusively floated a few more steps away, feeling her personal space expanding; the pressure lifting.
Glancing back at Mathis, she saw that he was engrossed in listening to his caller. Must be his work… Lisa thought. She caught his eye and gestured toward the window of a shop that sold modern art. I'll be over here, she mouthed. Mathis nodded and waved her on.
Free for a few liberating minutes, Lisa walked toward the shop, her new shoes rubbing her heels painfully. She could not wait to get home and tear them off. As she neared the shop, her eye was caught by a sign indicating the nearby restrooms. Maybe she should dash in there while Mathis was occupied.
Walking quickly, she entered the corridor. She had only just spied the ladies' restroom door when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a dark form push away from the wall and toward her. A hand seized her upper arm, and Lisa gasped, icy terror inundating her.
Jackson.
He fell into step with her without missing a beat, his grip impelling her faster forward. "Let's go, Lisa." He did not look at her.
"Jack…!" she gasped. Reflexively, Lisa struggled to pull away, but he gave a hard, controlling yank that almost toppled her off her high heels.
"Walk with me. Normally. Like you just had dinner with me," Jackson instructed, his voice taut with sarcasm.
