"Why, in the name of Christ and all that is fucking holy did you go back to her apartment?"

Jackson had been sitting on the makeshift hospital bed, buttoning one of his sleeve cuffs, when Margo burst into the room, spewing curses and snarling at him like some caged animal.

He calmly raised an eyebrow, curious as to what the hell was going on here. "I beg your pardon?" His voice sounded better these days. Steadier. It had lost the rasp, and even if it was still a bit strained, it didn't hurt to talk any more. He felt more like himself than he had in a long time.

She whirled on him, eyes spitting fire. He briefly wondered if it would be worth joining back up with the Mafia when her father retired. She clenched her fists and her angular face turned an alarming shade of fuscia. "Don't you dare play stupid with me. I'll have you skinned so fast, you'll still be wondering how it got so drafty in here while I admire my new coat in the mirror." He decided it might be worth it to look into Mafia work. She wasn't making a whit of sense.

"Margo? You're going to have to fill me in a bit here. Because unless you've walked into the wrong room, I have no idea what you're talking about. So why don't you take a deep breath, get those thoughts formed into a coherent idea, and explain to me what the hell it is you're ranting about."

The fury didn't leave her eyes, but when Margo spoke again, it was more controlled. "Lisa Reisert. Her apartment was broken into last week. She told the cops it was you. A fucking fireman said he saw you. She found that fucking scarf at the scene." She narrowed her eyes. "Off the record, I gave you free-rein to do whatever the hell you'd planned for her in that fucked-up little brain of yours. But I didn't think you'd be so stupid as to – "

"It wasn't me."

She paused, speechless for once. "Don't lie to me – "

"You know I don't lie."

She narrowed her eyes again, as if debating whether or not she believed that. "I thought you'd left for your assignment…"

"I left to prepare for my assignment. I came back to get a final check-over."

She seemed grudgingly satisfied with that response. "Well, if it wasn't you at her apartment, the client must have had our guy leave the scarf for some reason."

He thought about it. That made some sense. He'd certainly inflicted his fair share of psychological harm on the girl.

She went on before he could continue that train of thought. "Funny thing is… The fire department of Miami confirmed there was a man at her place…" He looked up, and Margo filed away the look that flashed across his face. What had that been? Anger? Jealousy? Surely not… She continued as if nothing had happened, "And the description we have in the police report is '5'7"-5'11", slim build, dark hair, blue eyes.' That sure as hell sounds like you to me – "

"I told you it wasn't me." This conversation was quickly becoming irritatingly tedious.

"Shut up and let me finish, 'Jackson'." They both went silent, staring each other down, ice blue eyes boring into emerald. She was the one to break the link first. His eyes were always much too intense for anyone's liking… "What I was going to say is, that sounds like you, but the guy we sent the client for this case looks nothing like you."

Jackson bit back a sarcastic remark. "So he brought in another guy. That's not unusual." He couldn't help but add coolly, scathingly, "They must've had you sitting on the sidelines too long for you to have forgotten that."

Her nostrils flared, the fury returning. Jackson smirked. This is why her father never let her run any field operations. Not because he was concerned for her safety; she was just too damn emotional. Women. He could almost see her counting to ten as she tried to calm herself once more.

"Yes, he might have brought in another guy to plant the scarf. But my point is this: The guy we sent the client doesn't know who you are. He's never seen you work. He had no knowledge of your injuries, or the goddamn scarf, for that matter."

"Someone must have told him."

"Who?" He wanted to roll his eyes. God damn it, but she really could be a stupid cow.

"Anyone he wanted to get information from on Reisert and the prior assignment. The doctors, the cops, the medics…" He narrowed his eyes up at her, "You…"

Margo narrowed her eyes right back. "And why the hell would I implicate you?"

He let the smirk slip back into place. "I was just naming names, Margo. I didn't say you were the one responsible."

She snarled and turned on her heel, heading for the door. Throwing it open, she turned back to glare murderously at him. "Our doctors gave you a clean bill of health, did they not?"

"Yes."

"So get out. You have an assignment to complete. Try not to fuck it up this time."

She was gone before he could respond, which said much more about the hastiness of her retreat than the speed of his retorts. The side of his mouth twitched slightly as he smirked again.

The scarf incident really didn't bother him. Not in the sense that he should be worried about the authorities. It would make getting back to Lisa slightly more challenging, but it would be nothing he couldn't handle. In fact, he'd enjoy the challenge quite a bit. No. The scarf incident actually served his purposes. He was disappointed he couldn't have left it there himself, naturally, but it meant she would already have him back on her mind when he did return. And having the psychological advantage… Yes, this situation would serve his purposes quite nicely.

He just had to make sure he got to her before they did.

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The next day, Jackson had his bag packed, and was experiencing a strong feeling of déjà vu as he waited for one of the women at the check-in counter to beckon him over. Ah, there.

"Hello, sir, how are you today?"

He smiled disarmingly at the blonde behind the counter, glancing to her nametag before responding. "I'm doing very well, Laura. So kind of you to ask." She returned his smile, a bit too widely, shyly flicking her eyes back to the monitor in front of her. How quaint.

"Sir, if I could please just have your name, an ID, and destination?"

He pulled out a wallet from his pocket, the letters "J" and "R" embossed on the dark leather in bold silver.

"Jackson Rippner. Miami."

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Author's Notes:

Um… Nothing to say here. Just hope you guys are still enjoying it. :)