Chapter 8
Jackson knocked impatiently. A stir came from behind the blue wooden door. It creaked open, and two surprised hazel eyes peered at him from the shadows.
"Jackson?" she questioned.
"Jillian…" he gave her a definitive snarl. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"What are you doing here?" she snapped in a whisper, nervously inspecting the parking lot.
Jackson glared. "I thought I'd ask you the same thing."
The redhead swung the door open violently and pulled him in. "Get in here you idiot. If someone sees you…"
"Oh, but I'm dead, remember?" he quipped venomously. Jillian slammed the door, sealing them in a dark motel room.
"I'm just picking up where you left off Jack. It took months to track her down, while the great Jackson lays helpless in intensive care!" She stopped. "What do you mean 'you're dead?'"
"Please," he shouted. "I think you know. So what, are you making your move yet? Plan to run her off the road or something equally brash?"
"Hey not all of us are lucky enough to catch her on a return flight from a funeral! Bet that was nice, granny bumped up your plan a week, didn't she?"
"So what were you doing tonight? Gaining her trust? They say imitation is the best flattery. How long did it take your creative brain to think this up?"
"Fuck you Jackson!" she snapped. "You really aren't as good as you think you are, obviously. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you! She knows you, knows what you look like. You're an idiot for coming here!"
"No, they want me buried in a Las Vegas desert, where Mason is right now!"
Jillian stopped. Her anger dissipated. "Mason…" she questioned. Her eyes narrowed. Jackson smiled at her.
"Come on, grow up Jill. You know damn well, there is no honor amongst thieves. What do you think they'll do if you screw up? Give you a fucking medal?"
The air between the two was electric and silent. Jillian's eyes dropped shamefully.
"Jackson… I have work to do. Exactly what are you doing here?" Jillian's voice was cold and limp.
"Oh, just thought I'd stop by, catch up on old times. And, of course, warn you to beware of Lisa bearing a pen." He smiled again at the disarmed combatant and cracked open the motel door furiously. He turned, ready to leave.
"No Jackson, I meant… you came to see her again, didn't you?" she stammered, halting Jackson. He exhaled into the cold. His icy eyes traced the black wilderness beyond the empty parking lot. His heart stung. Jackson stood, frozen in Jillian's doorway.
"I mean," she continued, "she almost killed you, Jackson. Because of her, your life is over. You should thank me, but then again, it's just business." Jackson recalled his words to Lisa that night. My business is all about you…
Silently, Jackson stepped into the night and closed the door. He shuffled to the rusted Chevy, injured. He questioned himself; exactly what ARE you doing here?
Jillian stared angrily at the closed door. Shit, this might not work.