A/N: Wow, guys, the reviews are just amazing. I'm glad people seem to be getting into my story... and I was very amused by those of you who called Jackson a jerk and other such names. Heehee. Yes, he is, isn't he?
Chapter Three
He switched the radio on as the light turned green again. Jazz began to pour out of the speakers, the light tone rising and falling, the sounds of the piano counterbalancing the melody. Now Lisa really did feel like being sick. "You're going to have to stop the car."
"Sorry, Lisa. We have places to be."
"I'm going to throw up," she protested, voice shaking. She wished it would stop doing that.
"You're just going to have to hold it in."
Lisa swallowed hard and continued to look around her for anything. Anything that might help her get out of this. "What exactly are you doing?"
"Driving," he said shortly. "You ask too many questions."
"No, I mean tomorrow."
"Well, Leese, tomorrow is when everything goes into play. You see," he said, voice catching in his throat as they flew over a pothole, (Lisa gasped and held on to the arm rest for dear life) "You have two options. I want to see John Reinold dead, as you might imagine. But if my fingerprints are on the weapon that kills him, they'll trace it back to me, which, of course, is a very bad thing. And since, thanks to you, I already have a record, well, you can imagine where that might lead. So I want to pass the job off to someone else. You."
"Coward," Lisa spat. It had taken her a good fifteen minutes, but this was all the courage she was able to muster.
He pulled off to the side of the road and slammed the breaks. Lisa flew forward, seatbelt catching her and burning her chest. "Don't you ever call me that again," he said, turning around. Jackson's eyes were narrowed, his nostrils flaired, and the last time Lisa had seen him that angry was in the bathroom on the plane. He looked like he would have liked very much to strangle her. He started the car again, pressing on the accelerator harder than necessary.
"I can assume you're not going to kill John Reinold for me," he continued, as if nothing had happened.
"I think we both know the answer to that."
"Then this is where things get difficult. I need someone else to do it for me, and I know you won't do it, so we'll have to find others that can. You will walk into the hotel early tomorrow morning and I'm going to follow you. You're going to pretend like nothing's wrong and I'm going to hide somewhere in the hotel. When the Killmore presidential party walks in the door, you're going to call me and let me know. I'll take things from there."
"You're going to hold the hotel hostage," Lisa said in horror.
"I always knew you were a smart girl."
"Why do you need me then?" she asked weakly.
"Oh, I'm just doing this for fun," he said darkly.
Lisa moved her legs up to her chest and hugged them. It only took a few minutes of silence before Jackson stopped the car in front of a rundown house. "All right. Wait for me in here. I'll come around and let you out." He reached over and grabbed the gun. "Don't get cute."
She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of crying. She'd done enough of that on the plane. In order to find his vulnerability she had to prove to them that she was stronger than before.
He opened the door and grabbed her arm so hard she cried out in pain. He pulled her out and began walking. The two of them made a strange pair; she was eager to get this out of the way and so walked quickly, while Jackson walked with a limp, slowing everything down.
"Do you have to go to the bathroom?" he asked stiffly.
"No."
"You'd better go anyway. It's going to be a long night." He shoved her into a rundown bathroom and closed the door. It made a clicking noise; he must have locked her in. She knew he was waiting right outside the door in case she took too long. The sink was rusty and had grime on the inside and it looked as if the toilet could use a good plumbing. Lisa was disgusted, but there was nothing that could be done.
It was only then that she let herself be weak. She used the bathroom quickly, feeling tears press against her eyes. This time, she didn't fight them, but let them come in a sea. Shaking, she looked around for anything that might protect her. Jackson had apparently prepared for this-- there was nothing. Not even in the medicine cabinet. Not even a window. She pulled back the moldy, dusty shower curtain. No bar of soap. It seemed like such a desperate situation. Pull yourself together. There's always a way out.
"Are you done yet?" Jackson asked testily.
"No, not quite," she lied, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and trying to get her brain to focus.
"Hurry up, Leese. You've got thirty seconds."
It was enough time to pull herself together and dab at her eyes with the last bit of toilet paper, at any rate. She looked at herself in the soapy mirror. Her image was faded and cloudy, but Lisa could still see how tired, how frightened, and how pale she looked. She didn't recognize herself in the mirror. This wasn't Lisa Reisert, it was a frightened woman pretending to be Lisa Reisert. She pulled her shoulders back and stood up straight, fluffing her hair and letting her curls flop around her head. It was a little better, but the woman in the mirror still looked scared to death.
The door opened with a click and Jackson walked in. "Women. A man would have been out of there in thirty seconds, tops." He grabbed her arm again and yanked her out.
"I can walk myself," Lisa snapped. This was the Lisa Reisert she'd come to know since the day of the plane. Probably better than you can, she wanted to say.
"Normally I'd trust you, but you've tried to escape too many times for that," Jackson said, looking around for... something. He looked distracted. "Ah, here it is." He smiled again, in that weird way he had that wasn't really a smile. "Enjoy. It's your accomodations for the night." He shoved her in and flipped on the lights. Again, no windows. Nothing. Just a run down cot that looked like it'd break under her weight. Then, before Lisa had a chance to tell him exactly how much she hated him, he closed the door and locked it.
Her stomach growled loudly, which reminded her she hadn't had anything to eat since her lunch break. That had been five hours ago. It was ten o'clock at night according to her watch. She watched as seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to sets of minutes, and sets of minutes turned to an hour. There was nothing to do, nothing to pass the time. She'd just have to sit there and listen to her stomach complain.
Lisa had waited for him, it was true. Ever since he'd walked into the court room, gasping loudly and staring daggers at her. She knew the only thing keeping him back was the fact that they kept him behind bars during the trial. Otherwise she probably would have been dead a long time ago. Something inside her knew it had to happen, Jackson returning.
God, she used to have such faith in human nature. She wondered why.
Sleep didn't visit her that night. At one point, Jackson had walked by and yelled at her to turn off the lights, so she'd had to comply. But all she did was lie on the cot, listening to it squeak angrily every time she moved. It was also hard not to think about food. When she got out of this she'd order a big plate of shrimp in that restaurant down the street from the hotel she'd never bothered to visit. She'd drink wine and treat herself to dessert.
The sun filtered in early that morning. She wondered when he'd come by and let her out. Maybe he'd forgotten about her. Maybe she'd be stuck in here forever.
But there was something lying on the ground... something dark. Was that a crowbar? She picked it up with trembling hands, enjoying the feeling of power it gave her. Jackson had allowed her in a room with a weapon?
"Lisa are you ready to go?" he asked from outside the door, making her jump.
"Almost. I'm just, um, waking up now."
"I'm going to hand you new clothes and you're going to put them on. Then we're leaving."
She stashed it away as quickly and quietly as she could. He opened the door and thrust them at her. It was an old sweatshirt on jeans, probably his. "This is too big for me and they'll never let me in with this," she argued. "At my job, they actually expect us to look professional."
Jackson examined her with cold eyes. "You'll put them on and stop arguing. I don't want you to smell wearing the clothes from yesterday, and you might as well put on something more comfortable." He slammed the door shut and called, "You have thirty seconds."
She pretended to do as she was told. Lisa held up the sweatshirt. It was several sizes too big for her. It wouldn't matter in a few minutes, anyway.
He opened the door and Lisa pretended that she was in the process of doing as she'd been told. "Turn around, you didn't give me enough time," she said in her sweetest voice.
"Cut the crap and put the damn shirt on," Jackson said, turning around.
She was surprised how easy it had been. As quietly as she could, Lisa picked up the crowbar and enjoyed the slight rusty feel. Some of the rust came off on her hands. Good-bye, Jack, she thought. It's been nice knowing you, but not really. She held it like a baseball bat, up over her head, arms trembling with adrenaline.
Power was a thin shadow against his hair. Then he turned around. Several things happened all at once, and Lisa's world officially went all wrong. His eyes were wide and a malicious expression crossed his face, like it had in the airport after she'd shoved the pen in his throat. He yanked the crowbar out of her hands so hard it made a loud clunk as it hit the ground and bounced. She screamed as he grabbed her hand and wrenched it behind her back.
"Don't you ever do that again," he yelled into her ear, twisting her arm again. Her arm was coming out of her socket, she was pretty sure. Right here and now, she was going to die. She cried out as he marched her to the living room table, where the gun lay there waiting for them. He shoved the barrel into the side of her neck and this time she let the tears come. "You're going to get into the car and you're not going to say another word until we get to the hotel."
They went out to the car together. Lisa was desperate for a neighbor, a car, anything to come by. But in the daylight she saw what she hadn't seen last night-- the house was abandoned and rundown, and out in the middle of nowhere. Jackson wasn't stupid; he had taken her to a place where there was no one to hear her scream. He shoved her in and fastened her seatbelt for her quickly. Then he slid in to the front and started the car much quicker than necessary. He turned around and waved the gun in her face.
"You forget, Lisa. We have the hotel and the entire presidential party tapped. We know exactly where they are. Say another word, and John Reinold won't be the only person dead tonight."