Your reviews have been very kind. I very much appreciate them. And I'd like to say that I do not own Red Eye or the characters!
Chapter 2
My flight arrived in New York slightly behind schedule thanks to a strong head wind. Apparently a storm was brewing, because we landed late that afternoon in a gray world, and I have to admit that my optimistic mood dimmed just a bit, along with the sunlight.
I hurried through the airport. The hotel was supposed to be sending a limo for me and because I work in the hotel industry myself, I wanted to be as close to on time as possible. I don't like inconveniencing people. Luckily I only had a carry on bag, so I didn't have to wait at the luggage carousel, but I did stop briefly to freshen up on the way out.
I looked at myself in the mirror and took a deep breath, struggling to regain my earlier optimism. It was travel fatigue, I decided. Nothing more. I'd be glad to get to my hotel room and change out of my traveling skirt and sweater into my pajama pants and top. I decided a book, a room service dinner, and an early bedtime sounded really good. I wanted to feel refreshed and energized tomorrow morning for the start of the seminar, with hopefully enough energy left over to do some shopping later, if we got out early enough.
Outside the airport, yellow cabs and limos waited impatiently, if the honks and hand gestures meant anything. I scanned the sidewalk anxiously and finally spotted a tall thin man of middle age in a crisp black suit standing beside one of the limos holding up a sign that read, "Lux New York". Relieved, I hurried toward him.
He checked my name against a list, took my bag from me, andheld the door as I climbed into the back seat Another passenger was already seated inside. She was about my age, with medium brown hair. Like me, she was wearing a casual skirt and a sweater set. I could see that she was studying a sheaf of papers that looked identical to the ones in my leather attaché case. She looked up as I settled into my seat.
"Hotel management seminar?" I asked tentatively.
She smiled. "Yes. You, too?"
"Yes." I offered her my hand. "Lisa Reisert. I work for the Lux Atlantic in Miami."
"Marty Hall." She took my hand. "Four Seasons, Dallas. I'm the catering manager."
"Very glad to meet you. Actually, isn't Four Seasons in Las Colinas?"
"Well yes, but most people have never heard of Las Colinas, so we just say Dallas. Are you from Texas?"
Before I could answer, our driver climbed into the front seat and turned to say, "I have one more pick-up. It's a private jet and should be on the ground by now."
We both assured him this wasn't a problem, and he swung into the traffic.
We wound around through the airport, past the commercial airline gates, and eventually reached an area dotted with airfreight businesses, aeronautic companies, and private hangars. We rolled to a stop in front of a very large hangar with what looked like an office extension built onto the side of it. The hangar doors were closed. Our driver parked and disappeared through a side door only to reappear almost immediately.
He leaned across the front seat and said, "Looks like the plane is running behind and won't be on the ground for about half an hour. I'm sorry to make you two wait. There's a nice office inside with coffee and soft drinks, though, if you don't mind waiting in there."
Marty and I looked at one another. I was thinking that I'd prefer waiting in the car, but Marty said, "That's be great. I'd love to find a lady's room."
"Sure. That's not a problem at all," I completely understood the need for that little amenity, and was thinking that coffee actually sounded pretty good.
Inside I saw a large carpeted area populated with a couple of desks, a small sink, a cabinet and a refrigerator. A couple of couches and comfortable chairs were spaced evenly throughout the room. The coffee maker beside the sink was not plugged in and I saw no vending machines. The office area itself opened directly onto the hangar. Inside the hanger, although no overhead lights burned, I could see what looked like a monster-sized jet.
Before Flight 1019, I was not by nature a suspicious person. It makes sense to me to be a little more observant these days, though, and right then my instincts went on red alert. I turned to Marty, but saw that she had lagged behind me and was now closing the outside door firmly behind her. I swung my head back towards the limo driver, but he had disappeared somewhere into the hangar's cavernous gloom.
Someone else was emerging from the gloom, however. A man of average height approached, walking with a barely discernable limp, and I felt a sudden frisson of something I couldn't immediately define. I couldn't make out his facial features, but as it turned out I didn't have to. His first, slightly hoarse words made his identity devastatingly clear.
"Why Leese," Jackson Rippner said. "Are you stalking me again?"
The security of the past six months flew off of me like seeds scattered to the wind. The unease I'd felt for all these months had, it seemed, been there for a reason. The unease had tried to warn me, but I had chosen to ignore it. And yet I felt no real surprise. My psyche had known all along that he still lived, that he still breathed.
I whirled and bolted for the door. And came up short to face Marty, my co-passenger, my fellow hotel management colleague. Marty, who now leaned against that door, barring my way. Marty, who now had a handgun trained on my head.
No doubt there are brave souls in this world who, upon coming face to face with a gun, opt to take their chances and run for it. I am not one of them. I froze. And before I could formulate any kind of alternate plan, a steely arm snaked around my waist from behind. Jackson Rippner pulled me with snug familiarity up against him.
"Now calm down," he said soothingly, as one would say to a child afraid of the monster beneath the bed. "You're trembling like a leaf."
"I'm calm," I managed to say. And considering the circumstances, I felt I even managed to say it with a decent composure. "Why aren't you dead?"
"I'm hard to kill," I felt him shrug slightly behind me.
"What do you want with me, Rippner? Why have you brought me here?"
"Well, let's think about that for a minute, Leese. You stabbed me, your father shot me, and you completely fucked up my last job. In my business, I don't get to fail. So I'd say that you and I aren't finished yet. We have some loose ends to tie up." He shifted behind me and I felt his hand brush my hair gently away from my neck. The gesture felt intimate and obscene. Then I felt a sudden sharp sting. It felt like a bee sting. I gasped out loud and my arm flew up reflexively toward my neck.
Or rather it tried to fly up – my arm was moving very slowly. I looked at my hand, confused. I glanced across at Marty. She continued to watch me impassively from the door and she held the handgun steady. Then my vision blurred and I knew he had drugged me.
Had he killed me? Even thinking seemed hard now. But as the paralysis spread, panic began to overwhelm me. I couldn't fight. I couldn't move my arms or my legs. My mind cried out that I didn't want to die and I wonder if I said the words out loud because I heard Jackson say, as he held me firmly even as my body tried to sag toward the floor, "You won't die today."