Author's Note: Thanks to all the beautiful people who have reviewed so far! I will continue to fawn on you and tell you how lovely, wonderful, and magnificent you are…as long as you continue to review! I know, I know, ultimatums and bribery, what has the world come to? Anyways, here's the next to last chapter of my little story so I'll stop moaning and let you read…

Chapter Eleven: Out of the Thick

Lisa stared at Jackson's motionless body, his pretty blue eyes still staring back at hers. Without a word, on a shaky breath, she dropped the gun down to her side. It still had a faint steam pouring out from the barrel. There was a part of her that knew she had made the right choice, but part of her questioned her very sanity. But, every fiber of her being was telling her that after this, things would never be the same again.

On the other side of them, Daniel screamed and clutched at the wound in his leg where Lisa had just shot him. Blood oozed from his thigh and pooled in the snow on the ground where he had dropped. He was a prick, but Lisa couldn't bring herself to kill another person. One was plenty enough for her to have on her conscience.

Jackson finally moved, his lips curling into a smirk as he shoved his hands into his snow soaked pants pockets and took four long strides to close the distance between himself and Lisa.

"I thought you were gonna kill me." He said.

Lisa looked at him, "For a second there, so did I."

"I didn't kill, Neela."

"I know."

"How?"

"Because you said so."

"What if I lied?"

"You don't."

Jackson's grin widened a little.

"Lisa!" Daniel's scream interrupted their moment and drew their attention, "You bitch!"

"Besides," Lisa said on a frustrated breath, "Daniel started talking about how you've been after me for the past two years."

"So?" Jackson said, his brow furrowing, "That could have easily been true. I'm not above that sort of thing, you know."

"Yeah," Lisa said, taking a couple of steps towards Daniel, "but I never told him about you. And my name was never released to the papers because the FBI was afraid that someone might come after me."

"Someone meaning me?" he asked.

"Someone." Lisa repeated.

Jackson came to stand at her side, looking down at where Daniel was squirming on the ground, but when he spoke it was to Lisa. "You were a bargaining chip." He stated.

Daniel looked up at them, his lips curling back over his teeth in an unpleasant sneer. His face was glowing, as though he were incredibly proud of what he were about to disclose. "That's right," he snickered, "The mighty Jackson Rippner's only weakness! I thought what better way to control you than to have the one thing that everybody knew you wanted."

Jackson took the gun out of Lisa's hand. "She's not a thing, asshole."

"What's the matter, Rippner?" Daniel laughed, "Pissed off that I got there first?"

Lisa cringed and touched a hand to her throat, terrified that she might actually vomit. She had let that slime into her life, into her house. She had let him touch her. The thought sent a violent revolted chill down her spine and she had to fight off the memories of every night that she had spent with him, because with every memory came a phantom touch that just repulsed her even further. She took a few steps back, needing to put some distance between herself and that…that…between herself and Daniel.

Jackson stared down at Daniel for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. Daniel stared up at him, laughing, waiting for Jackson's response. He didn't have to wait long. Jackson leaned over him, smiled in an almost feral manner, and then fired five shots into his face. He started to turn away, then turned back and fired a sixth time, just for good measure. He spun to face Lisa, but she had turned away and buried her face in her hands the second he had fired the first round.

He tossed the gun aside and walked over to her, taking her by the shoulders and spinning her around to face him. He gently pulled her hands away from her face and used his index finger to tip her chin up, forcing her to look at him. As the adrenaline left her body, she started to feel the bite of the cold. Her teeth chattered and her body quaked no matter how she fought against it; her fingers were red and sore and difficult to move; every limb began to ache with fatigue and the onset of exhaustion. She looked up at Jackson with red puffy eyes, blue lips, and a red, runny nose which she could no longer feel. Her damp hair had bits of snow and ice clinging to the strands, which in turn were beginning to freeze to her skin. Jackson brushed a few locks back away from her pale face and pulled her against him, rubbing his own frozen hands over her arms in a vain attempt to warm her up, even a little. Lisa wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his chest. She probably would have cried, but her body didn't seem to have enough energy. She just took comfort in having Jackson's arms around her.

"So," she said, the slightest hint of hesitation in her voice, as though she weren't quite ready to ask this question, "what do we do now?"

Jackson smiled just a little and kissed her on the top of the head. "What we have to." He replied.

Lisa looked up at him, "The way you say that makes me think that I'm not gonna like this."

Jackson rested his forehead against hers and for a moment, they just stood there, staring into each other's eyes. Lisa saw something in his eyes that she had never seen before. Not even once. There was warmth and tenderness, but, there was also what appeared to be…vulnerability. That was a word that she had never imagined she would associate with anything having to do with Jackson Rippner…except maybe his next victim. He cupped both sides of her face in his hands and kissed her once on the mouth, before draping his arm over her shoulders and leading her back into the cabin.

"First thing we need to do is get you out of these clothes before you die of hyperthermia." He said with a shark's smile.

"Yeah, okay." Lisa laughed.

"See, you think I'm joking."

7:30 a.m. at the Hilton…

Doug Claustine tied the knot of his tie while watching his reflection in the mirror. Ellen was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth with her electric toothbrush. The phone shrilled at them, causing them both a start. Ellen came out of the bathroom, wiping her mouth on a towel.

"Who in the world is calling us this early?" she asked aloud, though she didn't expect her husband to answer her. She slung the towel over her shoulder and picked up the telephone receiver. "Hello?...Who is this?...What?...What are you…Where…" she felt her breath catch in the back of her throat, "Oh, my God! Who is this?...Who are you?...Answer me!"

His wife's upset tone of voice caused Claustine to abandon his tie only halfway tied and go over to her side just as she slammed the phone back down onto its cradle. She pushed both hands back through her ashen hair, then picked the phone back up and hit the button for the front desk.

"What's going on, Ellen?" Claustine asked his wife.

Ellen held up her finger in a gesture for him to hold on. A young man named Jason answered at the concierge desk. "Yes," Ellen said, "Jason, I need to be connected to the police department, right now."

Between half an hour and forty-five minutes later, sirens blazing, there were seven police cruisers, three unmarked cars, two federal marshals, two ambulances, and one fire truck pulling down the long gravel drive of a little condemned cabin that no one had even known existed. The cabin itself was ablaze, pretty much nothing but a frame by the time anyone had gotten there. The firemen immediately went to work to put out the flames, but it was really of no use by that point. The police and feds swarmed the area, taping off a perimeter and traipsing the area for evidence. There was an abandoned dark blue Mercedes, a rental. They had the agency it came from searching the database for the customer's name. Then a black BMW registered to one Jonathan Breech. The property itself was deeded to a Paul Montague. They found one body that had been shot three times in the chest at point blank range and one time in the stomach from a distance. The license found on the body identified him as one Jacob Randold, ex-army. Also in his wallet was a permit to carry a concealed weapon. The next body they found would have to be examined by the Medical Examiner before they knew too much about the guy. The ID belonged to a Daniel Davis, but the guy's face was completely gone, so they would have to wait for further testing before they could be sure.

Agent Bryce Wallace trudged through the snow to join Detective Louis Gramble, who was currently leaned against the beamer waiting for the forensics guy to finish dusting it for prints so he could inventory it. He took a long drag off of his cigarette, which was already down to practically the butt. Wallace leaned against the car beside him. They were an odd pair even just to look at. Wallace was tall and broad shouldered with close cropped sandy blond hair and big brown eyes. He looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ Magazine, not freezing his ass off in the middle of the freaking Colorado wilderness. Gramble on the other hand, looked like he was on a one way train to a major coronary. He was short and squat with a big round squishy belly and long shaggy brown hair in desperate need of a cut.

The two men had worked together several times and had a mutual respect for one another, which was rare among feds and locals.

"So," Wallace began, "you think these are related to the vics at the hotel?"

Gramble took another drag on his smoke. "I don't even know if the vics at the hotel are related to each other." He said on a cloud of smoke.

"The two on the construction floor are." Wallace said with conviction.

Gramble nodded, "But what about the woman?"

Wallace closed his eyes and pressed his fingertips against the lids, trying to banish the image from his mind. "I'm not even sure if I want to know about that one."

"I know what you mean." Gramble agreed.

In the back of his mind, Wallace thought he heard something shuffling behind them. He looked over his shoulder. Nothing there. He rubbed his temples. This case was already getting to him and they hadn't even gotten started yet.

"What's wrong?" Gramble asked, dropping his cigarette butt into the snow and crushing it under his boot.

"Nothing," Wallace said, "Just thought I heard something."
Gramble snorted and shook his head. "A case like this can do that to you." He said, then a very quiet noise caught his attention, "Shit, now I'm hearing it too."

Both men straightened up off of the car at the same time, each focusing all of their energy into listening for the noise again. There it was again! The car shook a little; just the tiniest bit of movement. They hadn't noticed it because their combined weight on the car had kept it from happening.

"Charlier," Gramble said, "pop the trunk!"

The officer dusting the interior of the car paused long enough to push the button under the dash. There was a soft noise as the trunk unlocked. Gramble and Wallace both drew their guns and aimed them at the still closed lid of the trunk. Wallace used the toe of his boot to spring the lid open all the way. Both men lunged forward, aiming into the compact space.

"Holy shit." Gramble murmured, lowering his gun.

Wallace quickly tucked his gun back into the holster and reached into the trunk to help the young woman out. Her hands were bound behind her back with duct tape; her ankles were also taped together, as well as her mouth. She squinted her eyes against the bright sun. She was wrapped in a heavy fleece blanket, under which she wore nothing more than her underwear. She sat on the bumper of the trunk while they untied her ankles, hands, and mouth. Then Wallace carried her to an ambulance since her feet were bare. He stood with her while the paramedic checked her over.

"What's your name, ma'am?" he asked.

"Lisa Reisert."

"I don't suppose you can tell me what happened here, can you?" he asked.

Lisa looked up at him and Wallace couldn't help but think to himself how lovely her sad green eyes were. She looked so lost and fragile, his first instinct as a man was to protect her, hold her to his chest and whisper in her ear about how everything was going to be okay. He rubbed one big hand over his face and shoved the thought away from his mind. Damn it, he was already bias towards her and the only thing she had said was her name. His eyes lingered on the gold band that he wore on his left hand, making him wince and mentally call himself an extensive list of names, not the least of which was scumbag.

Lisa wet her lips and wiped her nose on the edge of her blanket before lightly shaking her head. "I don't…I'm not really sure."

The paramedic, a big black man with a shaved head, deep voice, and kind eyes named Mac, looked at Wallace, "She needs some time to rest, man. We gotta get her to the hospital where she can get warm."

"Miss Reisert," he said, getting Lisa to look at him again, "Mac here is going to take you to the hospital and get you taken care of, okay? I'm gonna send a uniform with you and then I am gonna come and see you a little bit later. Understand?"

Lisa nodded and pulled the blanket a little tighter around her shoulders.

When they got to the hospital, Mac had turned her over to Dr. Martin. Dr. Martin had insisted on a rape kit, even though Lisa persisted that she hadn't been raped. She didn't want to relive that experience again, but again, since when had what she wanted had any effect whatsoever on what happened to her? So, she went through the humiliation and violation of a rape kit for the second time in her life.

"Well," Dr. Martin said, looking over her charts, "no signs of vaginal trauma. No fluids. Nothing to suggest that you were raped."

"I told you that, already!" Lisa had shouted as she tried to choke back her sobs. Sometimes she wondered it medical examiners knew just how degrading their rape tests really were. And if they did, she wondered how they could justify putting someone who had already been traumatized enough through something like that.

It was two weeks before Lisa was allowed to return to Miami. Ellen Claustine had come to visit her all three days that she had been in the hospital in Colorado, informing her about the frightening phone call that she had received and that she was the one who had sent the police out to the cabin. The police told her that they had uncovered a plot that Daniel had to have Doug Claustine assassinated and Lisa had been positively shocked to learn that her fiancé could be capable of such a thing. The fingerprints lifted from the car that she had been found in had brought about a thousand red flags with the FBI, Interpol, Scotland Yard, basically, name the agency, they were looking for the owner of those prints. Even the Secret Service had a look out for this guy, they had told her. The name that the car had been registered to belonged to a man that had been dead since 1973. Same with the name that the deed to property was under, only he died in 1954. They had checked the phone records of the hotel to see who had called Ellen Claustine, but all that had lead to was yet another dead end. The weapon that had been used to kill the victims was never found at either the cabin or the hotel. Best they could figure, this guy, the professional as they had referred to him, had killed two of David's private security guards in the hotel, probably while they were trying to prevent him from kidnapping her, and then arranged a rendezvous with David at the cabin. They had probably argued over payment and the professional had decided to simply kill them and be done with it.

Another interesting thing about this professional, was that even though pretty much every investigative agency on the planet had copies of his prints, none of them had even the vaguest idea as to what he looked like. Did she by any chance get a look at him? No, she hadn't seen him. Hadn't even caught a glimpse. She was very sorry that she couldn't be of any more help.

What about the woman that was killed at the hotel? She had heard Ellen talking about her and wondered what had happened.

The unidentified Jane Doe had been found in the elevator and they had been unable to make any connection between her and Lisa's case, so they weren't at liberty to discuss the details with her.

And with that, she was on a plane and back home before she knew it. Her boss had insisted that she take some time to get over her horrible loss and offered his condolences. She went and stayed at her father's house for a week; taking comfort in sleeping in her old bed. Cynthia had been shocked about Daniel and devastated for Lisa. Life just wasn't fair. Lisa agreed.

I felt good when she finally left her dad's house and went back to her own apartment. It felt even better when she boxed up all of Daniel's designer suits and shoes and donated them to Goodwill. All the photographs that she had of him and of him and her together, she joyously put in the sink and then proceeded to set on fire. It was very therapeutic. Cathartic. Invigorating. Pick your fifty cent SAT word as long as it was a synonym for good!

That same night, she slipped on her favorite cotton pajamas, turned the television on to Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, and made herself some scrambled eggs. She hadn't done that in the longest time. It felt like coming home.

Daniel's attempt at assassinating Claustine made headlines for an entire month, then they were on to talking about a stock broker who had embezzled over ten million dollars from his firm and which celebrity was cheating on which and so on and so on and then on to the next big thing. If it hadn't been so close to home, Lisa would have found it all mildly amusing. Maybe what was really distressing her though, was that it had been nearly two months, and she hadn't heard from Jackson. Nothing. Not a phone call, not a letter, not a postcard…hell, not even a telegram with the word 'boo'. She would have been happy with a smoke signal. But no, nothing, nada.

Lisa's alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. She rolled out of bed and stretched her arms and legs as she walked into the bathroom to hop into the shower. It was her first official day back to work and she was actually looking forward to it. Maybe she would actually have a day where she didn't spend every single minute thinking about where Jackson was, or what he was doing, or why he hadn't called. It would be nice to fall back into her old familiar workaholic routine.

Her higher ups were more than ecstatic to see her back, bright and, as they put it, better than ever. Apparently, a nice emotional trauma every now and then was great for her career. Sure enough, it wasn't long before she was back to spending all hours of her days and nights at work, burning the proverbial midnight oil, and outshining pretty much everyone around her. Hell, at this rate, they would eventually just have to give her the damn hotel.

"God, Leese," Cynthia said as Lisa gazed over some files while the two of them sat at dinner, "do you ever stop working?"

Lisa chuckled, "What for? My fantastic social life?"

Cynthia took another bite of her salad and shrugged. "You're gonna have to get back out there eventually."

"No." Lisa said simply, sipping from her seabreeze and scribbling a note in the margins of her paper.

"Yes, you are." Cynthia countered.

Lisa set down her pen and fixed her friend with a pointed stare, "Cynthia, just under three months ago I found out that the only guy I've dated in the past four years turned out to be a lying sleazebag who tried to hire someone to murder a really good guy. I think I'll lay off on the whole dating scene for a while if it's all the same to you."

Cynthia pressed her lips together in a tight line and nodded her head. She really couldn't put up a substantial argument against that.

On the drive home, Lisa thought she saw Jackson drive past in a black Lexus, but it turned out to be some teenybopper talking on a cell phone while out cruising in daddy's car. Lisa swallowed the disappointment and kept driving. It wasn't like seeing him in places where he really wasn't, was all that uncommon or anything. She was pretty much used to it. Earlier, when she and Cynthia had first walked into the restaurant, she had thought that she had seen him sitting at the bar with a scotch neat. Nope. Yesterday, she thought that she saw him standing in line at Starbucks. Not him. It had become kind of like a game. Where would she see him next? The thought made her chuckle as she turned her key in the bolt lock and let herself into the apartment.

She swung the door open and stopped in her tracks. She just stood there for a minute staring. Jackson was lying back on her couch, his feet propped up on the arm, reading a novel. He looked over at her and smirked. Lisa took a breath, squeezed her eyelids together as tightly as she could, and then reopened them.

He was gone.

"Well, that answers that question." She remarked dryly to herself.

She let the air out of her lungs and kicked the door shut with a bitter laugh, throwing her keys down on the hallway table. She stepped out of her shoes and flipped the deadbolt back into place. What she needed right now more than anything was a long hot bath…with bubbles. She grabbed a bottle of red wine from the fridge, went to open the cabinet to get a glass, but opted instead to just take the whole damn bottle. Padding to the bedroom barefoot, she peeled off her suit jacket and prepared to drown herself in jasmine scented bath oils, Dido, and excessive levels of alcohol. What else did a girl need to completely forget the world?

Author's Note: Well, that's almost it! Be sure to tell me how you feel about this one…I know it's got a little different tone than the rest of the story, but I suppose I felt that it was mainly an expository chapter. Anyways, don't forget to review!

Personal Note: Okay, shameless little bout of self promotion here, but…I pretty much love all of you that have read my story and I wanted to let you know that I was thinking about trying to break into a new category and writing a story for television's Supernatural, so I hope that some of you will check it out. Thanks!