Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with red eye

This next chapter is from Jackson's perspective.

Chapter 2

Jackson ran his hands frustratedly through his black hair, pursing his lips in exhaustion. The boss had given him another mission as a show of good faith, and it wasn't going well. He racked his brain to think of a new perspective on the case, (murder some wealthy politician), knowing that his very usefulness was solely based on his ability to think on his feet.

He sat down at the desk of his hotel room and threw his feet up onto the gleaming mahogany surface. What was he doing here in Michigan anyway? Who honestly goes to Michigan? Nobody, that's who.

His mind wandered back to that memorable meeting with the chief six months ago, after his release from the hospital.

"Rippner, we need to talk about the last mission."

"Yes Sir."

"You fucked up."

"Yes Sir."

"We lost one of our most valuable clients."

"We did, Sir."

"We're discussing your release, Rippner. We just cant afford to have someone in the company whose heart isn't completely in the job."

"My heart was in the job, Sir."

"Well, obviously it wasn't, because if it had been, the Keefes would be dead right now, and I'd still have one of my best customers."

"Yes Sir."

"Now, at the risk of sounding cheap, it would be more costly to train a new assassin than to keep you, and there's no denying you're the best at the business. So we're going to give you a chance to prove yourself. The file will be on your desk at 600 hours tomorrow. Don't fuck this up."

So here he was, planning the death of a certain senator in michigan. It still pissed him off to think of how the chief had spoken to him that night, so condescendingly, like a schoolteacher to a fidgety child.

Now, back to business.

But as he was planning the deaths of the senators bodyguards, his mind wandered once again, this time to the only woman who had ever beaten him.

"You failed, Jack. What, you didn't hear? Every single person in that hotel is alive right now." Her green eyes sparkled with triumph.

As he held her to the wall, he grimaced in contained fury. No, he hadn't heard. He'd had only one thing on his mind, which was vengeance. He felt her soft body beneath his and felt his heart begin to pound. His eyes traveled to her full lips, pouted in the attempt to escape him.

She looked back at him, mocking him again.

"You're pathetic," she spat.

In his fury, he noticed that he'd flung her over his shoulder and down the stairs. He followed her down, pressing his throat where she'd stabbed him, limping where she thrown a high-heeled shoe into his thigh.

By the time he got down the stairs, she had found the gun.

His eyes shot to the door.

"We'll talk again," he promised.

She shot him. She shot him! He didn't even feel it, in his rage. After another tussle, he was standing above her, gripping her silky hair with a knife to her neck. But through it all, she still showed no fear in him.

All at once, pain exploded in his chest, and he was thrown backwards.

He opened his eyes, lying in shock on the entryway floor, hearing the sounds of approaching sirens.

Shit.

He looked up, and his eyes found Lisa's. but she wasn't looking triumphant, as he would've expected. She looked miserable. He tried to tell her it was ok, but he couldn't move. He kept his eyes on her until they took him away.

That had been almost a year ago, and he still thought of her almost every day. The surprise, when she'd defied him, the pleasure, when she'd first spoken to him, the intimacy they'd almost shared twice, once in the bathroom, once in her house. In those moments of utter battle, something else had flickered between them. Something undeniable. Something completely unfortunate.

Something completely irrelevant, because he would never see her again.

But at he sat there, he wondered again, for the umpteenth time, what if?

What if he hadn't been the assassin, and she hadn't been the hotel manager, and they had just been a man and a woman who had met in an airport terminal? He would've asked for her number. She had a spark of fire in her, one that opened his eyes and made the whole world seem a little brighter.

But life wasn't fair, and there was no chance for them.

But maybe, just maybe, she was thinking about him too. He had to know. As soon as this mission was over, he was flying right to Miami. He had to see her. He didn't know what he would say. He was still angry. Maybe he'd just go to yell at her. Give her a scare.

His eyes opened in delight.

"Maybe I'll just let her know I'm still around," he muttered deliciously.

He returned to his work with a new determination.