Disclaimer: I don't own Red Eye.
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"So talk," said Lisa. She turned to face him and crossed her arms, forming a barrier between her and Jackson. "Enlighten me."
The shadows of the leaves on the tree nearby danced and dappled the shoulders of Jackson's suit. Behind Lisa, twenty or so yards away, the surf whispered against the glistening sand, rasping in its own way as if to mock Jackson's ruined voice.
He took a deep, wheezing breath. "You need to learn a little Poli-Sci of the Underworld before you can understand what I'm talking about later." As he spoke, he began to stroll along the loose sand toward the water, not checking to see if she followed. "There are several main groups that form the center of all high crime and international espionage in the world. Terrorists, the Mafia, drug cartels, coup organizers, weapons dealers—they're all part of an intricate web that makes up, essentially, an outlaw version of INTERPOL. Got it so far?"
She nodded, matching him step for step. He took his jacket off and slung it over his shoulder. The sun was high and hot above them, burning off the humidity from earlier. Lisa considered doing the same, but she didn't care to have him make some snide remark about her outfit again. She would rather hear what he had to say.
"So," he went on, "the groups are a lot like conglomerate corporations, run by boards with presidents, treasurers, et cetera. Dummy companies are usually set up to act as the groups' public faces, lending them power on the stock markets, giving them legitimacy and even helping them influence how the politics of the world work without having to shed a single drop of blood." He grinned toothily at her. "We're not all savages, you know."
"You could have fooled me," she said, impatient to hear what this all had to do with her father. The lesson so far had created a sinking feeling in her gut. "Go on, already."
Hiding the smile, he shrugged. "Sometimes, we have to fold our dummy companies when it looks like the FBI or CIA are getting close to figuring things out. Remember Enron? WorldCom?" At her nod, he gestured as if to say, 'there you go'. "My former employer owned Enron; they were particularly proud of how it's turning out. It's the biggest smokescreen in recent history. No one suspects what the company really hid; everyone's on a witch hunt for people who were prepped to take the fall, while the real powers walk away whistling."
How could he smile when there were all those people, out of work and out of their retirement savings, without realizing they had been part of a scheme all along? Lisa was about to berate him for being so cavalier about the lives of thousands of human beings, when she caught something else he'd said. "Wait—former employer?" She stared at him. "You mean you don't work for them anymore? I don't get it. How did you get out of the hospital, then?"
"Oh, they made sure I got out with no fuss or attention," he said grimly. "They got me out just in time to keep me from the law, then gave me a neat little severence package and sent me on my way." He seemed uncomfortable about something, though Lisa was in no mood to offer sympathy.
"That was it?" she raised a brow. "They didn't kill you? Just fired you like you worked for the bank or something?"
"Yes," he replied, and was silent for a while.
Lisa might have prodded him for more, but she needed to digest what she'd heard so far. If he wasn't working for anyone, then what was he doing? More to the point, she still hadn't figured out what he wanted with her. She didn't bother trying to read him; he wore only mask after mask after mask, and rarely gave anything away.
The sand was warm even through her boots. Lisa could feel the salt moisture on her face from the constant breeze from the sea. It lent an air of calm, though she knew she should feel anything but. It seemed wrong to be walking out here on such a bright, sunny day with him. Her memories of the last time they'd met were anything but happy.
Of course, that had been a beautiful day, too, once they were off the plane.
Tired of spending time with him, she finally did nudge his arm. The very act of touching him made her skin crawl, but she had the feeling he wouldn't hear her if she only spoke. "You're not finished. Tell me the rest."
As though he hadn't just been lost in thought, his normal confidence returned. "I wanted to make sure you understood everything up until now." He spoke with a condescending smirk that made Lisa's blood boil.
She had had enough. With a sudden grab, she caught the green shirt by its collar and yanked him down until he was nose-to-nose with her. "Jackson," she enunciated slowly, "I am not out here with you because I like you. I want to find my father's killer and put his ghost to rest. I want you out of my life, and the only reason I am even standing here now is because YOU told me you can help me. So far, you're not helping." She stood in his path, bristling. "So tell me what you brought me here to say, and then if you'll pardon me, I'll be off. Okay, Jack?"
He scowled down at her. "Don't piss me off, Leese. I almost killed you once; don't tempt me again."
Instead of letting go, she tugged on the shirt harder. Summoning every ounce of vitriol she could manage, she replied, "I think you have your facts wrong, Jack. I almost killed you. You only tried to kill me, and you failed pretty spectacularly, I think."
His hand clamped around her wrist in a crushing grip and he tore the sunglasses from his face, turning the full fury of his icy eyes upon her. His jacket landed on the sand, forgotten. "I think you need to let go, Leese. Now."
Half of her wanted to quail under that fierce anger, but the other, newer half of her stood her ground instead. "Make me."
His eyes filled with wild glee at her words. His first move was to step back, pulling her and trying to get her off-balance. She was ready for this, though, and stepped forward, then threw her weight back, digging in her heels. He hadn't been prepared for her to work his tactic to her advantage, and he staggered forward. Catching himself, he swept a leg around to ruin her footing while he pushed on her shoulders. It did the job this time. Lisa found herself falling to the ground, but she never relinquished her grip on his shirt. Together, they toppled to the sand, him on top, knocking the breath from her when he landed.
The moment they were down, she was working hard to get him off her and he was working hard to stay on. Lisa's self-defense classes had helped her be faster, to do more damage, but Jackson was stronger than she was, and apparently more skilled at subduing an opponent.
When he had her wrists, one in each hand and clamped down into the sand on either side of her head, he loomed over her. His breath came in harsh wheezes now, as if he had to fight for each one. "You're better at this," he gasped, "Than you used to be." He spoke with something like pride, oddly.
Lisa spit sand from her lips and glared up at him. "Funny, I was thinking you were worse."
He leaned in close, not quite close enough for her to reach him if she suddenly decided to try a headbutt, but enough for her to hear him when he said softly, "Don't make a stupid mistake, Leese. You are this close to regretting your cocky little speeches today." His eyes, uncovered now, traveled over her face, taking in every detail as if he wanted to miss nothing. His hair fell in disarray, soft messy spikes framing his face. As she had once before, on the plane when they'd last met, she wondered how such pleasant, delicate features could conceal such a malicious soul. Only his eyes gave away the monster he really was.
"Let me up," she demanded. He answered her by pushing down on her wrists until his hands were buried in the sand with them.
"Not yet." His study continued past her face, over her shoulders, down, lingering on the spot that was hidden by her shirt, the scar that still marked her from the other man who'd tried to destroy her. It was there that his perusal ended, his gaze fixated on the mark he could not see but that they both knew was there. Lisa stopped moving, held her breath without realizing it. Yet again, the expressions that crossed his face were hardly what she remembered ever seeing on him. Jackson was supposed to be emotionless, cold—but if he was, why was he watching her with…what? Regret again, and—craving? Longing? She prayed not. There wasn't enough time in their lives from now until their deaths for her to trust him enough to forgive him.
He panted still, the hiss that marked every breath, every word he spoke growing fainter but never going away. "Now," he said, dragging his attention back to her face, "Let's move on, 'kay?" His words were careless, light, but his face was deadly serious. Lisa nodded.
Jackson stood, pulling her up by her wrists and setting her on her feet. When he released her, she rubbed the skin where he'd grasped her, brushed off the sand that had imprinted itself on her hands. He went to retrieve his coat and glasses, then returned looking as though nothing had happened save for his still-messy hair.
"So now you know more than anyone who's not involved has ever heard," he said as though he hadn't been interrupted. "I shouldn't have to tell you that if you happen to mention any of this to anyone, I will kill you and whoever you tell. No trying this time, Leese; I will do it without hesitation."
She believed him. "Go on." Thankfully, her voice remained steady.
"Here's where you become important. Your boss's Presidential opponent has someone on staff who also used to work for my old company. A former co-worker, you might say." He bared his teeth, though whether he was grinning or grimacing, Lisa wasn't sure. "And I have information that my colleague's past is too close to being revealed for anyone in my business to be comfortable."
"So?"
"So," he mimicked, "I need to remove him. I need your help."
Her blood ran cold at the meaning behind that statement. "I don't understand."
"I think you do, Leese. You are going to help me kill him."
Lisa couldn't listen to any more. She wondered if she was having some kind of delusional flashback. He couldn't be serious. Even if the target this time wasn't upstanding Charles Keefe or his loving family, but instead another snake like Jackson, she couldn't stand by and let a man be killed.
On top of it all, there were the repercussions to think about: the scandal for Keefe's opponent, Michael Rowe; the fallout in the press; the realization that if she did help Jackson, and someone found out, she could be tried as an accessory to murder.
She physically shook herself and turned to stalk away. "Like hell I will," she shot back. She heard his footsteps behind her in the dunes and she quickened her pace, keeping to the harder-packed sand near where the waves rolled ashore.
He caught up with her, caught her arm and spun her around. "You have to. You don't have much of a choice."
"Let go of me."
"Leese—"
"I said," she growled, "Let. Go."
"Listen to me," he rasped. "If we do this, we're saved. Both of us walk away—I get my job back and the protection my company provides, and you get to keep your job, your life. Don't let your new little womanly empowerment thing get in the way of some good common sense. Because if we don't do this, you and me, we are both going to be very, very dead."
Something made her stop and peer up at his eyes for the truth. What she saw there shook her to her core.
Jackson Rippner, the man who had terrorized her in the past, who tried to control her now, was not simply exaggerating a point.
Jackson Rippner was afraid.
