Disclaimer: I do not own Red Eye.
.-.-.-.-.
Jackson muffled a curse and stalked over to the window, angrily flipping a dining chair out of his way. Mr. White tsk-ed and shook his head.
"Now, now, Mr. Rippner," he said in the same sympathetic voice, "There's no need to take out your frustrations on an innocent piece of furniture." The voice held a warning note as well, the underlying seriousness that belied his pleasant nature. "I would appreciate it if you did your stomping about somewhere else. Perhaps the upper deck?"
"Sure." The word came out like gravel; Lisa could practically feel the pain in her own throat when he spoke. She watched him shift from one foot to the other for a moment as he took several deep breaths, then he made a disgusted noise and strode from the room.
Lisa wondered if she should follow him; she didn't feel like staying in the room with Mr. White. Just as she made up her mind to go, however, he stopped her.
"Miss Reisert," he began, "I do want you to understand why I say I cannot help you."
"Why?" she said bitterly. "Why worry about what I think at this point?"
He nodded in understanding. "Of course, you're still upset about the incident a few years ago. Really, you're overreacting. I hold no ill will toward you for your part in that."
"How nice." She bit off the words. "How very magnanimous of you."
He sighed. "You do not grasp the situation, I'm afraid. This is my business. In my business, people tend to die. People betray and are, in turn, betrayed. Was I upset about Mr. Rippner's failure? Obviously. For someone like him to fail so…magnificently, shall we say, was quite a surprise. He underestimated you and your will to fight back." He poured himself another finger of scotch, adding ice this time. "It was nearly a fatal mistake on his part. You would have done what I did, if one of your employees botched a job that lost you an important customer. Even a star employee makes bad judgements, and sometimes they cannot be forgiven."
"So you fired him."
"Naturally." There was silence between them for a moment while he took a lingering sip of his drink. "However, as in any similar situation in legitimate business, I do not feel the need to exact revenge upon Mr. Rippner. Or you, or your family. You inconvenienced me, yes, but things happen. I simply can't hire him back; to do so would send the wrong impression to the rest of my staff."
The mention of her family caused her heart to twist within her chest. "Then why can't you call off the cleanup crew? Why can't you stop them, at least?"
Mr. White fixed her with a pitying look. "Because, just as you would not continue to pay or provide benefits for one of your former employees, neither can I offer protection to Mr. Rippner. I am truly sorry, but you are both on your own."
He turned his back to her, signaling gently that they were done discussing this for now. Lisa felt her chest heave, familiar panic setting in. She made herself calm, forced her breathing back to normal. When she felt sure her legs would not buckle under her weight, she went to the door.
"Miss Reisert," she heard Mr. White say, "I wish I could help you, I honestly do. You must understand my position."
"I do," she said quietly as she stepped out into the hall.
He said nothing more, and she closed the door behind her.
.-.-.-.-.
Mr. Vondar had told her not to wander about unescorted, but Lisa didn't feel like waiting in the hall until someone came to find her. She could see the ladder to the upper deck from here, and she needed fresh air before she ended up locked in another gilded cage.
She looked down the hall, and, seeing no one, climbed the ladder as quickly as she could. It passed through another empty hallway before she reached the top and pushed the hatch upward. The smell of the ocean hit her, as did the cool breeze from the waves. Half-wishing she had a wrap or jacket but unwilling to try going back to her room for one, she clambered out onto the deck. From where she stood, she saw no one save a guard stationed at the prow of the yacht. His eyes were fixed lazily on the ocean; either he hadn't heard her or simply didn't care.
A flash of white in the gloom at the stern made her crane her neck—Jackson. She shoved down the thought that he was the only familiar thing she had right now as she approached him. He was still angry, though a worrisome air of defeat seemed to have added its weight to his shoulders. His back was to her, his arms braced on the rail, his head down. Seeing him like this bothered her; the more out of control Jackson was, the less chance they had of making it out alive.
If they even had a chance, given what Mr. White had said.
Jackson heard her as she approached with caution. Without looking at her, he shook his head. "We are so very fucked right now."
The unexpected finality of the words infuriated her. "Way to go," she said icily. "Great mindset you have there, Mr. Rippner."
"Augh. Don't call me that," he replied, covering his face with his hands. "White thinks it's polite, but it grates on my nerves."
"So sorry. Didn't mean to disturb your fantastic sulk, Mister Rippner, but I was kind of hoping we could maybe figure out a way to get out of this fiasco."
"Now you're just being a bitch," he snarled. "Why don't you go cry in your room or something?"
"I hate you." Lisa gripped the rail, her face hard, her jaw set. She wouldn't, couldn't give him the pleasure of seeing her cry. It was getting difficult to keep that vow. "I hate you so much, Jackson."
He snorted. "The feeling is mutual."
They stayed like that for a while, both stiff and seething, looking at the changing waves below and the churning wake of the yacht's powerful motor, not looking at each other for fear of seeing their dread mirrored on the other's face.
Finally, though, she couldn't help but steal a glance at him. She was startled to see a small bandage on his temple, something she hadn't noticed at dinner. Before she knew what she was doing, she had reached up to touch it. "Jackson, what—"
He slapped her hand away out of instinct, then grabbed it when he recognized what it was. Instead of letting her go, he pulled her hard against him. "Shut up," he hissed, burying his face in her hair, his voice a whisper. "Just shut up and don't say anything. You piss me off every time you open your goddamn mouth."
How sweet to be needed, she thought wryly; she considered saying it aloud, but she knew that if she did, the moment would be lost. She let her arms wrap around his narrow waist, feeling the lump of his gun beneath the jacket. Even here, he went armed, it seemed; she wondered if Mr. White or Mr. Vondar knew or even cared about it. More important was why the hell she let him cling to her like this. She'd made it clear, she thought, that she was off-limits and that his attempts at seduction weren't going to go anywhere.
On the other hand, what was wrong with accepting a little warmth? Let him think she was doing this for his sake. She just didn't want to go back to her room right then. In light of all they had faced, all they had yet to face, she needed this tiny comfort, even if it was just for a moment.
Besides, she could always punch him in the mouth later.
.-.-.-.-.
Jackson only let go of her when Mr. Vondar came looking for her; even then, he was loath to release her into the other man's care. Mr. Vondar, however, would have none of it; he gently but firmly reminded Jackson that Mr. White had very strict instructions, and as guests of Mr. White, they had no choice but to obey. So it was that Lisa found herself back in her cabin again, where another plain white box rested on the bed.
"Clothes for tomorrow," supplied Mr. Vondar. "Mr. White wanted to be sure you would be properly dressed when we drop you and Mr. Rippner off at the marina in the morning."
She ran her fingertips over the box, thinking. "Mr. Vondar…"
"Yes?" He paused at the door.
"Why did Mr. White bring us here? Was it just to tell us that he couldn't help Jackson?"
The tall man shrugged his wide shoulders. "I can only assume that he wanted to tell Mr. Rippner to his face, Miss Reisert. Mr. Rippner was his best operative, and perhaps his favorite. And…" he trailed off.
"And?"
He smiled, a little sadly, she thought. "And I think he wanted to meet you personally. You are, after all, the one who took down his best operative."
With that, he closed the door, leaving Lisa to herself and her thoughts.
.-.-.-.-.
Morning found them docked at the promised marina. Lisa donned the new clothes—a less dramatic navy blue suit and a pair of very dramatic-yet-matching Manolos—and was escorted by Mr. Vondar to the ramp. Jackson was already there, pacing on the dock in what appeared to be a new grey suit of his own. He hardly looked in her direction, merely nodded sharply to Mr. Vondar and took Lisa's arm, leading her away.
When they were a safe distance from the boat, she jerked her arm from his grasp. He tried to catch it again, but one look at her expression made him give up on the attempt. Instead, he marched to the BMW that someone had parked nearby. The laptop bag rested on the back seat. Lisa tried not to think about how someone had planned all this beforehand, down to making sure they had their own transportation when they were done. "Get in," he instructed, doing his slow inspection around the frame before flinging his door open and collapsing into the seat.
His fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, flexing and unflexing, restless. With a groan, he leaned forward until his forehead touched the backs of his hands. Lisa waited for him to get himself together, still upset about his behavior last night and Mr. White's admission.
At length, he expelled a breath. "Aren't you going to ask how I am? If I'm ok?" His words were mocking, daring her to ask her usual questions.
"No," she stated.
He looked over at her this time, seemed to take in what she was wearing. "Donna Karan looks good on you."
She glowered at him. "Why don't you just drive us to wherever and let's not chitchat?"
"I was just paying you a goddamn compliment."
"Yeah, well, I didn't choose the suit or the shoes. This wasn't exactly the way I imagined getting a pair of Manolos, thanks, and I don't really feel like talking about fashion with the world's biggest clotheshorse assassin—excuse me, manager—while my life and the lives of my family become harder and harder to save." She slumped against her seat. He was probably trying to salvage their tenuous—what, relationship?—but she didn't care at the moment. She just wanted to get the hell out of there, wanted her flannel PJs and her quiet existence back. "So just shut up and drive, and get your managerial brain back on track to keep us alive, okay?"
"Well, this is just peachy," he muttered, and started the car. "I'm officially in hell."
.-.-.-.-.
The drive back to her father's house was completed in strained silence. When they got there, Jackson grabbed his bag and mutely went to unlock the door of the house. Lisa followed him, then pushed past him to go up to her room.
He stopped her. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Upstairs," she replied, as though he was stupid. He shook his head.
"You're going to get yourself killed if you're not careful. Wait here—do not argue with me. You want to get through this alive? Fine. We play by my rules, and my rules say that we sweep the house every time we come in. That way we'll know if something is out of place."
"Don't you think you're being a little bit paranoid?"
The seriousness of his gaze made her stop. Softly, he said, "I have to be paranoid. It's the only reason we weren't blown up two days ago, and it's the only reason we aren't the ones lying in the alley, full of lead."
Lisa bit her lip and looked away. When she looked back, he was already making his rounds, checking cabinets and closets and every room of the house. Did he always live like this? she wondered. What kind of existence was it to have to check every corner of your home, every time you came home? How did someone survive without trusting anyone? He hadn't even had a goldfish, nothing alive at all in that sad office apartment.
He came back down the stairs. "It looks clean. We'll be able to stay the night, but we leave first thing in the morning."
"Where are we going?"
"I don't know yet." At her incredulous expression, he smiled darkly. "That's why we're not leaving until tomorrow."
"Wonderful. Then I guess I should go pack?"
"Sure, whatever." He was already not listening to her as he pulled out the laptop and the files. Within moments, he'd arranged everything on the kitchen island and powered up the computer.
Lisa watched him for a while, but he never looked up from his study of the screen and the files. She decided to leave him to his work and went upstairs.
She changed out of the suit and beautiful yet uncomfortable shoes in favor of something more relaxed. Following his lead, she chose an expanding leather travel bag that would be easier to stow than a hard suitcase and began to load it with whatever she thought could be necessary. The suit went in—it would be silly not to take it, and she didn't know when she might need it—as well as a good supply of socks, underwear, a pair of sneakers, jeans…by the time she was done, she had a wardrobe suitable for just about any situation. She went to the medicine chest and pulled down the first aid kit. Something told her that traveling anywhere with Jackson might not be exactly safe.
The bag wasn't too heavy when it was done, which made her happy. The last thing she needed was for her luggage to slow her down. She snapped the shoulder strap to the rings and set it by the door.
Once packed, there wasn't much else to do. She busied herself upstairs, going through her room and making note of the things she wanted to keep, things that other friends and family members would want as well. It was difficult in the beginning, but the current situation had hardened her a little and made it easier as she went on. She skipped lunch, still unwilling to talk to the mercurial Jackson, and when she was done with her room, she moved on to her father's.
By dinnertime, she was starving again. It couldn't be healthy for her to eat so erratically; she would have to go down and face Jackson at some point lest she pass out from hunger and give him one more thing to gripe about. She picked up the bag and headed downstairs.
Jackson was where she'd left him, perched on one of the barstools at the island. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his pale grey shirt. His glasses had slipped down his nose, and he had tilted his head back to read the screen through them. When he heard her approach, he changed the position of his head so he could look at her over the tops of the frames. His eyes flickered to the bag, then back to hers. "Already packed?"
"Yeah," she said, dropping the bag by the island and coming around to look over his shoulder. "So where are we going?" The file with the photos was open, and she touched the one of her father and Jackson at the bar.
"Annapolis."
She looked sharply at him. "The hell we are." Cold comprehension dawned over her. "You're still going through with this idea of killing Connolly, aren't you?"
"Yes," he snapped, taking the picture from her again. "Just because White won't help doesn't mean I can't do this."
"Uhm, yes, Jackson, it does." She was near the end of her rope with him. She ignored the voice inside her that reminded her she was always near the end of her rope with him. "He told you it's not going to make a difference. You're not getting your job back. You're not going to get the cleanup crew off your neck."
"No, White said he can't call them off. I don't care about my job, Leese. I just want to stay alive at this point."
"Great, wow, so going to Annapolis and right into my boss's territory is such a smart way to do that. You know how many Secret Service agents know your face by memory? You can't blend in there the way you can here. Someone is going to notice you and someone is going to come gunning for you."
"Just like here," he amended. "You just summed up my life perfectly."
Lisa closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened them, he was putting the files away. "Wait," she said, putting her hand on the one with the photos. "Just tell me what you're planning. How is this going to help us? Why are you still going through with this?"
"You wouldn't understand."
His dismissal made her fume. "Well, maybe, just maybe, you should make me understand. You dragged me into this in the beginning, and you're dragging me along now. I can't help you, I can't even avoid being a liability to you unless you start to trust me with things." She slid the file from his reach and kept her eyes on his. "Everything. You have to let me help you, because otherwise I'm dead weight."
They were both standing now, almost nose to nose. For a heartbeat, Lisa thought he would try to kiss her again. When all he did was reach past her to take the file, she wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed.
He didn't move away, however. The folder twirled in his fingers. "I don't tell you because I don't think you want to know. I really don't."
"I don't have a choice," she whispered, and they both knew she was right.
In the end, he just closed his eyes. "In the morning. We have a long drive ahead of us, and I'll tell you in the morning."
"Promise me," she insisted, believing in his truthfulness. She could read the capitulation in his face; the mask was gone again in favor of bone-weary acceptance.
"I promise," he said flatly. He raised a hand to her face, touched her lips lightly with his thumb. "But not until tomorrow."
Lisa stepped back, nodded. "Then goodnight, Jackson."
He smiled a little, ruefully. "Goodnight."
