Disclaimer: I do not own Red Eye or anything by Luc Besson.

AN: Just a short update today; and a little revving up for the action that's on its way.

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Lisa scoured the refrigerator for anything else that might spoil and came up with enough bread, milk and eggs to make French toast for the two of them. While she cooked, Jackson took the remaining food and packed a tote bag for their trip. He planned to make the two- or three-day drive with as few stops as possible, so the snacks would come in handy.

They ate in silence. Neither one had spoken to the other all morning, each absorbed in the preparations to leave. When they were done, Jackson put his dishes into the sink and disappeared into the living room, only to reappear a moment later with his suitcase. He went upstairs, and soon Lisa heard the water turn on when he got into the shower. She felt a pang of possessiveness over the house, that he had just completely intruded upon her private life. Then again, she was about to spend a long time cooped up with him in the car; she couldn't deny that it would be easier to bear if he was at least clean.

Lisa made a few calls while she washed the dishes, uncaring that she was using the hot water. First was her mother, to apologize in advance in case she couldn't make it for Thanksgiving. She hated lying to her family, but she made up a story about needing to iron something out at work in Annapolis. The excuse didn't exactly work in that her mother sensed a lie, but they managed to get off the phone without arguing about it too much. In the end, Lisa broke down and told her mother that she just needed some time alone, and that a Thanksgiving celebration wasn't her idea of solitude. She was relieved to hear that she was of course still welcome, should she change her mind. There were two weeks before the holiday. Maybe she would be done with this nightmare before then.

Once she got herself together after hanging up with her mother, Lisa took a deep breath and called her lawyer to give him the same story. She told him that she would consider what to do with the house sometime after the holidays, when she could think. The lawyer was easier to convince, and he wished her well and offered his condolences for her father's death.

All that was left was to wait for Jackson's toilette. Lisa allowed herself to smirk a little as she took the trash to the curb. He spent more time primping than she did; it was amusing to think of him getting his hair just so, fixing the part so it fell into his eyes in just the right way.

"Lisa! Why, it really is you!"

She jumped, spun to face the source of the voice that came from behind her, then laughed in relief. "Mrs. Sotheby. I didn't even hear you come up."

Her old neighbor folded her hands, tugging on her dog's leash to keep him from sniffing at Lisa's trash. Lisa bent to scratch behind the papillon's ears. "I was so sorry to hear about your father. It was such a terrible business. Joe was a good man." She peered at Lisa's face, hunting for any sign that Lisa was not keeping herself up. "How have you been doing? Richard and I were just wondering if you were going to sell the house."

"I don't know yet," Lisa replied honestly. "I just told the lawyer that I'm going to think about it over the holidays. It's…too soon now."

Mrs. Sotheby nodded. "We'll all miss him. He used to pet Scooter when we came by on our walks, just like you're doing now." Her gaze flicked to the BMW. "Was that your boyfriend who came in with you?" she asked, eyes alight with speculation.

"Ah…" Lisa's mouth opened and closed a few times. "J—no, no, he's just a friend." She was aware of how the older woman failed to believe her.

Though she said no more about it, it was obvious that Mrs. Sotheby was torn between enjoying the idea that she'd figured out some gossip and her automatic disapproval of two unmarried people spending the night under one roof. "Well, I hope his car works better now. Richard was chuckling at the idea of 'all that German engineering' always needing to be fixed."

"What?" Lisa was confused. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, he saw the men who were here earlier, working on the car. The tow truck in the road." Mrs. Sotheby looked at Lisa as if she should know what she was talking about.

Lisa felt a chill run up her spine. "Right! Silly me. Sorry, my mind has been wandering. Yeah, I think it's got to be better now." She had to get inside as soon as possible. "Listen, I've got a ton to do, actually, I'm sorry. Don't mean to cut you off, but—"

"Say no more." Mrs. Sotheby tugged on her dog's leash. "Come on, Scooter, let's get going. Lisa, drop by next time you're in town. You can even bring your…'friend'." She tittered. "Take care, sweetie!"

The pair walked away, followed by a halfhearted wave from Lisa, who promptly dropped her hand when they rounded the corner. She nearly ran into the house, burst into the kitchen to see Jackson coming down the stairs. He looked more like himself, showered, shaven, dressed in another of his expensive suits. At the sight of her expression, his brows knit. She saw his hand go behind his back. "What is it?"

"You didn't call a mechanic for your BMW this morning, did you?"

"No." He looked quizzical, then understanding dawned. "Shit."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she said as she slumped against the counter. "One of the neighbors saw some men working on it. Said they had a tow truck and everything."

He let loose a string of expletives, tossing his bag to the floor. "Well that's just fan-fucking-tastic. I love that car." He paced a few times, taking a look at the driveway through the curtain in the door. "Okay, let's think. Don't touch it, don't even try the doors. The whole thing could be wired to blow."

"Are you sure that's the case?"

He shook his head, but said, "I don't want to take the chance. Our hunters have already proven their fascination with explosives; after failing with my office and the parking garage, I wouldn't be surprised if they were a little more thorough this time. Crap."

"So what now?" Lisa felt panic creep over her. "We can't just call a taxi to drive us to Maryland."

"No, we can't. Or—wait." He gave her a strange look. "Maybe we can."

Lisa raised a brow at this. She watched him whip out his cell phone and dial a number. While it rang, he again moved the curtain on the door to look wistfully out at his car.

Suddenly, he was all business. "Good morning. Are you in Miami? Excellent. I need a driver, as soon as possible. Annapolis. Two passengers, one male, one female. Yes. The usual. It's about eight thirty." He paused, sighed, rolled his eyes and checked his Bvlgari with a flourish. He stared at the watch's face for a few seconds, then, "It's eight twenty-six…now." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Great, see you in…seventeen minutes."

"That was, ah, specific." Lisa noticed that he had synchronized the watch upon saying the time.

"The driver likes to be punctual." He sighed as he put the phone away. "Very punctual."

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Fifteen minutes and thirty-eight seconds later, Jackson informed her that they would be leaving. She picked up her bag and followed him out the front door. He stood in her driveway for a moment, expressions warring on his face as he studied his car with longing. She could swear she heard him mutter, "Don't worry, baby, if those bastards hurt you, they'll pay," but he quickly shut his mouth when she got close.

"Men and their cars," she deadpanned. "Where's your driver?"

He sent her a peeved look, but before he could say anything, a black Audi approached the house and pulled up to the curb, purring. Jackson's expression changed to one of triumph. "Seventeen minutes," he grinned wolfishly.

There was the sound of doors unlocking, and Jackson moved to the trunk, which also opened on cue. While he stowed their bags, Lisa went to open the back door.

Another man's hand reached it first, smoothly lifting the handle and opening it in one motion. She glanced up in surprise.

"Miss," the man inclined his head. He was taller than Jackson, hawk-nosed and chiseled, with thinning hair cut close, almost military-style. Something told her he didn't spend all his time in the driver's seat—perhaps it was the way he filled out the shoulders of his immaculate black suit. He certainly didn't look the way she expected a hired driver to look, though when she gave him a tentative smile, she received a pleasant one in return. "Allow me. Watch your head."

She caught the clipped British accent in his voice, a far cry from the tough patois she anticipated. "Thank you," she replied. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jackson scowl as he got in on the driver's side while she settled herself on the pristine black leather of the seat. The other man sent her another smile and shut the door, not too hard. He seemed to cherish his car even more than Jackson did the BMW.

The driver slid into his own seat as though he'd practiced the motion, touched a panel that locked the doors, smoothly pulled away from the curb. Jackson produced his phone once again and handed it to Lisa.

"Call the police," he growled.

"What?"

"They can't trace my phone. Call them and tell them to send the bomb squad after my car."

She looked at him, dubious. "Why don't you? Anyway, won't they think it's weird to get a tip like that from someone random?"

"Just tell them you saw some suspicious activity," he insisted. "I don't care what, just get them out there to fix my fucking car."

The driver glanced at Jackson in the rear-view mirror. "I wondered why you left it behind. I didn't think you'd part with that piece of sh—"

"Frank." Jackson closed his eyes; Lisa could swear he was taking a page from her book and counting to ten.

While Jackson wasn't looking, 'Frank' met Lisa's eyes in the mirror and winked. She stifled a grin before Jackson could see as she took the phone. "Fine. I'll see what I can do."

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