Author's Note: Thank you all for all the lovely reviews. A phone call? Cliché? Well, that's what someone else thought too… (see below) :D I wanted to explore what could've been the next logical step if he hadn't been shot, and had gotten away at that point instead. Would he still need to get the job done? Or would he be more out for revenge…?

Have a good read / Nicolina.

-

Chapter 3 We Have Unfinished Business

Lisa surprised herself by laughing. But the borderline hysterical giggle ended abruptly as Jackson jumped at her, slamming her back down on the bed, making her head bounce twice on the mattress.

"I'm NOT joking," he rasped hoarsely.

Lisa's breath hitched in her chest as she felt a sharp edge of metal over her jugular. Her eyes grew wider and the tears came rolling again.

"Don't," she wheezed. "Please."

"Kindness's out of stock. Do you wanna live?" he growled.

She could only nod.

"Make a call."

No way! She nodded again, and the knife disappeared.

Jackson rose from the bed again and began pacing the room by the end of the bed. Lisa sat up, curled up and hugged her knees. Her whole body was shivering and she felt both flustered and deadly cold at the same time. She watched him warily; he still held the long knife in his right hand, and he looked merciless.

His collar had been pushed a little to the side in their struggles. He had a small rectangular bandage covering the wound in his throat, which was all that was visible after the intense fighting a few days ago. A few tresses of his hair were in disorder. Part from that, he looked just as flawless as he had when they had first met back at the airport in Texas. It wasn't fair. Lisa were suffering from insomnia, had a consistent pain in her back after falling down the stairs and her headache hadn't quite subsided yet.

And that was only her old injuries. She already hurt in new places all over.

"What do you want me to do?" she finally asked, temporarily subdued.

Jackson stopped and glared at her. "You call Keefe, tell him to meet you at The Sharif any night from now within a week. That's all you need to know. Do your smooth talk, say what needs to be said to close the deal. I'll handle it from there. You do that and this can all be over."

Right, and Charles Keefe will be dead… and I will be…?

Lisa heard the frightening similarity with what he had told her before, on the airplane. She didn't believe him then, and she didn't believe him now. So she did everything to delay the inevitable. "But it's too late." She shook her head. "He'll never buy that I call him at this hour. He'll be suspicious."

Jackson watched her coldly. "He has late habits. Trust me. Tell him you're suffering from insomnia… That's the truth anyway… isn't it? " He licked his lower lip as he glared challengingly at her.

She did trust him. And the knowledge that he was well acquainted with Keefe's habits as well as updated on her own condition made her want to vomit. "What if he can't make it?"

"Then you die."

She twitched and looked at him. Then she looked away and squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing the lump that was forming in her throat. She wanted to plead with him, to beg him to bring out that good Jackson she was sure still existed in there.

She had dreamt about him.

Lisa didn't want to admit that, but she had dreamt a lot about this unbelievably blue-eyed man the last week. It was all about him coming back… and only a few times had it included real danger… The rest of the dreams were… forbidden. Restricted Area. No access. Don't go there.

Dreams very far from the real situation before her.

She absentmindedly stroked the plaid covering her bed with the palm of her hand. It was a patchwork made by her grandmother. It was a beautiful craft.

No one makes these things anymore.

There's no time… everybody is running around… and killing each other.

She jerked and glanced at the killer standing in front of her. He was in the path of her only escape route. Any attempt to get out of there would have to go through him. One way or the other.

Reason with him.

Her lips were numb with fear as she spoke and she felt like she was on the verge of falling off a cliff with nothing to hold on to.

"When you followed me… for eight weeks… What did you think of? What was on your mind all that time? It must have been so boring…"

Jackson looked a little thrown. "What?" He frowned. "Is this another case of worrying about someone else's wellbeing when you should be concerned about your own?"

Lisa shook her head. "Maybe… Maybe I'm just hopeless. It's my job… to please people, to read others needs. And I'm good at it. I never do think about myself… And mostly that's on purpose. I… I guess I could say that my job suits me."

She sighed and focused intensely on a broken nail on her left index finger. Had it been broken in the fight? She clenched her hands into fists, not daring to meet with his gaze.

What are you doing, Lisa?

"What did you see Jackson? Mm? What did those weeks of surveillance tell you about me? Do you think you know more about me than I know myself? Did I look OK? Is my life something people would envy me? Would YOU like to live my life? Maybe we should change?" She knew the bitterness in her voice betrayed her, but she was unable to hold it back; once the words had started flowing they just didn't stop.

Jackson took a step closer and her eyes darted up to meet his. He had an unreadable expression on his face as he gently gripped her chin, and then he abruptly slapped her cheek again. Her whole body reverberated from the impact and she curled up in pain and humiliation, tears streaming down her burning cheeks.

Wrong, wrong, wrong way to go…

"I think you're losing it, Leese, and I think you'd better shape up and start dealing with the situation because you are quickly losing interest to me."

Lisa did the probably stupidest thing she'd done so far in her life, she gripped his hand and held it as she spoke from her heart. "Haven't you hurt me enough? Why do you come back, hitting me and threatening me? I have done nothing to you… except for defending myself."

He pulled loose from her, and with the speed of a cobra he'd entwined his hand in the hair at the back of her neck, forcing her to lean her head back to relieve some of the pressure on her scalp. With her throat bared to him, she struggled to not fall on her back with him on top as he leaned close to her and hissed, "I distinctly remember sitting peacefully in my chair when someone - " He yanked her hair for emphasis. " – Stabbed a fucking Frankenstein pen in my throat."

Lisa's shirt had slipped and it now revealed the scar as she leaned back in an uncomfortable angle. Jackson looked down and suddenly planted a long kiss on it, making her heart leap and sending shivers all over. She felt repulsed and still her body sent off confusing signals of another kind as well.

"Jackson," she croaked. "Please don't…"

He looked up at her with a curled upper lip. "And don't you for one moment believe that your rape story impresses me, or makes me pity you!"

Lisa tried to get her beating heart under control and snapped back at him. "I think it does. I think you have some empathy buried deep down under those layers of coolness and indifference."

"Think again, Leese. I'm here to get the job properly done and then kill you. Just like that." He snapped his fingers right in front of her face, making her blink. "It's called taking care of business."

"You can't. You wouldn't!"

"And why is that?"

"Because then you would have already. You care for me, you won't kill me."

Faster than her eye could catch, the cold steel blade of his knife re-emerged and was pressed against her throat. "You are just a job that needs to be finished," he snarled between clenched teeth.

Lisa gasped and twisted her head away from him, trying to ease the pressure of the lethal knife. "Then finish it!" she yelled. "Do it, Jackson! If you don't do it now, your threats will never work on me again."

Tears spilled over her cheeks as she spoke the brave words; she didn't really believe them herself. She was fairly positive that she affected him on some level, but hardly enough to intervene with his job.

To her utter surprise, the knife disappeared. Jackson sucked in air between his teeth and let it out in an irritated wheeze. "I still need you."

"I'm not calling Keefe."

"YES YOU ARE!" he roared.

Lisa cringed under his fury and her eyes darted up to meet his, but her decision was made. If she'd had the chance to re-live the flight, then she'd never have made the call. The knowledge of having lives on her conscience had been a too heavy burden to carry even the eternal hour it had taken before she knew she had actually saved them. She would never do that again.

Looking away, she closed her eyes and willed him to get off her. To go away. Instead, her heart sped up when she felt his breath on her face.

"Don't fake indifference, Leese," he breathed. His voice was tainted with wickedness and when she looked up, she could trace a new streak of malice in his eyes that she hadn't seen before. "I know you're not that tough." He placed a knee next to her on the bed and sank down on her, grinding against her, and she could feel every bone in her body being crushed under his weight. His eyes narrowed. "What does it feel like? Having a man on top of you?"

"Oh, you bast- "

"You probably haven't had a man this close since what… two years? So, how does it feel, Leese? Comfy?"

His breath was on her face, and their noses were practically touching. Lisa squirmed and wriggled underneath him, but only managed to end up with his legs intertwined with her own, his chest crushing hers. She could feel every angry breath he took. "Get OFF me, you sick bastard!"

He smiled unpleasantly. "Make the call."

"No," she moaned.

Jackson took a hold around her neck again, still allowing the air through, but hard enough to hurt and making her clutch for his hand to get him off. While she was busy, trying to breath, he ripped the two top buttons of her blouse open.

Lisa went completely still. Petrified. No, not again! With a dry mouth, she squeaked, "You're not that cruel…"

He snorted and squeezed her throat harder, hissing in her ear, his words cutting into her brain like a knife in butter. "The call."

Lisa only mutely shook her head. Tears were dimming her vision, and she had a frightening feeling that she had misjudged him. A small part of her still trusted him not to go through with it; killing or raping her… or both, but as black dots were beginning to emerge in the periphery of her sight, she knew she had lost as his iron grip tightened even more. "Well then…" he whispered.

Clutching desperately for his hands, and hammering at his head, her legs kicking without hitting anything substantial, darkness began to cloak her. They fell off the bed together in the last few seconds of the struggle and Lisa slammed her head in the radiator, but he still didn't let go.

Like from a distance she heard words, something about a call, but she couldn't really understand the meaning of it. With lungs burning from lack of air and her whole body screaming for a breath, everything went black.