'Are you feeling all right, my boy?'

Jackson looked lazily over at Poulain through a thick drug-induced haze as the older man slipped a cap back on the hypodermic in his hand. His seat was very comfortable indeed, and the stewardess was very good looking, but he wasn't one to enjoy the complete loss of the function of his extremities. He'd been angry—in pain, yes, but also angry—when Poulain asked his Geneva-based organisation-hired doctor about drugging him for the entire flight. In the end, they'd given him enough morphine to kill a small mammal and then sent Poulain and his 'son' off to go on a trip to Miami. Nothing was more terrible than being wheeled through an airport in a wheelchair, especially when one has absolutely no control over his neck in regards to whether or not it actually holds his head up. He slowly blinked his eyes before rolling his head back to the centre and closing his eyes, a bit of drool running out of the corner of his mouth.

In other words, had he been able to murmur something coherent, he most likely would have told Poulain to go fuck himself.

'Oh my,' said the stewardess who had just come into the first class cabin from the airport, bending down to look at them. 'Is he sick?'

Poulain gave her a smile. 'My son was in an accident a couple of months ago and has had to have a lot of surgery. His doctor said it would probably be better to drug him the entire way from Geneva to Miami than to run the risk of him being in horrible pain for the entire flight.'

'Poor guy,' she said, putting a hand to her lips as Jackson opened his eyes and looked at her blankly. 'Was it a car accident?'

'No,' he replied, patting Jackson's hand. Jackson rolled his eyes, but it looked like he was just responding to the drugs coursing through his system. 'His sister had a psychotic episode and shot him in the liver, small intestine and sub-clavian artery. Nearly bled to death on the billiards table, didn't you, dear Christian?'

The woman shifted her weight on her feet a bit and gave a little, forced smile to him. 'Well, we have a wheelchair for him and your car is already waiting outside of the terminal, Mr Poulain.'

A little under forty-five minutes later, their car pulled under the portico at the Lux Atlantic resort. For whatever reason, showing up at this place gave Jackson just about the same amount of foreboding as the Fortuyn assassination, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. Before he knew it, he was being lifted out of the car by one of Poulain's burly assistants and set in a wheelchair. He tried slipping out of it to escape from whatever was bothering him, but all that did was get him a strong squeeze to the shoulder by Poulain before he was pushed into the marble lobby. From the entrance, he could see a familiar outline and realised what the foreboding was about.

This was most definitely not how Jackson wanted to look on the first time he met that field hockey player face-to-face.

As they got to the counter, Jackson closed his eyes and dropped his head to his chest, his drug-addled brain telling him that if he did that, he would be invisible to her. She was bright and cheery as she greeted them, and it took everything in him (well, not really... it took a lot of energy to do anything) to not lift his head to look at that smiling face and those bouncy curls.

'Welcome to the Lux Atlantic,' she said, and he could hear her fingernails tap on the granite counter. 'You must be Mr Poulain.'

'Yes,' Poulain replied, patting Jackson on the shoulder. 'It is very professional of you to prepare your knowledge of me, Miss...?'

'Reisert,' Lisa replied warmly. 'But you can call me Lisa, Mr Poulain. Now, I see here that we have a suite for you. How many key cards will you be needing?'

'Let's go with three,' he said to her. 'One for me, one for my assistant, and one for my son. He'll be leaving to go back to his condominium in a couple of days, but I'd still like to be able to have him visit me.'

'Ah...' Lisa said, but there was slight hesitation in her voice when she looked down at the seemingly catatonic Jackson.

'Oh, don't mind him now,' said Poulain, finally taking his hand off of Jackson. 'He's typically a very sharp man, has his Masters and baccalaureates and all that sort of thing, but he has lots of morphine charging through his veins right now.'

'Morph—'

'He was in an accident,' interrupted Poulain. 'Don't worry, my dear Miss Reisert, we have his medications completely legally, even by American law.'

'Of course,' she said, and Jackson could tell she was smiling before there was some typing and she swiped through the key cards. 'Here you are, Mr Poulain. And I hope you feel better soon...?'

'Christian.'

'Christian,' she said with a lilt of recognition in her voice; if Jackson had been looking up at her when they walked away, he would have seen a look of confusion cast across her delicate features.

---

By three days later, Jackson was walking with the help of a pair of crutches and had flushed nearly all of the morphine out of his system. Although feeling much better, he was still under the care of a Miami-based doctor by the name of Elisabeth, whom he could only assume was Dr Greene's ex-wife 'Lizzy' that he had spoken of the year before. She was an odd woman; with other patients she was incredibly caring and understanding, but once she came within a few feet of any organisation operative, she became a complete and utter bitch. Something about the duality of her nature warned him to be on high alert around her, so whenever he had an appointment with her (which happened to be every day) he always kept her mind on the fact that he was the prize of Matthias Poulain so that she wouldn't be tempted to, say, mysteriously kill him.

Jackson was relieved to be back at his condo after four months of bothersome absence even though he spent most days doing repetitive cleaning or laying around watching the History Channel, which he found to be a wonderful teaching aide in what not to do for assassinations and coups. He was aware that Poulain was still in town because the office, where he went every couple of days, was incredibly tense and no one was sitting around adjusting screen savers or trying to mask personal calls as business calls. Everything was running in a very organised manner, so it gave Jackson very little to do.

Finally, after two weeks of just missing him at the office, Jackson was called by Poulain to go to a farewell lunch. His business in the Miami office was complete and things in Europe were much more pressing than business in American, where it was still difficult to work because of the attacks of the year before. So, at exactly ten in the morning, Jackson appeared at the Lux Atlantic resort wearing a very finely tailored suit with a pair of dark sunglasses and his long fringe covering his eyes. He'd elected to bother with just one of his crutches but was mostly walking on his own volition.

When he looked across the lobby to the desk, there was no one behind it, but after a moment the curly-haired field hockey player stood and looked up at him with a smile. 'Welcome to the Lux Atlantic.'

He walked over to the counter and leaned a bit against it before speaking in his deep voice with a little hint of a Swiss French accent in it. 'Hello, I'm here to visit my father, but I seem to have forgotten my key card back at my condominium. Would it be too difficult to have you make another?'

Her eyes lit up. 'You look as though you're feeling much better, Mr Poulain.'

'I am, merci beaucoup, mademoiselle,' he purred, and she seemed to blush a little as she handed him the key card.

'Have a nice visit,' she said to him as he took the key card from her.

'And you have a lovely day, Miss Reisert.'

It was most certainly strategic that he'd never removed his sunglasses during their entire conversation.

---

After a couple of hours, Lisa watched the Poulains leave the hotel with an assistant, both of them talking in very fast French. The younger Poulain still had his sunglasses on, which she found a little odd, but for all she knew he'd had an eye exam or something earlier in the day and had dilated pupils. She mused over his deep voice and strong features as she checked in a few people, but once the newest member of the Lux Atlantic team came in to take her place, Lisa decided to take her lunch break. After taking off her nametag, she went out the back door.

As she walked to the employee parking lot, she dug through her purse and found her keys. There were several places she was considering for lunch: maybe that new Mexican place, perhaps the same old Thai place she loved going to or the Italian place that she always went to with her Dad on his birthday. Finally, after a few minutes of mental deliberation in the driver's seat, she set off for the Italian restaurant whilst listening to her favourite radio station and singing along. When she reached the restaurant, she was surprised to see that there were very few cars in the parking lot but regardless parked and walked up to the front door humming the last song that she'd heard on the radio. She pulled on the handle of the door and found that it was locked, so she put her hand on the door and looked through the glass, trying to see if there was some sign of life on the other side.

'Do you need something, ma'am?' asked a voice from behind her, and she jumped.

'Oh,' she said, turning around. 'I was just coming here to get lunch, but I guess—'

'It's closed for renovation,' he replied, reaching to put his hand on the door over her shoulder. 'It should be open again in a couple of weeks.'

'That... that's good,' she said uneasily, swallowing hard as the sound of a nail gun air compressor began whirring inside of the restaurant. 'I guess I should just... go someplace else then...'

Quickly, he placed his other arm under her own and smirked. 'Why in such a hurry?'

In a split second, she ducked out of his grip and started trying to run off, but he grabbed her by the hair. Screaming, she scratched at his hand, but he just pulled out a knife and pressed it to her throat. She stopped immediately and didn't fight as he put an arm around her waist, pulling her over to the pavement on the other side of the restaurant. Tears were burning her eyes as the knife pressed against her skin, but she knew she couldn't do anything. Her feet dragged on the ground and as he yanked her off of the sidewalk, one of her shoes pulled off.

'Please,' she begged with a little sniffle. 'Please... I don't have much money on me. People... people will know I'm missing. I'm expected back—'

'Oh, I'm not going to kill you,' the man assured her, and Lisa felt the most awesome terror she'd ever felt before pierce her core.

'No... no, no, no,' she cried as he pulled her to the back of the restaurant.

The back parking lot was completely empty. With the restaurant closed, there were no food deliveries or employees on their smoking breaks, so the area was deserted. It was completely shaded from the mid-day sun, and the wall that he pushed her against had a dumpster on one side and the delivery platform on the other. In other words, there was no way that someone would easily come upon them, and therefore no way that Lisa knew to escape.

'You're such a pretty girl, aren't you?' he breathed against her, pressing the knife right against the apex of her jaw and neck. 'Luscious lips, glossy curls...'

Lisa squeezed her eyes shut as he caressed one of her breasts, and tears fell down her cheeks. Only a few moments later, his hand had dropped to the hem of her Lux Atlantic dress and started rolling it up, looking hungrily at the lacy edging of her panties. He licked his lips lecherously as he curled his thumb into the silky fabric over her soft hip, slowly pulling it down as he lowered the knife to her chest unknowingly. In a moment of absolute desperation and without much thought, she kicked him square in the stomach and as he clutched it breathlessly, she ran, but he pursued her just a second later.

He was spry and caught up with her before she could get to a window where she could bang to get the construction workers' attention. As he caught her by the dress, she heard the fabric rip and had a little burst of hope for escape before he brought around his other hand and held the knife, point down, against her chest. Tears were falling freely down her face now as she grabbed at his arm, which was once again against her waist squeezing oppressively. His lips brushed the edge of her ear.

'I wouldn't try that again, pretty girl. I'd hate to have to kill you.'

He dragged her back to the place where he'd held her before and shoved her against the wall. Her head smacked against it and she saw spots before falling down to her knees, watching helplessly as he undid his belt and unzipped his fly.

'You know, I've been watching you for awhile now,' he said, licking his lips again as he pushed his jeans down from his hips. 'I used to see you at your field hockey games when you were in high school. A bit of a late bloomer, but I see it was all worth it.'

Bending down, he reached out and grabbed her foot, pulling her into a laying position and scratching her legs and arms against the rough concrete. With a quick motion, he shoved a handkerchief in her mouth and ripped a piece of duct tape from a nearly spent spool that one of the construction workers had thrown out. He placed it neatly over her mouth before tapping her cheek and smiling.

'Look at your face, all red like when you play,' he said before clenching the knife between his teeth and looking down at her ripped dress.

The dress had rent up the right seam, and with deft hands he ripped it more, leaving just the thin under-dress against her skin. He reached under the lining fabric, running his rough hands up her soft skin before harshly pulling her panties down. She closed her eyes again as he penetrated her, the action shooting pain up her entire torso. As he began thrusting into her, the knife came to rest over her right breast, which was covered by only the thin lining fabric. It didn't take long for the knife to cut deeply into the skin—she tried to scream against the gag, but that just made him press the knife harder.

By this point, her arms and legs were bleeding from constant battering against the pavement. The blood from the cut on her chest was rolling down her shoulder and tickling her neck, making her hair stick to the skin. In the back of her mind, she thought she heard footsteps, but she knew it was only wishful thinking. She was going to die here.

The man groaned at his release and collapsed against her, making it hard for her to breathe, especially because she was upset and unable to use her mouth for deeper breaths. The knife moved dangerously close to the skin over her jugular vein and she half-wished he would just stab her to release her from the misery of this situation. Exsanguination by severance of the jugular seemed a feasible alternative to being stabbed to death in the chest or stomach.

'Is anyone back here?' asked a voice from the other side of the dumpster and the rapist sat up straight before pulling out of her and standing, tripping over her legs.

By the time the construction worker made it within Lisa's sight, the man had already pulled up his pants and was running away from the scene. The grey-haired man was more worried about Lisa than chasing the rapist but screamed for help from the other workers inside as he dropped down to pull the duct tape off of her face and remove the handkerchief from her mouth. She gasped with sobs as the man pulled out his cell phone and dialled 911.

'Hello, I... I've just found a woman who's been raped,' the man said quickly into the phone as he used the handkerchief from her mouth to dab at the cut on her chest. 'The rapist was here when I found her, but he got away... yeah, I'm at Il Fornaio in Coconut Grove. Thank you.'

Dropping the phone on the ground, the man took off his work coat and lifted Lisa's upper body, pushing the coat under her and then laying her back down as he brushed her hair away from her face. A couple of other construction workers came out back and after describing the man to them, he sent them off in the direction the man had fled. In a few minutes, the sounds of an ambulance and police cars filled the air, and soon Lisa was being lifted into the ambulance with her hand still grasping the construction worker's. A paramedic took Lisa's hand in his place and he stepped away to talk to the police.

'Do you know her name?' asked a police officer as the paramedics closed the doors of the ambulance and drove off.

'I found her purse,' said the construction worker, pointing over by the dumpster. 'Her wallet's probably in there.'

Another police officer picked it up and handed it to the officer in charge. The officer opened the purse and pulled out Lisa's wallet, finding her ID and reading the information. 'Lisa Reisert.'

'Joe Reisert's daughter,' said the other officer. 'He works in the district attorney's office.'

'Call her father then,' replied the officer in charge as he began walking to his squad car. 'Tell him to meet us at the hospital.'