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Chapter 29

Lisa was sweating, having worked with the rope for the last forty minutes or so, but still, it wasn't enough. She needed to move. Without thinking, she fell back into her old field hockey routine, practicing quick starts and acceleration by blasting through the room. The familiar sight of Jackson sitting by the table, illuminated by the flicker of the computer screen while he was rifling through his files, didn't bother her concentration in the least anymore. Every now and then he would shoot her a quick glance from underneath cocked brows, but say nothing.

"Leese, it's been an hour and a half. You about done?"

She walked back to her imaginary start, panting. "No, why?"

"I have to leave, which unfortunately means I have to ground you."

Lisa froze. "Forget it, I'm not going in there."

"It's for your own good and you know it." With the perfect pitch of exasperation he added, "What if there's unexpected company?"

"That's such a bullshit argument, Jackson. Then you would either be dead or otherwise unable to help - and I would be a sitting duck, cuffed and locked away." An ugly thought crossed her mind. "That's not what you want, is it?"

He chuckled. "What do you expect me to say to that?"

"The truth." Following a sudden impulse, she stalked over and slammed the laptop shut, planting her outstretched arms right next to his hands as she leaned across the desk towards him. "Jackson, would you ever hurt me?"

Lisa couldn't tell whether he disliked the way she was looming over him with a frown, because his face stayed impassive. If anything, he looked bored. "Define hurt."

"What?"

"You demand a guarantee that I can't give. Nobody, not even your dad, is in the position to promise that they'll never hurt you. According to the experts, hurt comes in different shapes and sizes and there are about a million ways to do it. By accident, on purpose, to protect, to inflict damage, by proxy … and the list goes on." He reached for the laptop, but Lisa yanked it away.

"Give it your best shot then. I think we worked well together against Laritt and to be completely honest, it was me who gave you a head start." She waited for his acknowledgement, but none came. All she got was a long, hard stare and she returned it stubbornly. "This is important to me, so spare me the witty banter."

"Jeez, Leese, that's like asking a guy if he'll love you forever," he grumbled. "Listen up, because here it comes, my best shot: I. Cannot. Guarantee. It." When she tried to interrupt him, Jackson cut her short. "For the sake of the argument, though," he drew out the words, "let's agree that I would never intentionally hurt you unless there was absolutely no other way. And that's the best I can do. I'm just being honest with you, can't you appreciate that at all?"

For a brief moment, Lisa wondered if she would ever be able to fit back into a normal life, where the kind of dilemma she was facing right now was only to be encountered in movie theatres. She found herself across the table from Jackson Rippner – the Jackson Rippner, for crying out loud - and while she might never completely trust him, she had seen enough of his world to believe him.

Almost as if he could sense her turmoil, he gave her a small, wistful smile. "So what about you then? Will you ever hurt me?"

Damnit, it was a hard question.

Jackson pursed his lips, but he seemed amused rather than irritated. "Shower."

Twenty minutes later Lisa was ready. Jackson was still sitting by the desk, eyes fixed to the screen and his face a stony mask. She shrugged – if it was bad news, he'd tell her soon enough - and strolled over to her mattress, sitting down with her back against the wall. A small smile played across her features as she picked up the handcuffs and threw them across the room with gusto. Jackson bolted upright, giving her a death glare.

"A compromise, Jackson. And that's the best I can do."

"Whatever you say. We'll talk later." His hand hovered over the keyboard. "Leese?"

"Hm?"

"The hurting thing." Cool, matter-of-factly, but something else underneath there, as well. "Are we on the same page?"

Lisa paused, drawing a deep breath. "Yes."

He nodded slowly and the wall closed on her. About time, too, Lisa had gotten pretty uncomfortable; the knife she had smuggled out of the kitchen in the waistband of her pants was poking her in the back. If Jackson could get away with not being very forthcoming about his infamous Plan B's, well, so could she.

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The black BMW came to a slow halt in front of the Lux Washington, the lights from the restaurant mirrored in its tainted windows. Laritt stopped browsing through the pictures and glanced towards the entrance.

"These idiots actually seem to think they have a chance at finding Rippner." He tossed the folder aside and snorted, his twenty-something face contorted into a disdainful expression. "No sense of self-preservation is what that is."

"What do you want me to do?"

Laritt was about to answer, but the sight of three familiar faces walking out the lobby shut his mouth. What a nice surprise … right there, in the flesh: Joe Reisert, Cynthia van Arsberg and Jay Callaway. Another interruption caused him to remain silent and chew on his lower lip. "If these aren't government boys, I will eat shit for the rest of my life." This proved to be a very promising start to a very promising evening!

Lisa Reisert's father and friends had stopped dead in their tracks to wait until the inconspicuous men in suits had caught up with them. The way it looked, their conversation wasn't exactly fun and laughter – an awful lot of arm waving and shushing involved. Laritt turned to his associate. "Roll the windows down a bit. I want to hear them."

The words he could make out through the noise didn't mean a lot to him, but they sparked his interest nonetheless. The suits were clearly trying to keep things quiet, but the others would have none of it. Laritt felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle with excitement; a short sentence here, a phrase there, boosted his confidence that he would be able to mark the whole Rippner resurfacing act as a fishy affair. And that would mean the end of terrorism's golden boy.

A promising evening indeed. "Alright, that's enough for now." Laritt waited until the windows were shut and smiled at his associate. "As soon as they're alone, get out there and trail them for a while. If you think there's no more interesting information to be gathered -"

What then? His instincts had been honed by his job and from the intel Laritt had collected so far, Lisa Reisert played an important role in this little production of deceit. Who would have thought? So if he managed to crack her … that might just damage Jackson Rippner enough to make him stumble. Fucking hell, he would enjoy watching that jerk keel over.

"What then, boss?"

"Then you kill them, of course, but don't be messy. I want a clean kill – the corpses need to be recognizable on the pictures, don't they?"

"Affirmative. I will give you a call you as soon as it's done."

His associate got out of the car and Laritt couldn't help but marvel at the figure slowly strolling towards the other side of the street across from the hotel. The movements were easy, graceful, and only knowing eyes would detect the hint of deadly accuracy this body was capable of. Well-connected, swift, without mercy and no doubt the best business associate Laritt had had in years … a valuable asset if there ever was one.

Laritt crawled over into the passenger seat, humming a cheery little melody while he turned the key in the ignition. This was almost too easy! Patience, patience, all it took was another hour or two. He decided he would not communicate his suspicions to anyone at this point - after all, why share the laurels? He would simply sit tight and wait until he had all he needed … and then finally take down Rippner, exposing him as the fraud he was.

The world would be his oyster after that.