Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's note: FF messaging is down again, grrr. So thank you in advance for your reviews, I will try to answer them.
Chapter 30
Two hours after another argument with the men Keefe and Whitley had sent to them, Joe, Cynthia and Jay finally returned to their hotel.
Apparently, news traveled fast in the dark and dangerous world of spies, because somehow, Keefe had known about their little trip to the club … and he wasn't pleased. The three were under strict orders to stay out - to "stay the HELL out", actually - yet had no intentions to do so.
They were tired, angry and frustrated. So far, their work in Washington had not been very successful; they had managed to alienate the Chief of Homeland Security who might just be developing an addiction to Pepto Bismol, judging from the looks he gave them whenever they had an appointment. Also, they had been unable to get Lisa back and there still weren't any real leads on her current whereabouts.
Jay reached out to the elevator call button, but pulled back. "Anybody up for a quick nightcap at the bar?"
"No thanks, I'd rather not be down here." Joe made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "I guess I'm showing the first signs of paranoia … I'm seeing potential agents everywhere. Doesn't help my mood."
Cynthia yawned. "This is ridiculous, at home I'd be at my most perkiest around this time. If I go to bed right now, I will feel like an old woman for the rest of my life. How about we get some room service and porn?" She giggled. "Made you look!"
Joe guffawed while Jay pulled her close, planting a fat smooch onto the top of her head. "I'll take a quick shower and be right there. Joe?"
Lisa's father sighed. "I don't know … I think I'll pass."
"You okay?" Cynthia squeezed his hand.
"Yeah."
"You sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
Jay rolled his eyes and his voice was dry. "Well, at least we know now where TC got that from. Come on, Joe, sitting alone in your room won't bring her back, it's just going to make you more miserable. Either way, I'll badger you until you cave in."
"Alright, alright, I'll be there."
An hour later Joe, Cynthia and Jay sat in front of the TV, debating which movie to order. A loud knock interrupted Jay's clamoring for Troy and his high praises for Eric Bana's overall appeal compared to Brad Pitt's thighs (Cynthia's favorite).
"Room Service!"
"Cyn, did you order anything?"
"Most certainly not! I know how picky you are." She hauled herself up. "Hold on!"
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Lisa sat on her mattress, toying with the knife. She was fairly happy with herself and – she admit this rather grudgingly – with Jackson. Finally, their relationship was changing from captor/captive into something more like partners. She might never be an equal in his eyes, but her stocks were going up and Jackson was starting to show it.
The meeting with Laritt had gone according to plan, as much as you could plan these things, anyway. And it had been her who had led the charge. She was getting good at this.
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Cynthia opened the door and a hotel employee handed her a bottle of Blackcurrant Vodka with a smile.
"I'm sorry, but there's been a mistake, we didn't order this."
"Really? I was told to bring this to your room." The man frowned and pulled a card from his pocket. "It says here to give you this and there's a note I'm supposed to pass along." He handed her a little envelope.
"Well … thanks." Cynthia tipped him, taking the bottle and the envelope. "Whoever this is from, they have good taste and a lucky hand. It's our absolute favorite."
The hotel employee nodded politely, clearly not very interested in the story. He said his equally polite goodbyes and left.
"Who is it from?"
Cynthia read the note. "It's from Keefe. Listen to this: 'My apologies for the unpleasant conversation today. I assure you that I only have your best interests at heart. With hope that you will accept and enjoy this olive branch, Charles Keefe.'"
Lisa's father snorted and reached for the bottle, no doubt to throw it across the room.
Jay intervened quickly. "Oh come on, does it get any better than that? Getting nice and tipsy while watching grown men in skirts beat the crap out of each other?"
"Shouldn't we call Keefe and say thanks?"
"You and your formalities, Cyn. We'll give him a drunk prank call later, if anything."
Joe got up and walked towards the door. "You guys have fun with that, I'm an old man and need to rest."
"Don't, Joe, please don't leave!" Cynthia ran after him and grabbed him by the arm, gently pulling him back to the sofa. "We're in this together, so we should drink this together, as well."
He pinched her cheek. "I'm afraid I'm gonna choke on this, honey."
"I can do a mean Heimlich maneuver, so no worries. Sit down, Joe, stay with us. TC wouldn't want you to go through this alone."
"You're a good kid, Jay, but too sneaky for your own good." Joe tapped him lightly on the head and plopped down on the couch. "Fine, pour me a shot."
They raised their glasses.
"To TC! To us! To truth, justice and the American Way!"
"Good grief, Jay, you can be so melodramatic."
"Drink your shot and make the next toast, Cynnie."
The third shot was dedicated from Joe to whoever would push Keefe out of office after the next presidential election. Paris, Hector and Helena were on a ship headed for Troy while Menelaus was fuming over his wife's betrayal. The skirt score – good versus should-have-worn-pants - was five to three … or six to three, depending on whether one counted Helena's garment as a skirt.
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Lisa felt almost elated.
Jackson had kindly left the light on this time, so she rummaged through her stuff, hands caressing the fabric of her clothes. Some of them still smelled like home. Lisa's gaze fell on the little purse, the one Cherry had given her with "Sarah Maria Lake's" things in it. What would happen if she paid with this credit card? Was it covered? All her own ID had been taken away from her when she had gone from the airport to the first safehouse. God, that seemed ages ago.
Hm. Whose motto was 'always be prepared'? She took out the wallet, keys and ID and put them into her little backpack. Better to have both hands free, wasn't it? Pulling the suitcase away from the wall, she hid the backpack behind it and covered it up with books.
Now she was prepared and ready for anything.
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Cynthia turned off the TV and walked to the bed. "Sorry, but I really should have eaten something … I can't hold my liquor anymore." She coughed. "Damn, and now I'm choking on it." Her coughs turned into hacking and she held on to the headboard for support.
"Cyn, you alright?" Jay got up to help her, but wobbled, falling back onto the sofa. "What -" He swallowed hard.
Lisa's father was reeling as well, a horrible thought forming in the depths of his mind as the scene played out in front of him. Cynthia was sinking to the floor, her cheeks turning fiery red, while Jay gasped for air, hand clutched at his throat. Their faces were contorted in anguish and filled with fear.
It broke his heart. No! Joe himself felt his chest tighten until he was sure he heard his ribs crack from the pressure. He fell over and crawled towards the phone, already gulping for breath. His vision blurred as the pain roared through his intestines with blunt force. NO! From the corner of his eye, Joe Reisert saw Cynthia's head loll to the side, a moan on her lips that subsided slowly and ended with a low gurgle. He couldn't see Jay, but he realized the silence could only mean one thing.
I'm sorry I failed you. My babygirl, I hope at least you are safe … I will love you always. Be … be strong.
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Lisa thought of her parents and friends, love kindling a warm fire in her heart. They were out there somewhere, looking for her. Don't give up on me, okay? I'm going to come out of this alive and well. How much more was it going to take, really? Jackson had said that if they could convince Forbish, everything else might just fall into place. Well, they had done that, so what … three more meetings? Four? Five?
She'd ask Jackson as soon as he got back.
Lisa was going to do whatever it took to return to the life and the people she loved so much. The end to all this was within her grasp, she could see the hint of a silver lining on the horizon already.
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The door opened and cautious, slow steps approached the bodies, sound absorbed by the thick white carpet. From the outside, city life's music, its car horns, its shouts and chatter rang out through the air, muffled by the windows, but otherwise, the room was perfectly still.
Knees bent down in front of Joe Reisert and gloved fingers turned his head, searching for a pulse. Obviously satisfied with the examination's outcome, they reached into a black bag and produced a camera. A flash.
One down, two to go.