Chapter 5

Lisa didn't know what she had expected—James Bond, perhaps—but life as a "manager's assistant" was more bureaucratic than she ever imagined. Instead of high-tech toys, there was the matter of signing non-disclosure agreements and assurances she would receive training under Jackson's tutelage.

"You're not going to be thrown into the field immediately," he told her. "There's a protocol we have to follow. I know you're capable, but there's too much at stake for the both of us."

"Am I ever going to meet these people you—I mean, we work for?"

"These aren't people you want to meet. Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Lisa considered his words and didn't feel the least bit of trepidation. After all she had been through, nothing could faze her anymore. It had taken years to view herself as a survivor instead of a victim. She realized, with a start, much of it had to do with Jackson. Or rather, her triumph over Jackson when she prevented the assassination. It was no wonder she was muddled in the head over him, she thought. It was disconcerting to simultaneously feel rage and gratitude when she looked at him. Lisa cleared her throat.

"So when do we start?" she asked

"Immediately," he said. "I'd tell you to clear your social calendar, but we both know there's no need."

She glowered but bit her tongue.

"I'm going to need your evenings, weekends, and any other free time you may have. In fact, can you take some days off work?"

"It's convention season, so I doubt it," she said. "But I'll see what I can do."

Her manager wasn't thrilled with the request to take time off but finally agreed to let her work part time at the hotel and to do administrative work from home. As a result, she found herself spending a lot of time with Jackson. So much that his condo was beginning to feel like a second home, something that didn't go unnoticed by either of them.

"Lisa, you can't leave your personal items here," he sniped upon the discovery of her sweatshirt mixed in with his laundry.

"It was an accident," she said. "Anyway, it's your fault for keeping me here so late."

"We don't have a choice," he said. "There's too much to cover.

"I know," she yawned. "I'm a zombie at work these days. Everyone thinks I'm shacking up with a secret boyfriend."

"Aren't you, in a sense?"

"No," she snapped. "My secret boyfriend wouldn't get on my case about a stupid sweatshirt, and he would let me spend the night once in awhile. That forty five minute drive home isn't helping my sleep deficit."

"I told you before. We have to keep things professional."

"Yeah, I heard you," she groused. "But it's not like I'm going to jump you in your sleep, you egomaniac. I'd be perfectly content snoozing in that guest room."

"Better not to take that chance."

Two weeks went by, then three. Jackson touched on everything from first aid to how to pass polygraph. They went shooting, and true to his word, he was a lousy shot—Lisa was pleased.

"You're a natural," he said grudgingly. "If anything, you could teach me a thing or two."

"Funny, I thought I already did that." She smirked as she thought back to their standoff. Jackson chasing her through her childhood home. Her shooting him in the chest. He caught the look on her face, and his eyes flashed warningly.

"Play nice, Leese," he chided. "If I remember correctly, it was dear old dad who bested me; not you."

Lisa swelled in fury and turned on her heel. "Whatever you need to tell yourself. I could shoot you now, you ass, then we'd see who's laughing."

He watched her fiddle with the gun in agitation and slowly edged towards her. She sensed his movements yet kept her back fixedly towards him. She didn't care anymore. She was sick of suppressing the true nature of their relationship while he preached lessons in trusting your partner. Theirs was not a partnership built on trust. There was too much history. Too many betrayals. There was no way this would work.

"Everyone would blame you," she continued. "Putting a gun into the hands of a headcase is a death wish."

He was behind her now, so close that her hair fluttered under his breath. She braced herself for whatever onslaught he was planning and was shocked when he wordlessly snaked his arm around her.

"What are you doing?" she sputtered as he reached around to gently pluck the gun from her hand.

"You're not a headcase," he murmured. "If I've learned anything about you these past few weeks, it's that."

Tears sprang into her eyes, and she cursed her stupidity. The last thing she wanted was to appear weak in front of him, but she was so tired, both mentally and physically. The long days and nights were taking a toll on her. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she cautiously leaned into his solid form, half expecting him to jerk away. He didn't. They stood there for a long time while a myriad of uncomfortable thoughts raced through Lisa's mind.

Clearly, Jackson was throwing her a bone, she deduced. So not only did she appear weak but also desperate. She reluctantly pulled away and faced him.

"I'm sorry," she said awkwardly. "This won't happen again."

"It's fine, Lisa. I'm accustomed to your female-driven, emotion-based dilemmas." The corners of his mouth quirked as he spoke, and Lisa couldn't help but feel grateful at his attempt to lighten the mood. That didn't mean she could look at him properly, though. Her face flushed in embarrassment as she recalled the warmth of his chest and how her cheek had brushed the stubble on his face.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Jackson focused his attention away from her and towards the revolver in his hand. He popped the chamber open. It was empty.

"Kind of difficult to shoot me without bullets, Leese," he said drily.

She regained her footing and feigned a look of innocence. "Who said I wanted to shoot you?"