Jackson woke the next morning to the sound of distant ringing. He closed his eyes again and nestled his head back into the pillow. That was when he realized that he wasn't alone.

Looking down, he saw that Lisa was curled up against him, her back pressed against his chest. Jackson propped himself up on his elbow, resting his head on his hand while he studied the situation for a moment. If only she could see how ridiculous their situation actually was; he ― housing his previous target, she ― moving in with the Big Bad Wolf himself. His lips turned upward into a smile as he remembered their 'Big Bad Wolf' discussion from the previous evening.

Lisa sighed in her sleep, moving a bit, and Jackson simply watched her. How he wished he could've had the opportunity to study her this closely when he was working on the Keefe job! He would've seen the scar, would've known what had happened to her, wouldn't have underestimated her. Then, things would've gone as planned, and the Keefe job wouldn't have been fucked up. He could've taken her to the gate, grabbed some Starbucks, as promised, and then ...

And then what, he thought. And then I never would've seen her again, and I would've gone back to the same shitty existence I've carved out for myself. He looked down at Lisa's slumbering form, his arm still around her waist. And I never would've gotten to touch her. Not like this.

The ringing noise from earlier interrupted his thoughts. Where the hell is that coming fr-

His cell phone! He left it on the counter last night, to charge it! That was probably what woke him up in the first place! If it was the company calling him, a second time, because they didn't reach him the first time, he was in deep shit.

Quickly disentangling himself from Lisa and the blankets, he tossed the covers off, vaulted over Lisa, and skidded out the door towards the kitchen.

-

-

-

Joe Reisert drummed his fingers on his waist as he waited for Lisa to answer her phone. It wasn't like her to avoid him. Granted, he knew the constant overprotective father thing he had going on was starting to annoy her, but could she blame him? As far as he was concerned, Jackson Rippner had attacked her twice, and he wasn't going to buy the bullshit story she had made up about accidentally stabbing herself.

"Hello, you've reached Lisa Reisert, night manager for the Lux Atlantic Hotel, a division of Lux Hotels & Resorts Incorporated, in Miami, Florida. Unfortunately, I'm either away from the guest lobby, or unable to answer your call right now. If you need immediate assistance in regards to your stay at the Lux Atlantic, please hang up, and try the front desk at extension 3-1-5. If this is an emergency, please hang up and dial 9-1-1. For all other concerns, please leave your name, a brief message stating the reason for your call, and a number where I can reach you. Please speak clearly after the beep-"

"Lisa, honey, it's dad ... I'm just wondering where you're at right now, you're not answering your phone." Joe looked around at his still-incomplete house. "I'm just wanting to know that everything's okay. Let me know if you need anything. Alright, I love you, sweetie. Bye."

Joe clicked the Talk button again, ending the call. He felt edgy, and had a gut feeling that something was wrong. If Lisa didn't call back within an hour, he'd go over to check on her.

-

-

-

Lisa woke when she had felt Jackson tear out of the room, but she had been so comfortable, under the soft, warm covers, that she really didn't care if the house was coming down around them, or ... whatever it was that had caused Jackson to vault out of bed.

At that moment, the only thing that disturbed her was that she had been too comfortable. She had felt safe and secure in Jackson's bed, with his arm draped over her waist, holding her against him.

And it scared her to no end.

Beware the snakes in the grass.

This was the man who had lured her in with his clear blue eyes, gotten her to trust him, and had then turned her world upside down. He had threatened her, her father, her friends, and the Keefes. Not to mention that he backed up his threats with physical force. She had a headache off and on for two weeks after he had headbutted her and thrown her down the stairs. What if he was doing the same thing now? What if he was just luring her in again, getting her to trust him once more, and then betrayed that trust by finishing the Keefe job and murdering her and her dad?

Every time she imagined the look of pure, unadulterated hatred in his eyes when he confronted her in her father's kitchen after she had stabbed him, she was assaulted with a separate image. A face with the same clear blue eyes, high cheekbones, and soft lips, always with the look of genuine concern, always asking, Did someone do that to you? She remembered the conversation in her driveway on the night he had killed the intruder in her house, the night she stabbed herself ... how he had admitted that he had been her pawn, that he couldn't have killed her, even if her father hadn't shot him ... the words he had prayed in the back of the police cruiser as he was being taken to jail after taking her to the hospital, Make her better ... and I'll quit.

What if this was his attempt at redemption?

-

-

-

Jackson had found the source of the ringing, the moment that it stopped, of course. It had been Lisa's cell phone. Predictably, it was her father calling, according to the Caller ID. Jackson groaned, furious that he had run all the way into the kitchen for that. If he was going to be summoned from bed, Which, he mentally congratulated himself, currently has a warm female occupant in it, then at least make it something worthwhile. He grabbed his own cell phone, nearly stepping on Titus as he turned, who apparently thought his owner was rushing into the kitchen to get a Milk-Bone for his trusty backup security system. He received one, but only as a consolation prize. Jackson reached for his jacket that he had slung over one of the chairs and fished a peppermint patty out, quickly unwrapping it and popping it into his mouth. I get a consolation prize, too, he thought as he crunched the tiny piece of candy angrily.

Having obtained the fully-charged cell phone, Jackson made his way back to his room, slowing as he neared the doorway. Do I just go in and lay back down like nothing happened, do I stay up and start the day, what? He looked in and saw Lisa was still curled up in an adorable ball under the covers, her nose and closed eyes barely visible. Jackson smiled and made his way toward the bed. Lay back down in bed and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist, he decided.

-

-

-

Joe stepped out of his Jeep Cherokee, locking the doors with a press of his keyless entry button. He crossed the street and noted Lisa's car was in the driveway, signaling that, by all means, she should be home. He cut through the grass and moved to her front door, ringing the doorbell. He waited for her familiar shout of 'I'm coming!' or 'Just a sec!', followed by the thumping of her feet as she raced to the door. He waited in vain. So he rang again. Two rings and three knocks later, she still hadn't answered. He moved to the window, trying to peer inside, but the glare from the sunlight, combined with the opacity of her curtains, hindered his vision.

Where the hell did she go? He reached into his back pocket, fishing for the keys he had shoved into the denim pouch. Joe quickly pulled the metallic mess that was his keyring out of his jeans and searched for the one that would open Lisa's front door. He searched through the small silver and gold objects, looking for the one that had a large L in black Sharpie on its face. "Shit," Joe cursed lightly. He didn't have her key on this set. He moved around to the back of her house, looking for an alternate way in.

-

-

-

The warmth pooling in his chest and the lackadaisical lethargy seeping into his entire being warned Jackson that he was way too comfortable, and for all the wrong reasons. At least, from a manager's standpoint. But then again, Lisa had pointed it out, oh-so-clearly, to him last night. 'Always professional? Please. You stopped being professional the moment you met me.' Losing his professionalism could very quickly ― and very easily ― get them killed. Hell, as far as he was concerned, until he met Lisa, he might as well have been nothing more than a stealthy, deadly, reanimated corpse, brought to unlife for the sole purpose of completing its master's tasks, like something out of a B-grade zombie flick. As much as he liked to believe he was in control of every trivial detail in his life, the more he examined it, the more he came to realize that the control would lay well outside of his grasp until he identified, and broke free from, his chains and demons. Lisa had sent the shock through his system the was needed to jolt him back to life the minute she began defying him on the plane. She was a puzzle to be solved.

"We can't stay here all day, you know?" he chided.

"Why not? You got business to attend to?" He noted her distaste at the word, knowing it was really just her way of sugar-coating 'Do you have to go and arrange people's untimely deaths from unnatural causes?', and it made him wince.

"Not exactly. I've got paperwork and some research to do, but not active duty."

Lisa laughed lightly. "You make it sound like you're in the military."

Jackson gave her a sly look. "What makes you think I'm not?" Her eyebrows raised inquisitively, which he replied to with a smirk as he slid out from under the covers. Titus, who had been sleeping at the foot of the bed, immediately jumped up and took Jackson's vacated spot, giving Lisa a hesitant glance before plopping down.

"Are you?" she asked curiously. He sent her another smirk.

"Wouldn't you like to know ..." He began pulling a pair of track pants out of one of his dresser drawers. Lisa realized that it shocked her to find out he owned something else besides business suits. "I'm getting changed and going for a jog. You can keep sleeping, if you want." He moved to the door Lisa had presumed was the entrance to a closet, opened it, and revealed that her presumptions were correct. He moved into the darkened space, grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of New Balances, then headed toward the bathroom. "By the way, your phone rang earlier. It was your dad calling. I don't know what you want to tell him, but if he asks about where you are, or anything, sell him something believable." He finally closed the bathroom door behind him.

-

-

-

Lisa sat in the kitchen at the breakfast nook, looking down at her list of missed calls.

Missed Call: Dad
Missed Call: Dad
Missed Call: Dad
Missed Call: Dad
1 New Voicemail

"God, Dad! Obsessive much?" She was about to call him back when the phone suddenly chirped to life again. Incoming Call: Dad. She thought about what she should tell him, and decided to go with the almost-truth. She pressed the Talk button.

"Hey, Dad."

Joe Reisert, ever the worrying father, seemed nearly out of his mind with concern. "Lisa!? Honey, where are you? Are you okay? I'm at your house, I've tried calling you all morning, an-" he paused, and Lisa wondered what her house looked like, if there were any blood trails, and if he had seen the upstairs yet.

"You're at my house?" Lisa looked up as Jackson entered, fully dressed in his blue and white jogging outfit. The track pants were blue, with the signature three stripes of the Adidas brand running down the sides. The t-shirt was white, with a large blue and white horseshoe on the chest, with INDIANAPOLIS COLTS stamped beneath it in large print. Titus stood next to him, holding his leash in his mouth expectantly.

"Yeah, I wanted to come over and check on you, to make sure you're okay. When you didn't answer your phone, I got nervous and came over. I can't seem to find my copy of your key, though, honey." Joe paused and his tone became suspicious. "Lisa, what happened? Where are you? You're okay?"

Lisa rolled her eyes with the ever-present question. "Um, yeah, Dad, I'm fine. I'm just not at home right now." Jackson gave her a nervous look. Don't tell him you're with me!, he mouthed. He pantomimed for her to put it on speakerphone, and after a confusing few seconds, she understood what he was trying to say, and hit the SPKR button.

"Why? Sweetheart, what happened?" Lisa wracked her brain for a believable explanation.

"Nothing, I just ... I spent the night at a friend's house." She looked up at Jackson, who seemed to be waiting for her to continue, as well. "I didn't think you'd be stopping by, otherwise, I would've said something to you."

"A friend's house? Who's this friend?"

Lisa looked up at Jackson with trepidation."Dad, are we going to go through this every time I'm not under your nearly-constant surveillance?"

"Is it a male friend, Lisa?"

Jackson began to grin in an evil manner, hearing the paternal concern in Joe's voice. Unimpressed with the current conversation, Titus dropped his leash to the floor and sat back on his haunches. Lisa rolled her eyes at her father's question. "Dad, I'm almost thirty; I'm a big girl now, and I'm not stupid."

"That doesn't answer my question, Lisa."

"Yes, it's a male friend. And before you ask, no, I'm not telling you who he is. And no, I didn't make a stupid decision last night." She knew right where her father's line of questioning would be going, and she was going to nip it in the bud.

"Lisa, are you sure everything's okay?"

She swallowed the scream that had been building in her throat, but let loose on Joe nonetheless. "Dad! I'm fine! You never believe me when I tell you I'm okay, and it gets on my nerves!" Lisa surprised herself with her outburst. Jackson seemed a bit taken aback, too, if the look on his face was an indicator. They heard Joe give a sigh on the other end of the line.

"Lisa ... you know I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, I'm just wanting to make sure my little girl's okay." Lisa frowned at the phone while Jackson leaned in to hear the conversation better. "These past few years, you've seemed ... different. And I don't mean just from that Rippner guy. You seemed to have changed before that. It's like someone flipped a switch in your life, and you just, I don't know ... you went inward." Jackson threw Lisa a curious glance, which made her flush in embarrassment. She could sense an impending Q&A session, which she seriously didn't want to have with him. "And no matter how many times you say you're okay, you never seem to get any closer to the Lisa you were a few years ago. It's like you've lost something. And I'm sorry if I sound harsh saying that, honey, but ... there's just something that's not there anymore, that I can't put my finger on." Oh, if he only knew.

"Dad ... I'm fine, I'll call you later, okay? I've gotta go." She sighed, rubbing her face, still feeling Jackson's eyes on her.

"Alright, sweetheart. I'll let this slide for now. But I want a better explanation later. You hear me, young lady?" Lisa rolled her eyes.

"Yes, Daddy."

"Alright. Well, call me back when you get the chance. I love you, Lisa."

"I love you, too, Dad. Bye." She closed her phone and stared at the counter, waiting for questions that she knew Jackson wanted to ask.

His face was calm, with a hint of smug pride playing across his features. "That was well-played," he said quietly. "Convincing, believable." He, too, stared at the counter, before glancing back up at her. He held his gaze upon her, waiting for her to look at him. He continued when she finally raised her eyes. "You never told him." It clearly wasn't a question.

"About what?" she asked, trying to sound innocent. He saw through her bullshit.

"You know what, Leese. The rape."

Lisa stood and walked toward the living room. "No, I didn't." She really didn't want to have this conversation with him. She heard Jackson fixing the leash to Titus's collar and watched as the two entered the living room. Titus was prancing around eagerly, wagging his tail and looking expectantly toward the glass doors that led to the beach. Jackson paused, twirling the leash in his fingers.

"Not something you care to expand upon, I take it?" he asked. Lisa shook her head and averted her gaze as she sat on the sectional. Jackson passed her the remote and headed toward the doors. "Fine. We'll be back in a while. Make yourself at home, just ..." He glanced toward the hallway, toward his office. "Stay out of the restricted section. Got it?" Lisa nodded and watched as man and dog headed out the doors and out of sight.

-

-

-

Jackson watched the early-morning mist pass by as his feet continuously pounded into the sand. One foot in front of the other, beating a rhythmic cadence into the shoreline. Next to him, Titus galloped steadily alongside his master, his tongue hanging comically from the side of his mouth.

Jackson slowed his pace and struggled for breath. He had trouble increasing his lung capacity after the second bullet from Lisa's father had ripped through his chest, puncturing an entrance and exit through his right lung, before lodging against the inside of his shoulder blade. The medical staff had assured him that he would be able to regain normal lung function with cardio workouts, but he was too much of a perfectionist to be able to ignore the labored breaths, the rattling in his chest, or the slight sting when he overexerted himself. But, time would eventually restore his lung function to 100 percent.

His feet slowed until they finally ended with a rasped squish in the damp, packed sand. He bent over, huffing for breath as Titus panted next to him. Strings of drool hung from the dog's mouth, making it appear as if he had swallowed a sneaker and still had the shoelaces hanging out. Titus's ears suddenly perked as his head snapped toward the waves. Still gasping, Jackson turned to see a small gathering of seagulls scuttling along the waterline, nipping at the water occasionally. He unhooked the dog's leash from the collar.

"Go for it, you stupid brute." Titus took off toward the gulls, letting out a deep, resonating WHUFF! and a long howl before splattering into the surf and scattering the birds.

Jackson stood back up again, reaching his full height in an attempt to give his lungs more room to expand into his ribcage. Running had been part of a strict fitness routine of Jackson's for years, and it had served him well during many assignments. When it came to keeping himself in shape, Jackson had the discipline of a drill sergeant.

He had been purposefully cryptic with Lisa when she asked him if he was in the military. The connections he had made in his line of work weren't anything he was willing to discuss with her at the moment, not at this point, at least. The less she knew, the better. His "dog" that Lisa had driven ― quite literally ― through the front door of her father's house had been USMC, retired. That was where he had obtained the KA-BAR. He was surprised that Lisa's father, an Army Vietnam veteran, hadn't seen the Marine Corps insignia on the knife.

"Titus!" Jackson shouted for the dog. He turned to see the Great Dane laying in water up to his neck, biting occasionally at the bubbles as the waves rolled in. "You're fucking soaked, dog." Jackson could see two inches of the dog's tail zipping back and forth through the water in an attempt to wag it. "C'mon, Titus, let's go."

-

-

-

Lisa sighed at the Spanish daytime soap opera playing on the big-screen TV. She suddenly remembered why she worked the graveyard shift at The Lux; she got to sleep through the boring daytime programming.

Jackson had been gone for nearly an hour, and there was still no sign of him. She felt awkward about him, as if they had parted on a fight, even though no harsh words were exchanged. She had been slightly icy toward him when he asked about her father's lack of knowledge of her rape, but otherwise, no blows had been dealt.

She clicked the TV off and stood, knowing she needed to get dressed. She headed down the hallway, stopping at the door to Jackson's office. Alice is looking down the rabbit hole, she thought wickedly. Her hand settled onto the cold metal of the doorknob. Alice was getting ready to fall. She turned the handle.

The damn bastard had it locked! Lisa fumed silently to herself, but figured that she ended up on the greener side of the fence. There were probably bits of information locked away behind that door that could get her killed if she ever discovered them. Instead, she continued down the hall, to the doorway of what would eventually be her room, according to Jackson's previous assurances. She wasn't entirely sure that she was ready to be a long-term house guest of Jackson's. However, the ease with which her home could be invaded wasn't exactly comforting, either.

Lisa nudged the door open and peered into the room, filled with boxes, overflowing milk crates, and large plastic Rubbermaid storage containers. It would take Jackson forever to sort through everything in the room and move it out before it became inhabitable.

Sighing, Lisa sat down on the floor and grabbed the box nearest her. She slid it across the carpet and pried open the flaps. A moment's hesitation stayed her hand from reaching inside. Should I be doing this? Going through his personal stuff? "As if he's never invaded my home or privacy," she mumbled aloud. She wondered if she was opening up a figurative can of worms as she reached her hand inside. Who knew what mysterious item from Jackson's past she would pull-

"The Wall Street Journal?" Lisa asked incredulously, looking at the 'mysterious item' she had retrieved. Got to be kidding.

She pressed the cardboard flaps back all the way as she looked into the box. Books. The box was filled with books! Judging by some of the titles she was seeing, he had an eclectic taste in reading material. There was a tattered paperback copy of The Iliad, laying on top of a few Stephen King masterpieces. She lifted The Iliad and the Stephen King books out of the way in order to get a better view of what else could possibly be contained within.

Surprisingly, there were a few hardback prints of The Hardy Boys, and underneath them were a few magazines, mostly National Geographic and Time Magazine. She moved those out of the way, as well, and gave a wistful smile at the next pieces of literature. Neatly folded, were copies of various newspapers, each dated:

Tuesday, September 11, 2001.

He had saved pieces of history. He had written copies of what frivolous little issues had been the major concerns of the American public, before the world had changed indefinitely, only a few hours after they had been printed.

Lisa remembered that her father had insisted on doing the same thing that day. He had gone to the gas station, waited in the incredibly long lines reminiscent of the 1970s during the gas crisis, filled his tank, and bought a copy of USA Today, and a copy of the local newspaper.

A sudden disturbance from down the hall caught her attention, and she heard a jingling noise. Titus! She quickly grabbed the books and magazines and stuffed them back into the box as carefully as she could. Who knew what Jackson would do if he found her snooping around through his stuff?

-

-

-

Jackson reached into the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of Aquafina, and closed the door. He looked up as Lisa entered the room, and wiped the sweat from his face.

"Weren't anywhere you weren't supposed to be, I hope?" he asked vaguely, giving her the once-over with an added air of suspicion.

Lisa shrugged before crossing her arms in front of her. "I don't think I was. You never said the as-yet-to-be extra bedroom was off-limits." She kept her demeanor cool and unassuming, not wanting to give him any extra reasons to be wary of her. Jackson twisted the cap off of the bottle and eyed her carefully.

"It's just storage. Nothing of interest in there, I'm sure." He took a few gulps of water and leaned back against the counter. "I'll look around today for furniture. Once everything in there is all cleaned up and moved out, we'll start moving you in."

"Jackson..." Lisa's sentence stalled on her lips as she gave a sigh. He fixed a questioning gaze on her. "Look, how am I supposed to live a 'normal' life, if I'm living here with you? I've got work, and friends, and my dad, doctor's appointments..." She trailed off, looking helplessly at Jackson.

He knew there would be logistical and scheduling problems. He also knew that there was no way she'd be safe at her own place, not until things blew over with Henson, and whoever was giving Henson his orders. The brashness of the break-in was enough to warrant a healthy stirring of caution within Jackson, and if he could trust anything, he could trust his gut instinct. Operatives would be back at Lisa's place. They wouldn't be as easy to neutralize as Henson was.

"Let me worry about how to get you to and from where you need to go, Lisa. You just worry about acting normal. Don't let on that anything's out of place. Your dad's suspicious, and Cynthia's the type to snoop around, so we'll have to come up with a story-"

"I don't like lying to my dad, Jackson."

"You've never seemed to have had any problems with lying to him before," Jackson responded simply, fixing a measured gaze on Lisa. Her face became stony and she turned away.

-

-

-

Henson opened his eyes blearily to the sight of the sanitary gray-green of the hospital room. He recognized, from the way the sun was streaming in, that he was in the med bay of company headquarters.

Licking his dry lips, he glanced down at his wounded body. After the two shots from Rippner, he was surprised that he was still alive, even more surprised that Jackson had given him the opportunity to live. He couldn't even remember the drive from Reisert's house. Damn bitch.

The door opened and he looked up to see Sal's familiar figure entering the room, accompanied by a small entourage of two paid hulks. The door closed with a light click and Henson struggled to sit up, the searing pain in his chest making it nearly impossible to do so.

"It seems Rippner was in a gracious mood," Sal noted, taking inventory of Henson's wounds. "You're lucky to be alive, all things considered." He pulled a cigar from his jacket pocket, clipped the end, and lit it. After a few puffs to draw the flame and smoke through the cigar, he continued, waving the white-grey cloud away. "I had a few more agents search the house to see if she had anything on the Keefe job, but, apparently ... Rippner was right. The house was clean."

Henson jerked his head up. "How did you know what Rippner told me?"

"You called and talked with our night secretary on your way here, to let us know what happened. You don't remember?" Sal seemed to consider his agent's state. "Not surprising, I suppose. You were delirious with pain and blood loss by the time you arrived. Miracle you didn't die on the way in." He took another puff of his cigar. "As it stands now, though, Miss Reisert is missing a few possessions from her home, namely, some luggage and clothes. You didn't happen to hear where she might be headed, did you?"

Henson shook his head. "No, I only saw her for a few moments. Jackson sent her out of the room. Which reminds me, he wants me to bring you a message."

Sal looked up, excitement glittering in his eyes. "Really? A message? For me? How very unlike our Mr. Rippner. Do tell."

"He says that he wants in on the Keefe deal, wants to finish it up, then he wants out." He took a pained breath, again feeling the sting in his chest. "Of the company."

Sal chuckled to himself before looking back to the goons still standing near the door. "Well ... it looks like we may have to get in contact with our dear Jackson." He looked pointedly at the hulking men. "Make sure we have additional surveillance on Miss Reisert's parents, the hotel, and her hospital. When she turns up, we'll see if she's a valuable bartering tool where Jackson's concerned."

-

-

-

Jackson's eyes opened slowly as the piercing warble sounded again. At his feet, Titus groaned and kicked at the blankets, upset at being disturbed from his slumber. Behind him, Lisa shifted, tugging at her pillow. Looking around, Jackson finally spotted his cell phone on the nightstand, and glanced at the caller ID before opening it.

"Rip-" he swallowed against the croakiness of his voice, "Rippner."

"I hear you have a proposition for me. At least, that's what I've gleaned from Henson." It was Sal.

Jackson cast another glance back toward Lisa before sliding out from under the covers and leaving the room. "So, the bastard's still alive, I take it?"

"Apparently so, for the time being. He seems to be more trouble than he's worth. But let us discuss the matter at hand, shall we, Jackson?"

Jackson cringed at the way Sal pronounced his name. His thick Cuban accent made it sound like 'Yack-sun', despite his fluency with English. "Well, for starters, I don't appreciate being in the dark about the whole Keefe ordeal," he mumbled tiredly, struggling to wake himself a bit more as he entered the living room, trying to keep his voice low so as not to wake Lisa. A glance at the clock on the wall informed him that is was well into the night. "And to send Henson to do clean up is insulting."

"Really, Jackson? Is that what bothered you so? Or was it the fact that Miss Reisert was the target? Were you aware that she's currently MIA?"

Jackson bristled. "Yes," he offered simply.

"Well, do let us know if you find her. We've got surveillance on her parents' houses, her work, and the hospital she frequents."

"Sal, do you really think that I'm going to give you anything without something in return? Especially after all the shit that's gone down recently?"

"Ah, yes. Mr. Henson has relayed your message to us."

Jackson got the distinct feeling he was being baited. "Look, Sal, I've worked for this company since I was a teenager. I don't want to do this for the rest of my life. All I want is to finish up this fucking assignment, and walk away."

On the other end of the line, Sal laughed. "Really Jackson ... do you honestly believe it's that easy? To just walk away, with everything you know, with all the access you have to our files?"

"In all the years you've known me, have I ever done anything to cause you to suspect that I would do anything along those lines?"

"You've done a lot of things that have been out of character for you lately, Jackson," Sal countered seriously. "It would be interesting to find out your motive behind your recent changes."

"I'm just getting tired of the job, Sal. I'm sick of the lifestyle. Every time I turn around, I'm in a different country, in a different hotel room, seeing different people ... I've got a house I hardly live in, a car I barely drive." He sighed. "I'd just like to ..." He paused, looking through the large glass doors, out to the moonlight-bathed ocean glittering a few hundred yards away. "I want to be able to live my life, without constantly wondering where I'm going to be next, or thinking about my next assignment." He glanced down at the couch cushions as he settled into them.

Sal groaned on the other end of the line, but it wasn't one of exasperation or disappointment; it was one of empathy. "Such are the trials of men of our line of business, Jackson." An uncomfortable silence passed between the two of them. "I can understand your desire to leave, Jackson. Really, I can. But it won't be painless. For either of you."

Jackson felt his heart sink. He had figured that it wouldn't be easy, but he hated the utterance of the truth, in this instance. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Come by the office tomorrow, both of you, and I'll explain how you can earn your way out."

Jackson snorted. "You assume that I know where Reisert is."

"I know that you know where she is. And if you didn't, I'm damn sure you'd be the first person who'd be able to find her. Both of you. Tomorrow. Be here at noon." And with that, he hung up.