Lisa wasn't sure what time it was when she woke. The outline of Jackson's upturned shoulder hid the blue-green digital numbers of the clock on his nightstand. She glanced over quickly to see if he was awake, but in the pre-dawn darkness, it was difficult to tell; only the slight wheezing caused by his awkward position alerted her to the fact that he was, indeed, asleep.

Titus jerked awake as Lisa's feet touched the floor. The large black Great Dane stood, stretched, yawned, then followed his new distraction as she made her way down the hallway.

When she finally felt the sand between her toes, Lisa sighed, pulling the blanket she had nicked from the back of the couch around her tighter. Miami wasn't usually cool enough to warrant anything more than a long-sleeved t-shirt, but then again, she was pretty sure they were outside of Miami's city limits, wherever they were.

A dark cobalt gray tinged the horizon over the ocean, signaling the beginning of the night's finale. The wind whipped a few granules of sand around her feet and tossed her hair across her face. Lisa closed her eyes and breathed in the salty scent of the ocean, glad to finally be outdoors. She had sort of expected to be under lock and key at Jackson's house, but the months of intermittent self-imposed solitary confinement in her own home had simply been a bit much for her.

"If I hadn't forgotten to set the alarms, you'd have the whole neighborhood awake by now, you know that?"

Lisa spun to see Jackson standing on the deck, lowering a firearm. Neither she nor Titus had heard him slide one of the glass doors open; Titus seemed as surprised as she was by his sudden appearance.

"I- ... I'm sorry, I just-" she searched for a justifiable explanation. Instead, she shrugged, turning her attention back to the graying horizon. "You know, this is the most liberated I've been in- ... God, months." The sand rasped beneath Jackson's feet as he gave a cautionary glance around the deserted beach and toward his neighbors' houses while he clicked the safety on his gun. "Ironic, isn't it? I'm freer at my captor's house than I am at my own."

Lisa turned her head slightly, seeing Jackson's sleep-permeated form coming to a stop next to her. His face was pale, and his eyes and lips were puffy from sleep. "I suppose I could find irony in it," he replied groggily, rubbing at his eyes as the wind tore at his hair and rippled his t-shirt and boxers. "I need to make sure I set the alarm before I go back to bed."

Lisa understood that to mean that it was time to head back in. Titus followed her dutifully back into the house, shaking the sand out of his short, glossy fur before crossing the threshold into the room. Lisa followed him into the house while Jackson closed and locked the doors behind them.

"Go to sleep, Lisa. We have a busy day tomorrow."

This piqued Lisa's interest. "Really? We're going to tackle the guest room, I assume?"

Jackson sighed. "No. We're going to headquarters. My boss requested a meeting with us. I need you on your best behavior tomorrow." He finished locking the doors and setting the alarm on the wall, before giving her a stern look. "If you can manage to keep your mouth shut when not being spoken to, hold your backhanded comments to yourself, and keep the sarcasm to a minimum ... we may live through the end of the day," he advised. "Can you do that?"

Lisa swallowed and looked toward the hallway. "Good night, Jackson."

-

-

-

When the alarm went off at 8:00, Lisa wasn't ready to get up. Fortunately, Jackson slithered out of the covers, turned off the alarm, pulled on a track outfit, and disappeared for a while. Only when Titus rested his head on the mattress and began nuzzling her did Lisa finally pull herself out of bed.

A quick scan of Jackson's fridge revealed that he did, indeed, have enough supplies to make omelettes. Not only were omelettes a possibility, but a gallon of orange juice sat in its bright yellow and green container, as well.

She carefully cut the green and red peppers, minced the cilantro, poured a bit of salsa in a bowl, and beat the eggs in a separate bowl. Finally, Lisa greased a frying pan with a bit of butter, and poured half of the eggs into the pan, sprinkling a bit of black pepper in as she did so. Soon, the peppers were added, and she waited for the mixture to harden a bit. When the eggs congealed, she added a bit of cilantro, along with some of the contents of a bag of shredded cheddar cheese. She barely heard Jackson's entrance.

"Eggs, huh? I should've thought as much."

Lisa smiled a bit to herself as she added a few pieced of julienned ham to her mixture in the pan. "I assume you take ham in your omellette?" she asked. At her side, Jackson grabbed a glass from his cupboard, and filled it with tap water, before gulping down a few mouthfuls. "I mean, you obviously eat some meat, if you've got it in your refrigerator."

"I'm not vegetarian, if that's what you're asking," he supplied, still gasping and sweating. "I happen to know you like your eggs with a bit of salt and pepper ... and some garlic, if you've got any available."

Lisa bristled slightly. It wasn't that he was making correct assumptions about her, because he wasn't; it was that he was stating facts that he had picked up during his 8-week-long stalking of her. It unnerved her, to think of everything that he had possibly seen her do or heard her say while she was being stalked.

From the bedroom, Jackson's cell phone rang. He left to answer it and Lisa continued with the second omelette. She picked up a few words of the one-sided conversation, but nothing gave away any hints as to where they would be heading or what they day held in store for her. As she slid the omelettes onto separate plates and began reaching into the cupboards for a glass, Jackson re-entered the kitchen, staring down at the phone.

"Top left side, if you're looking for cups," he offered, opening the fridge and pulling out the orange juice.

She gave him a quick thanks and pulled a glass from the upper shelf. Jackson grabbed the plates and set them on the table. Lisa nearly forgot the salsa, and quickly grabbed the bowl while Jackson pulled silverware from one of the kitchen drawers. She noticed that he hadn't bothered hiding the knives from the cutlery collection.

"We need to go over some things before we get to that meeting, today, Leese." He gave her a hard stare as she took a bite of her omelette. "The man I work for ― the man we'll be meeting ― he's the one that pulls my strings, do you understand that?"

Lisa swallowed and gave him a calculated look. "So ... what?"

"What I'm saying is that I've worked for this company for a long time. A very long time. This man knows me inside and out, practically. The fact that he's still alive to run the business is a monument to his ability. Don't ever underestimate this man."

Lisa felt the beginnings of uncertainty begin to creep into her system. She was used to Jackson stating things very matter-of-factly, but something about the way his body posture had changed and the fact that he was prepping her for the meeting began to ring warning bells in her head. "What is it that you're trying to say, Jackson? What is this meeting about?"

He gave a shrug and rested his elbows on the table, and clasped his hands, letting his fingers interlock. "I'm not sure what to expect from it." He paused, considered the omelette in front of him for a moment, then leaned back in his chair. "A while back, I tried calling his office-"

"Who is he?"

"He's my boss, and that's all you need to know," Jackson answered evenly. "If he wants you to know who he is, he'll formally introduce himself, but I'm not going to give you any other information about his ID. It's safer that you don't know some things, trust me."

She wanted to laugh. Right in his face. Trust was such a fragile thing. It couldn't be easily given or won, but he was asking for hers without any collateral. True, he had been the most honest and forthright of the both of them, but being truthful and up-front about things didn't necessarily make up for being a shady character. She was becoming suspicious of him, despite having promised herself the other night that she would trust him. What exactly could this line of work do to a person? Which Jackson was he, really? Was he the charming young man she had met at the airport, or was he the sinister murderer she had seen on the plane? She couldn't tell when he was simply wearing another metaphorical hat and when he was being his true self. Did he even know who he was? "Why should I be concerned about this guy?"

"Lisa, as dangerous as I can be, this man has me beat at nearly every angle. I'm just one person. I don't have any pull over any other people in my workforce. He has an entire company, full of assassins, spies, hackers, torturers, researchers, con artists, all at his disposal." He settled his hands on his table and leaned forward slightly. "Think about what that could mean if you get on his bad side. Lisa ... think of what he could have someone do to you. And if that doesn't scare you, think of what he could have done to your friends ... your co-workers ... your family."

She felt her heart begin to beat harder.

"Your dad, Leese." She pushed back from the table and folded her arms across her chest. "You've gotta understand this when we're going in. I'm not saying it to be cruel; I'm saying it because if things get fucked up, there are going to be consequences that are going to lie outside of my realm of influence. I need you to understand that. This is both of our asses on the line."

Lisa seethed inside. "You know what? I'm pretty damn much fed up with this whole thing! Every which way I turn, I'm always finding someone threatening me!"

"I don't want you to take this personally, Lisa. Honestly, I don't. But I do want you to take this seriously."

His low, calm tone rattled her. He was, indeed, being serious. He wasn't making threats. Jackson was giving warnings. She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and closed her eyes, concentrating on maintaining her composure. "If I ... agree to do this ... if I just go along with everything, keep my mouth shut, and don't act up, what guarantee do I have that he's not going to hurt any of my friends or family out of spite?"

"None." He watched her flinch and turn her face. "But, as it currently stands, you're not much of a threat to him. You're just a thorn in his side. And as long as you don't dig any deeper into his ribs, you'll have better odds that he'll leave you and yours alone."

"Then why am I here, Jackson?" She finally opened her eyes. "Why am I holed up here? Why did I have a guy breaking into my house? Why do I have to be scared of being in my own home!?"

"Because despite everything I said, I still don't trust these people enough to leave you unguarded."

"What are you getting out of all of this? Hmm? What can you gain from getting me to go along quietly and go to this meeting?"

"Closure, I hope." He caught the look of confusion that flashed across her face. "I've been with them for a long time. I've given them nearly half my life. It's quick money. Easy money. And I'm damn good at what I do. I never leave a job unfinished. Our clients have never expressed anything but complete satisfaction with my work." He stood and leaned over the table, moving his face closer to hers, his hands gripping the sides. "But I'm no longer satisfied by my work."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you suppose it's like, Lisa? How much sleep do you think you can get, knowing that you've just helped orchestrate the assassination of a country's leader? How do you think you'd feel, having to go on a mission as an initiation, and having to slit a man's throat from ear to ear, while his kids slept in the room just down the hall? How hard would it be to walk past their room, and look in and see them still sleeping, knowing that when they woke up in the morning, they'd find out why their father hadn't woken them up to get them ready for school?" He could feel bile stinging the back of his throat. "I could tell you the exact answer to every one of those questions, Lisa. Every damn one."

She could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. The very thought of what Jackson's past entailed set her on edge, and a hot nausea burned in her chest and stomach. She could imagine those kids waking up in the morning, looking around for their dad, and finding him dead in his blood-soaked bedsheets. To see something like that at such a young age ... God, she could only imagine. To be Jackson, knowing that you did that ...

"And you want to know why? Because I've had to live those experiences. I've walked that line, and believe me, it's a hell of a line to walk. But you know what? I'm tired of doing it. I'm sick of getting up in the morning, and knowing that I could have another job waiting in my inbox that could give me nightmares for the next 18 months. But even worse, I'm scared shitless that one of these days, the nightmares will stop because I've grown so fucking jaded to it all that it just doesn't seem like a horrible thing to do. And I'm really damn close to that time coming, Leese. Really damn close."

Lisa felt the color drain from her face. All this time, she thought Jackson was impervious to the mess that was left behind in his line of work. "You told me ... on the- ... on the plane, when I was worried about Keefe's family ... you said 'bad things happen to good people'," she mumbled. She was still trying to let everything register. He gave her a nod. "If this business screws with you so badly, why did you make that excuse on the plane?"

Jackson gave an empty laugh, averting his eyes. "You know what I did after my parents died, Leese?" He stood and began a slow pace back and forth across the kitchen, each step a calculated move, his eyes never leaving hers. She shook her head. "My parents were gone when I was 16 years old. I got into some low-level trouble. Then I started getting into deeper shit. It went from petty fights at school where I got the shit beat out of me, to armed robbery. I had a criminal record in five months. The judge decided to sentence me as an adult, so I went to the state pen, not that marshmallow-fluff juvenile detention center. I was given psychiatric evaluations, and when those were entered into the records, that's when my current employer found me."

Lisa narrowed her eyes at Jackson, wondering what could've given a young kid at his age a reason to become so violent. Obviously, his parents' deaths must've had some type of impact on him, but if he killed them in what she suspected was also a violent manner ― much like his other crimes ― guilt probably wouldn't have given him a reason to act out. "So, you're saying that he was on the lookout for someone like you?"

He gave a grim nod. "That's exactly what I'm saying. He read through my case files, got his hands on my psychiatric evaluations, and decided that what he saw in them was what he was looking for. I had a penchant for violence, I had high IQ scores, my reasoning and logic skills were exceptional, I displayed an ability to adapt to stressful situations, and most of all ... I was still young and impressionable."

"How could he have gotten his hands on your case files?"

"This company has its hands in everyone's cookie jars, Leese. We have branches in every country, with multiple branches in certain ones. When you have a scope of that size, with specialized departments, you tend to be able to acquire things with less difficulty."

"Once he found you, what happened?" Lisa asked, leaning forward with interest.

"He produced identification stating that he was with a charitable organization for wayward teens. Spoke to the judge and the case worker. He told them that he ran a school in Pennsylvania that helped rehabilitate people like me, got us to graduate, and helped us find job placement. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't what he made it out to be, either. Eventually, after doing some convincing and paying off, he got me released and filed paperwork to become my legal guardian until I was 18."

"So you went to this school of his, in Pennsylvania?"

"Yep. It was a school, but not one in the conventional sense of the term. I finished all of my high school classes, of course, but there were ... I guess they would be defined as 'elective courses', or 'extracurricular classes' that they offered. While I was there, I was taught about the company and what was required of its employees. I was given a job, but I was still too volatile to do anything productively. They decided that I needed to learn how to follow orders and to become an effective fighter, if need be. So, they erased my criminal record, doctored my background, and sent me on to training."

"Where?"

Jackson gave a smile and slid one arm out of his sleeve. He pulled the side of his shirt up to rest on top of his shoulder, revealing most of his back and exposing his right shoulderblade. In faded gray and black ink, an eagle perched atop a globe, with a banner clenched in its beak. Behind the globe was a fisherman's anchor, with rope wrapped around its length. In the banner held by the eagle were the words 'Semper Fi' in bold lettering. "MCRD Parris Island, South Carolina," he said with a grin. "The United States Marine Corps."

Lisa gasped at the realization that Jackson was, indeed, in the military at one point. He had been vague with his response when she leaked her suspicions, but confirmation that Jackson had not only been in the military, but in the most elite branch, seemed to explain a lot about him.

"I spent 6 years as an active duty U.S. Marine, working stealth recon and sniper missions. I was in more fire fights and hand-to-hand combat experiences than I can count. I saw things that I hope you'll never have to see." He shoved his arm back through his sleeve and pulled his shirt back down, turning around to face her. "But in everything I did, there was a reason. Every male and female Marine that I served with did what they did, for a higher purpose. We fought to keep people free, Lisa. We fought to protect America and her people from harm's way. Our mental, physical, and emotional sacrifices meant that we were preserving the American way of life." He gave a sad laugh. "Do you know, that on 9/11, when I was on leave ... I saw the planes hit the towers, and I was dressed, had my bags packed, and my house locked up in the span of half an hour, and was reporting for duty before my commanding officer even called me?" He paused, feeling his teeth grinding together, and the muscles in his jaw twitching. "Do you know what my oath of enlistment was?"

Lisa sat there, unable to choke out any words, and simply shook her head.

Jackson spun his chair around backwards, straddled it, and sat in front of her, his eyes locking on hers. "I, Jackson Lucas Rippner, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to the regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God." His eyes scanned her face. "When I did what I did, it was because I took an oath. There was honor in what I did. But now ..."

"Now it all seems like it's going to shit."

Jackson shook his head in opposition. "No, that's not it. I still believe in that oath, Leese. Just because I'm no longer an active duty Marine doesn't mean I'm not a Marine anymore. There's a saying in the Corps, 'Once a Marine, Always a Marine'. That's why men and women who leave the Corps through retirement or fulfillment of their enlistment get pissed if they're called 'ex-Marines'. I'm still a Marine. I'll be one for the rest of my life, the same as any other Marine out there. As such, I still believe in supporting and defending the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic, and bearing true faith and allegiance to the same."

"Then why the hit against Charles Keefe?"

"It's what I was paid to do. My reports that I received said that Keefe had been funneling political money around through D.C., sending it to lobbyists and special interest groups. One of the jobs that Keefe had before working in Homeland Security was chairman of what was supposedly an illegal immigrants' rights group. We're not just talking about Mexican illegal immigrants; we're talking all illegal immigrants ― Honduras, Venezuela, Colombia, Saudi Arabia, Libya, Somalia, Iran ― you name it, they worked for them."

"So? So he's a humanitarian ... what does that have to do with anything?"

"Other than the fact that aiding illegal immigrants is in opposition to federal law?"

"But how does that relate to you setting up the hit on Keefe? So Keefe's a bleeding heart; that doesn't mean you have the right to kill him."

Jackson sighed heavily, hoping Lisa would understand what he was about to tell her. "I'm not saying that anything gives me the right to kill him. I'm saying that my job was to remove Keefe from office in a big, brash way. Keefe had connections into the illegal immigrant community, Leese. He, along with others in his organization, were working with drug and weapons traffickers that were coming into the country."

"Why would he do that?" Lisa asked, suspicion heavy in her voice.

"Keefe worked through different illegals in the country, found out who still had influential ties with their countries of origin. If he found some that had strong anti-American sentiment and had people in their homeland that shared their feelings and could get things done, he handed money to them. That money was then used to orchestrate attacks against American embassies, U.S. troops, and cargo shipments to and from the United States. He creates additional havoc that wouldn't be there if it weren't for him. Meanwhile, he's going on and on about being tough on foreign policy, and taking measures to protect America's interests at home and abroad. So, he gets a big game plan together, presents it to the administration, convinces them that he's the guy for the job, and boom- ... new head honcho in the Homeland Security Department. He makes appropriations requests, and once he gets access to the purse strings in Washington, he funnels some of it off to his contacts abroad. They store it for him in secure accounts that he'll have access to when he leaves his position."

Lisa took a moment to let everything Jackson said register. She felt sick to her stomach. If what he said was true, Charles Keefe ― the man she thought she knew, the man she trusted ― financed attacks on Americans, and was now using his position as Director of Homeland Security to get money from the appropriations committees in Congress to line his pockets in offshore accounts. This wasn't the Charles Keefe she knew. "How am I supposed to know that what you're saying is true? Why should I believe that?"

Jackson stood and leaned back against the counter, folding his arms in front of him and crossing one leg over the other. "I've got wire taps, phone records, DHS security footage, bank account transactions ... you name it. I can submit a request to give you access to those files, and you can see for yourself, if you want."

Lisa felt a burning sensation in the back of her throat. She had trusted Keefe! To think that he had put on a show for her, and millions of other Americans ... to know that he had been responsible for who knew how many Americans' deaths across the world ... "Yes," she responded suddenly. "I want to see them. Everything. If he's the son of a bitch you say he is, I want to know for myself; I need to know that he lied to me. To everyone. And if it's true that he did this, that he's still doing this, then I'll ..." she trailed off, not sure if she could bring herself to say it.

"You'll what, Lisa?"

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'll do what I can to help you close out your case on Keefe."

-

-

-

Lisa cleaned up after they finished their breakfast while Jackson took a shower. He finished and re-emerged with damp hair, dressed in his business slacks, dress shirt, and jacket. Typical Jackson fashion.

"Shower's free," he offered, as Lisa finished the dishes. She nodded and went to the bedroom, gathered her clothes, and closed the bathroom door behind her.

"Am I really doing this?" she whispered to herself as she set her clothes down and brushed her hair away from her face. A cease-fire with Jackson was one thing. Aiding a terrorist was another. And that's what he was, really. A terrorist.

Right?

She quickly undressed and turned the shower on, stepping under the hot spray. She grabbed her shampoo and quickly began to wash her hair. What was the definition of a terrorist, anyway? If Jackson had taken an oath to protect and defend against all enemies, foreign and domestic ... "I guess it depends on whether or not Charles Keefe is considered a domestic enemy of the United States," she rationalized. She really hadn't thought this through enough. Until proven guilty, Charles Keefe was an innocent man. But, then again, so was Jackson. So was she. But if what Jackson had said was true ... Keefe had caused the deaths of countless people, robbing the taxpayers in the process, to finance his operations.

Only a few years ago, Lisa had known Keefe as a Congressman from a small district in Texas. She had been working at The Lux Houston Resort, prior to being offered the position in Miami. During the day shift, Keefe booked the Lux's front conference room for meetings, with people she had assumed were Washington insiders, financial contributors, fellow Congressmen, lobbyists, aides, and local leaders. Lisa had always been the one to proactively assist with anything that they needed, and soon, their compliments had reached the ears of her managers. She had been promoted to the day manager position soon after, and her cordial encounters with Keefe and his acquaintances brought her onto his radar. After being offered the position of hotel manager at the Lux Atlantic, Lisa continued to run in to Keefe. He had never been anything other than friendly and open with her, and as such, she took it upon herself to take care of any arrangements he made in Miami. With his brother living in South Beach, Keefe stayed at the Lux Atlantic a few times a year. He continued to book the conference room, stating that he liked to brainstorm with out-of-state lawmakers and politicians, as well.

It was that vision of Keefe, the good-hearted Congressman and now-Director of Homeland Security, that Lisa had fought for on the red eye flight. She had risked her life, and fought Jackson tooth and nail, to protect Keefe and his family.

But for what? Had Keefe been pulling the wool over everyone's eyes all along? Everyone except for the men that Jackson worked for? Had everything been a big dog-and-pony show? A ruse?

She would get to the bottom of this. If Jackson had those damn files, like he said he did, and could obtain access for her ...

She shut the water off and stepped out of the shower. After drying off and slipping into a blouse and skirt, she rubbed her hair dry and exited the bathroom. As she was busy sliding on a pair of low heels, Jackson knocked on the bedroom door frame.

"There's been a slight change of plans." Lisa looked at him questioningly. "We aren't going to headquarters. We're meeting him at a restaurant. Might want to dress up a bit."

Lisa looked at the suitcase she had brought with dismay. "I don't know if I've got anything dressy. I didn't really think to bring anything other than work clothes or casual wear."

Jackson glanced down at his watch. "Alright, I'll tell you what ..." he drummed his fingers against the door frame, still studying his watch. "Finish your hair, and I'll make some calls, then we'll stop on our way there to get you an outfit."

"Is it that important that we need to dress up for this?" she asked.

"Not really. But he's not the kind of guy to whom you would want to give a bad impression."

-

-

-

Lisa looked around at the boutique. She had driven past this type of store before, but had never really had the urge to go in. This was an upscale establishment, one in which she felt completely out of place.

"You must be Lisa. I'm Caroline," the sales assistant extended her hand to Lisa and shook it warmly. Lisa cast a glance toward Jackson. "Don't worry about a thing, he's already given us your sizes when he called earlier. We have a few things picked out for you, already. If you'll follow me, we'll get you into the dressing room and out of here in no time." Lisa followed the woman, noticing her expertly-done French twist. She had tried doing that with her hair for years, and had never been able to get it to be anything but sloppy.

Caroline led Lisa to an alcove which housed a small wing of dressing rooms, complete with clothing racks on either side, and a collection of full-length mirrors in the middle. Hanging from one of the racks was an assortment of clothing, which Caroline began to lift from the bar. "Are those al—" Lisa swallowed hard at the exquisite clothing, "are those all for me?"

Fifteen minutes later, Lisa had a collection of tops, skirts, and dresses that Caroline had picked out for her and ensured they fit correctly. She had dressed Lisa in a black cocktail dress with a high neckline, opting out of the one that had a low-cut neckline, for Lisa's sake. Lisa would be eternally grateful for that woman. As Caroline began folding the clothing, the door chime jingled, and Lisa looked up to see Jackson enter, carrying a small bag. "Ah, wonderful timing! We've just finished up here," Caroline said warmly. Jackson nodded and gave a brief smile, laying a credit card on the counter.

His eyes ran over Lisa's form, appraising the dress. "Hmm ... conservative, nice cut, modest skirt line, sleeveless ..." He looked up to Caroline. "You've picked out something very classy for her, Caroline. Nice job." Caroline smiled. Jackson turned his attention back to Lisa. "You're going to make a good impression on him, I think."

After Caroline had finished ringing them out and they said their goodbyes, Jackson led Lisa back to his car, holding her door for her before moving to the driver's side. He quickly slid into his seat and turned the keys in the ignition. He reached into the bag he had been carrying and removed a large, square box. "You'll need to wear these, as well." He opened the box, revealing a pair of drop pearl earrings and a matching pearl necklace.

Lisa felt her stomach clench. "Those aren't ... those aren't real, are they?" She studied the pearls. The necklace consisted of a large pearl in the middle, with successively smaller pearls leading to each end.

"Of course they're real. You can't possibly expect to dress like that and then wear fake pearls, can you?" He pulled the necklace out and undid the clasp. "Here, turn around. Let's hurry up and get this on you. You can put on the earrings while I'm driving." Lisa turned, and Jackson dropped the necklace over her collarbones, pulling it up slightly to do the clasp, then released it.

The smooth pearls felt cool against her skin. She had always wanted a set of pearls. Her mother had inherited the collection that Henrietta, Lisa's grandmother, had owned. To Lisa, pearls were never out of style. "Thank you, Jackson." She carefully pulled the earrings from the box and hooked them through her lobes. "For the clothing, and the jewelry."

Jackson looked over his should to merge out of his parking spot and into traffic. "Don't worry about it," he answered distractedly. "It was nothing. Believe me, if you're going to be meeting with this guy, you're going to want to look good."

-

-

-

"So, how much farther is this place?" Lisa asked. Since leaving the boutique, they had been driving for nearly 45 minutes. In the daylight, the surroundings were much more familiar. At least now she knew that they had been driving from at least the Ballard Pines area. Did Jackson live in Ballard Pines? She'd have to pay more attention on the way back.

"Should be about another 10 minutes or so."

Lisa nodded and continued staring out the window. "How old are you?"

There was a long pause from Jackson. "I'll be 31."

Jackson was 31? Well, she had guessed he was close to her age. He didn't seem to be much older than her. Now she knew that to be the case. "So, you'll be 31; you aren't 31, yet. When is your birthday?"

"Why? Are you baking me a cake?"

Lisa turned her head. "It depends. Will I have enough time to bake a cake, or is your birthday going to be too close to make it?"

"What is this? Twenty Questions?" When Lisa didn't respond, he sighed. "Alright, I'll play this little game you've got going."

"I never said it was a game. I'm just curious."

"Why?"

"Because you know practically everything about me, and I don't know hardly anything about you. That, and it makes for a boring drive if we just sit here."

"You seemed to pass the other forty-five minutes without fail," he countered.

"I know, and it got to me. So now I'm taking the opportunity to ask questions."

"May. My birthday is in May. My turn to ask a question, now. Why did you stop seeing Evan?"

Lisa's head jerked toward Jackson, surprise clearly written across her face. "Evan? I was in college when—" she eyed him suspiciously. "How do you know about Evan?"

Jackson merely shrugged. "It was my job to find out every little thing I could about you. I obviously don't have the unabridged version of your biography. So, why did you stop seeing Evan?"

Lisa opened and closed her mouth a few times, looking much like a fish out of water. She hadn't thought about Evan in years. He had been a semi-long-term boyfriend. Well, bordering on long-term. "He was seeing someone else," she finally managed. She watched as one of Jackson's eyebrows raised.

"While the two of you were dating?" he questioned. Lisa nodded. "Sounds like a fair reason to stop seeing him."

"What about you? When was the last time you had a serious relationship?"

"Who said anything about Evan being your last relationship? Or about what you two had being serious?"

Lisa smirked. "Don't try turning the tables on me. Answer the question." Jackson glanced in his rear-view mirror and shifted uncomfortably. This piqued Lisa's interest. What was it about the question, aside from its personal nature, that bugged Jackson? "Well?" she pressed.

He gave a sigh. "Five years ago."

"And ..."

"And what?"

"You're just going to leave it at that?"

Jackson was silent for a moment longer. "Yes." Something had changed in the air between them. Lisa felt that she wasn't getting the full story, and knew Jackson wasn't going to give all of it up, just yet. This would take some digging.

"What was her name?"

"Ollie."

Lisa smiled at the name, trying to conjure up an image of a woman that could match the name Ollie. It sounded ... tomboyish.

"Where did you meet—"

"We're here," Jackson quickly interrupted. They had exited from the highway and entered a town. Lisa couldn't tell which town it was. Nothing about it screamed Miami, so she knew she wasn't back home, just yet. Jackson pulled out of traffic and into the parking zone along the sidewalk in front of a 3-story brick building. The building had a large silver sign with something written in Italian that Lisa was unable to translate, Colline Toscane.

The inside was ill-lit, and Lisa got the impression that the owners of the restaurant were going for a wine cavern look. Despite the brick on the outside, the inside was covered in rock wall and plaster facades. Fake grape vines climbed the walls and dangled through a trellis system suspended from the ceiling. Cafe lights twinkled through the faux canopy, which, surprisingly, gave the entire setting a romantic hue. Tabletops were covered with white tablecloths, and each had a small, red, sphere-shaped crackle glass votive with a tealight lit inside. The votives had olive wreaths around their bases. An Italian-themed restaurant if she ever saw one.

"Buongiorno, my name ees Zola." A petite woman with a thick Italian accent greeted them. "Benvenuto a Colline Toscane. Will eet just be de two of you joining us for lunch today, or will utters be joining your party?" She grabbed two menus from behind the receiving podium and tucked them into her arm.

"I soltanto due di noi, grazie. Il nostro amico è già qui," Jackson said softly in well-accented Italian. Surprised, Lisa faced Jackson, raising a curious eyebrow at him. Jackson simply cocked his head to the side, brushing off her unspoken query. He caught sight of someone and nodded in that direction. "Ci è il nostro amico."

"Molto bene, lascilo accompagnarlo alla vostra tabella." Zola walked ahead of them at a quick pace, leaving a bit of distance between herself and Jackson and Lisa.

"I didn't know you spoke Italian," Lisa remarked in a whisper. "Impressive."

"You ought to hear my French," Jackson whispered back with a self-satisfied smirk.

Zola stopped at their table, placed the menus across from the man already seated there, and stepped back to allow Lisa and Jackson to move to their side of the table. "Signore, may I offer you anudder glass of wine?" The seated man shook his head, mumbling a "No, thank you" and holding up his hand in polite refusal. "Molto bene," she turned to Jackson and Lisa, "I will give you a moment to look over de menus, and den I will come back for your orders. Buon appetito."

As Zola left, the man stood, extending his hand to Jackson, giving it a firm shake. "It is good to see you, Jackson."

"You too, sir."

The man released Jackson's hand and held his arms out wide. "And this must be the clever Miss Reisert whose name has come up in more than one conversation in my office, I must say." His words held no threat to them, but Lisa felt the color drain from her face slightly. It was an effort to keep her smile from faltering. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Reisert. I am Salazar Hidalgo de Echevarria." He took Lisa's hand and placed a kiss on the back of her palm.

"That's quite a mouthful, Mr. Echevar— ... Echaver—..." Lisa grimaced humorously as she struggled with the pronunciation of his full surname.

"E-che-varr-ia," he corrected with an amused laugh, "but please, call me Sal."

"A pleasure to meet you too, then, Sal," Lisa responded with a graceful smile. She caught Jackson's gaze for a split second as he held her chair for her. He gave her a quick wink. So far, so good. "Thank you," she remarked politely as Jackson pushed in her chair, before seating himself.

"I am so pleased you were able to accommodate the change of plans on such short notice, Jackson. Their lunch is spectacular, and their wine is very pleasing to the palette. It is a shame we must talk business through such a fine meal. If time allows, I will save our business matters until after we've enjoyed our lunch, yes?"

"Of course, sir." Jackson eyed the menu, and saw Lisa do the same from the edge of his vision. So far, Lisa was making a good impression on Sal. Things were going better than he had anticipated.

"I, for one, have never been here. You seem to be quite familiar with this establishment, though, Mr. Echevarria. Would you be able to recommend anything for me?" Jackson felt a warmth blossoming in his chest at the knowledge that Lisa was performing her required role flawlessly. She was the perfect image of a lady — polite, appropriately dressed, relaxed, friendly, and able to master the execution of the appropriate facial expressions. All her time spent working in the hospitality field was serving her well.

Sufficiently disarmed, Sal gave her a surprised smile. "Of course! I'd be happy to, Miss Reisert."

"You can call me Lisa," she said warmly.

"No, I must insist on calling you Miss Reisert. If word gets back to my wife that I am on a first name basis with a young lady as beautiful as you, she'll most certainly move my sleeping arrangements to the couch in the den!" Sal joked. Lisa gave a small laugh. Jackson fought the urge to roll his eyes. Sal was pouring on the charm, alright. It was a good sign.

"Ah, signori e signora ... are you ready to order, or woulda you like a leetle more time to decide?" At their uncertain glances, the newly-returned Zola gave an understanding nod. "Perhaps I can take your beverage orders while you are deciding, yes?"

"Please, put everything on my check," Sal quickly interceded. Jackson and Lisa began a combined protesting look, but Sal held up a hand, refusing to have it any other way. "On my check, please," he reinforced. Zola nodded with a polite smile. Sal turned his head toward her and gave an amused look. "I have an idea. Bring us a bottle of the red zinfandel, and we shall start from there."

"Of course, signore." Zola quickly disappeared into the wine cellar.

"So, Miss Reisert ... do you like Italian food?"

"Of course! My mother made excellent homemade Italian food when I was younger. I've grown to love it."

"Ah, yes. Your mother was a cook, was she not? She studied at a culinary institute in France in her younger years, if I am not mistaken."

Lisa's hand trembled slightly. She felt Jackson's hand rest gently on her thigh, his thumb rubbing along the smooth fabric of her dress — a reminder to remain calm. "Yes, she was," she responded in a light tone. "How did you know?" She made sure to keep any accusation out of her voice.

"Forgive me," Sal gave a sheepish grin. "It is my responsibility, as the executive of this business branch, to ensure that I am well-versed in my branch's case files, to a degree. I did not mean to unsettle you."

"Oh no, not at all," Lisa laughed, hoping to dispel any jittery nerves. "It was just fascinating that you knew my mother was a chef. She hasn't cooked professionally in years. Do you have a propensity for cooking?" She gave a demure smile. "I'll admit, the only things I seem to be able to manage to cook without incident are scrambled eggs and French toast. This apple fell pretty far from the tree." She felt a slight pat on her thigh, then the hand slid from her leg. Crisis averted.

"My father, he worked for many years in a restaurant in Cuba, where I am from. He taught me everything he knew about cooking. Unfortunately, I was a bad pupil. But, my wife and son are incredible cooks. I regret that my daughter has inherited her father's cooking skills." Sal glanced back down at the menu. "Thankfully, we aren't in charge of the meal preparation today. There is a chicken fettucine that they make that will bring tears to your eyes. Most people choose the alfredo sauce, but I prefer the marinara. Does that sound appetizing, Miss Reisert?"

-

-

-

Fifteen minutes later, the trio had placed their orders and were sipping at their wine. Sal was recounting a story from Jackson's early years with the company. Lisa listened intently, but Jackson was clearly uncomfortable.

"So, wait ... he locked the car keys in their house? While they were upstairs, sleeping?" Lisa asked incredulously, glancing between Jackson and Sal. Sal's face was red with laughter, but Jackson had an embarrassed smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. She tucked her hands under chin neatly, casting a playful gaze in Jackson's direction. "So, Mr. Hotshot ... how'd you save yourself from that one?"

"I called a cab," Jackson mumbled. Lisa and Sal broke into a fit of laughter before Sal struggled through the rest of the story.

"He came back, dressed as a utilities man, and woke them up to tell them about a supposed 'gas leak' that was being reported in their area!" He leaned back in his chair, tears streaming down his face. "He actually went through and started checking their appliances-"

"Mind you, I knew nothing about appliances at the time—" Jackson tried to defend.

"—and they were all electric!" Sal finished, erupting into another round of laughter. "The stove, the water heater, the washer and dryer — everything!"

Lisa snorted, her face blushing red in sympathetic embarrassment.

"I was so aggravated by the whole thing that I walked out the door without the keys. Again." Jackson gave a genuine laugh, tracing the top of his wine glass with his index finger. "I was halfway down their sidewalk, when the lady came out, still dressed in her bathrobe, telling me I must've left my keys there, because she didn't recognize the set."

"Do y— ... do you re— ..." Sal was struggling for breath in between laughs. "You remember when it was all the rage to have those ... those rabbit foot keychains?"

Lisa gasped, her face lit up with amusement as she turned to Jackson. "You didn't!"

Jackson sighed and nodded. "I did," he confessed, his own face relaxing into a smile. "And one of those little perpetual motion things, where you turn it upside down, and the oil droplets drip down over the paddle wheel and follow the little path ..." he motioned with his hands. "And then once it all drains, you flip it over again and it drains the other way." Lisa gave a piteous moan. "Yeah, I had one of those on there, too," he admitted, grimacing slightly. He lifted his wine glass to his lips, taking a healthy sip before setting it back down again and glancing up. "Thank God. I've been rescued." He gave a grateful smile to Zola as she arrived with their plates, calling out each dish before she set it on the table. After ensuring that everyone had their correct meals and asking if anyone needed anything else, she wished them buon appetito again.

Lisa stifled a laugh as she appraised her chicken fettucine alfredo. "If it makes you feel any better, I had a bright green HyperColor shirt that I ruined. I kept sticking it in the freezer, then I'd pull it out and put my hands all over it and watch my handprints turn lighter green, then I'd stick it back in. I think the shirt only made it for about 5 days."

"Oh my God," Jackson groaned, "I forgot all about HyperColor shirts!"

Sal laughed and stuck a fork into a piece of ravioli. "My son from my first marriage, he had a ..." he gestured wildly, searching for the right words, "oh, what were those things? You take the black piece of paper, and you take the pegs-"

"Lite Brite!" Jackson and Lisa exclaimed in unison.

Lisa twirled her fork in her fettucine. "I had a friend come over one time — I'll never forget — and her brother was a few grades ahead of us. I thought my mom would never stop whipping me, because she thought it was me that made the inappropriate picture with the Lite Brite!"

Jackson laughed. "Dare I ask what it was?"

"A very detailed bust of a well-endowed woman," she replied with a sigh. Jackson and Sal laughed while Lisa took a forkful of fettucine.

"Remember Spirographs—"

-

-

-

The meal passed peaceably, with everyone sharing nostalgic stories and finishing off their meals. Another bottle of wine arrived, followed by dessert menus. After another 10 minutes, things quieted down amongst the trio.

Sal sighed contentedly, much like a cat that had just finished off a bowl of cream, as their desserts arrived. "Perhaps now we shall talk business, yes?" They thanked Zola, who gave a courteous smile and disappeared. Sal settled forward on his forearms, brushed his tie back from its dangerously close position to his tiramisu, and raised his eyes towards Jackson. "I understand that you want to finish what you started?"

Jackson nodded, setting his fork down on his plate. "Sal, you know as well as I do, I've never left a job unfinished. I don't want to sully my reputation, or the company's reputation, any further than I already have, by not delivering on a promise." It wasn't a complete lie, but it was efficient enough. Truth was, he wasn't as interested in reputations as much as he was interested in closing a mission. It was a bit OCD of him, but he didn't like leaving any loose ends. "Clients paid for a job to be done, and it hasn't been finished. We either refund the money or deliver on our contractual agreement."

"What makes you think it is so simple, mijo?" Jackson felt Lisa shift next to him. "Since the attempt on Keefe, security has tightened, new government regulations have been put into place, and your face was all over the news. Not to mention the fact that the clients have not contacted us since the mission went wrong. They haven't even tried to collect the down payment."

"What?" Jackson asked, clearly confused. "That doesn't make sense. Why would they drop off the map like that?"

"Maybe they don't want to be found," Lisa said quietly, staring absentmindedly at the spoon she had jabbed into her own tiramisu.

Sal smiled and folded his hands under his chin. A look crossed his face that signaled to Jackson that the wheels were turning in Sal's head. "Go on," Sal encouraged.

Snapping out of her daze, Lisa looked up, surveying the interested stares from both Jackson and Sal. "Well ..." she began slowly, setting her spoon on her plate, "if they make a down payment for a hit against Keefe, and it gets botched," her face colored slightly, "it would make sense for them to stay away. You know how they say 'don't return to the scene of the crime'? If they were to pursue it any further, they're taking chances that they could be going down with the ship if law enforcement takes you guys down or starts connecting the dots."

"I assure you that won't happen, Miss Reisert," Sal said with a Cheshire cat grin. His voice was low, hinting of secrecy.

"Even if that's true," Lisa started, copying Sal's position by leaning forward and folding her hands under her chin, "do your clients know that? Or are they willing to bet that they would be better served by cutting their losses and keep from raising any more flags that could lead back to them?"

Sal smiled and pointed a finger at her. "I like her." He looked at Jackson, still smiling and pointing, "I like her very much."

Jackson gave an uneasy smile, turning his stare back down to his plate. "I'm glad you do, sir."

"Really? Why is that?"

The question caught Jackson off-guard. Sal was testing him again. "Because I'm sure Lisa would be in a very bad position if you weren't pleased with her," he replied with a somewhat lethal smile in Lisa's direction. To her credit, she merely blinked at him before turning her gaze back to Sal.

"Indeed, she would."

"I'd appreciate it, Sal, if you didn't make backhanded threats, right in front of me," Lisa said calmly, staring at him evenly. She felt Jackson's hand on her thigh again, warning her. He gave her leg a less-than-gentle squeeze. "Especially when you were just commenting on how much you liked me." Jackson intensified his grip, hard enough to hurt.

"I most certainly do, I assure you. I especially like the way you think. Reminds me of a certain manager I know," Sal stared pointedly at Jackson. "In fact, I believe that your expertise would be very helpful to Jackson, should he decide to finish the job he was assigned."

Lisa swallowed hard, her cool exterior faltering slightly. "I'm not sure I understand your implications."

Jackson released his grip on Lisa's thigh and leaned on one elbow, his gaze alternating between Lisa and Sal. Hopefully, Lisa would take this easily. "There was a reason I chose you when I first started this job," he began. "You were familiar with Keefe; he trusted you. Now that you've so valiantly saved his life and the lives of his family, he trusts you even more. Plus, you're familiar with his travel arrangements from time to time. You know what he expects in his rooms, what his itineraries look like, how his security detail behaves. We can use that to bring him down."

Lisa let out a shaky breath. She had already promised to help him finish the Keefe assignment, but agreeing to it in front of Sal made things so much more real. "You two are asking me to help you assassinate the head of the Department of Homeland Security," she whispered. She didn't quite know if it was a question or a statement.

"You would need some very specialized training, of course, but ... yes," Sal replied as both he and Jackson fixed Lisa with an intense gaze. "I assure you, whatever noble aspirations you believe Mr. Charles Keefe has ... they are not what you think."

So, Sal had seen the same information that Jackson had seen. Now, they were both nominating her for a position as criminal accomplice in the assassination of a federal official. All over a nice helping of tiramisu, in a quaint Italian restaurant. If she could find the humor in the utter absurdity of it all, she would've laughed. They were just a few acquaintances, getting together for lunch to go over planning a second attempt to assassinate Charles Keefe, no biggie.

—So, what do you do?

—Government overthrows ... flashy, high-profile assassinations. The usual.

Lisa blinked at the recollection. No wonder he had made it sound so casual.

They were doing the same thing, right now.

"I want to see the files," she suddenly said. Sal looked as if he were caught off-guard. "The files. The ones that show proof that Keefe has ties to terrorists. I want to see them. Jackson said there were files, so I want to see them." She unlocked her fingers and sat back up in a straight position, letting her hands wring themselves in her lap. "I want to know why I'm agreeing to do this."

"So, you have agreed then?" Sal asked.

Lisa gave a bitter laugh. "Mr. Echevarria, you don't strike me as the type of person who would be open to negotiation on this subject. And I'm quite sure you could dissuade me from saying no."

Sal smiled again at Jackson. "I like her. I like her very much."