Innocent People's Lives
Chapter Twenty-two
Showering off blood, sweat, and grime helped Lisa feel more like herself. Given his wounds and recent stitches, Jackson had waved off the offer, instead making due with the sink and a washcloth. He kept his injured leg elevated most of the day, her clumsy stitches covered with a large bandage.
She found fresh clothes in the closets for both of them, claiming one of his shirts as her own. The clothes were all designer and several still had price tags attached. It was all further proof that either he was an excellent liar with a brilliant cover story or this was a piece of the real him. The Jackson Rippner who was Agent Ben Danvers who was Benjamin Wallace.
"How often do you stay here?" she asked while rummaging through the kitchen about an hour later as he sat just a few feet away with his bad leg propped up.
"When I'm in town and not on assignment, I stay here. Sometimes that's once a month, other times I can go as long six or eight months without setting foot inside this place."
"Then why is there food here?" She held out an unopened carton of milk that was surprisingly still in date.
"My mother employs a housekeeper. She keeps the place stocked with a list of items on a regular basis, replacing them when they expire or are used. She also cleans."
"Oh."
"I know, it's an egregious waste of money, but it makes my mother happy. It's not like I can dip into my trust fund."
"You have a trust fund?" she asked.
"Had. Can't exactly have a dead guy spending money."
"Oh, that's true, I guess. Do you ever get confused about who you're supposed to be?"
"Not as often as you would think. It was hardest in the beginning. What are you making?"
"Uh, coffee first then… some sort of food." Lisa held up the cardboard carton. "Eggs ok?"
He smiled at her. "Eggs, Leese? It's not three am."
"Hey, if it could be five o' clock somewhere, then it's probably three somewhere."
"Eggs are fine. Just don't break my coffeemaker. It's fancy and costs more than you make in a year. Be nice to my baby."
"Don't tell me… it has a name?" Lisa shot him a look. The machine sure did look intimidating but probably wouldn't be out of place behind the counter at a Starbucks.
"Be nice."
"You're going to have to talk me through this, Jack."
"Nah, I think you got this."
Yeah, he was wrong.
Lisa was many things, but a barista was not one of them. She ended up wearing most of the coffee and what did make it into the cup was full of grounds. Eventually, he took pity on her and gave her directions, which resulted in two subpar cups of lukewarm coffee. If they made it through this alive, he would have to teach her how to make decent coffee.
But it was cute, her trying to take care of him. And the eggs were delicious.
She could have left him to die at Keefe's office. He imagined that had it been a few days earlier, she would have let him die. In fact, she probably would have pulled the trigger herself. Now they were partners in crime.
It was a dream come true that was a decade in the making. A dream he had given up on when she left him to die in her father's house.
Now she was in his kitchen and actually seemed happy to be there with him. She was still strong, stubborn and annoyingly opinionated, but she wouldn't be Lisa if she wasn't. He'd come to accept that.
But he also knew their time together was coming to a close. Now that Keefe knew they were working together against him, now that his own team had betrayed them, and now that he knew how high this deception went, it triggered an inevitable countdown.
He had one goal – to make sure Lisa lived through the coming storm.
They had evidence now. Keefe would be finished in the court of public opinion if they could get the word out. The media adored Lisa and had since the Lux ten years earlier. The public loved her. She was believable and a hero.
That's why a news conference, a very public one, was their best chance. Once the recordings were out, Keefe and his boss couldn't easily bury them and pretend this never happened. The public would call for Keefe's head, forcing the CIA to step back and away from him. It would make Lisa less valuable if she already spilled.
If the secret was out, killing her wouldn't silence her. She wouldn't have to die.
He hoped. But keeping her alive long enough to testify to the media would be tricky.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked, sitting down across from him on a chair.
"Just what tomorrow brings."
"It's going to be fine, right? The recordings worked."
He nodded. He'd checked them while she took a shower earlier. Keefe's confession was nearly crystal clear. There was no denying who was speaking and no denying the truth of his words. Keefe was finished.
"So we'll do the conference tomorrow and this will all be over."
"Sure," he said with a smile and more confidence than he felt.
The Next Day
He had never been more nervous in his life than he was standing to the side of the stage.
"You don't have to do this."
"Yes, I do."
He shook his head. "Leese, don't be brave. We can find another way."
"No, we can't." She touched his cheek. "I have to do this. It's the only way. We both know it."
"Don't—I don't like this."
"I know. It'll be OK." She leaned forward and kissed him. "I know."
Neither of them could say 'I love you'. They weren't there. They might not ever be.
"Leese..."
"It's ok."
And she stepped away. The camera was already set up, just steps away. They were outdoors, which already unnerved him, and there was a small crowd. They were at a campaign stop Keefe would be visiting later that day.
She gave him a last look before she handed a USB to a waiting man. Another one hooked a mic to her jacket. Then the cameras were rolling, live, and the reporter started speaking. It was all out of his control now.
"We are live here with Lisa Reisert, Charles Keefe's campaign coordinator, who was injured in the attack on his late wife just a few days ago. Miss Reisert has some startling information regarding the bombing. We also have exclusive audio recordings that identify the killer. Miss Reisert, welcome."
"Thank you, Josh."
"Now, you have worked for Charles Keefe for several years and known him for how long?"
"Over ten years," she said. "We met in Miami before he became the Deputy Director of National Security."
"So you knew him during the. bombing there ten years ago?"
She nodded. "Yes, I was working for the hotel then."
"Really?" the reporter seemed surprised. "You worked at the Lux Atlantic?"
"Yes, I was a manager there at the time. I was on scene shortly after the bombing. I left the hotel to work for Charles."
"Fascinating. Now, you were also present when the car carrying Sarah Keefe exploded. Can you tell us what happened?"
She took a breath before responding, "Yes, we were on our way to a campaign event. I was almost to the car when the bomb went off. I was thrown clear of the blast with only minor injuries."
"Now these audio recordings… you say you have evidence of the person behind the attack."
"Yes, I have proof that Charles Keefe is behind the attack-"
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Gunshots rang out, red circles appearing on Lisa's pale blouse, her mouth open in shock. She slumped in her chair as the reporter dived to the ground. Jackson resisted the urge momentarily to run to her. The gunman would shoot him too, he knew.
So instead he watched her, helpless, as she lay there in a growing pool of her own blood.
Author's Notes:
Yes, I totally intended to have the story wrapped up by today, but life got in the way. More specifically health, but I now have another snow day tomorrow so fingers crossed that I get another chapter or two done.
Sorry for breaking your little shipper hearts on Valentine's Day… (sorrynotsorry).
Here's a little outtake to help ease the wait to the next chapter…
Why does Jackson prefer knives? Well I couldn't find a good way to work this into their discussion, but... fencing. Yeah. C'mon, he's a spoiled, rich kid. It was that or sailing. I'm generalizing, I know, but he wasn't taking Taekwondo...
"How do you think I learned so many languages? We traveled constantly."
"And the knives?"
"Fencing lessons."
"Of course. Did you take tennis, too?"
"Polo, actually."
Lisa just shook her head. "I don't know why I even bothered to ask. This place just screams blue blood."