Chapter 8

After five minutes of scrabbling around Jackson's room, Lisa was beginning to feel foolish, and strangely guilty.

Though she reminded herself that Jackson invaded her privacy first, the lack of incriminating material was giving her slight remorse. The last thing she expected to find was absolutely nothing, but here she was, rooting around Jackson's closet and coming up short. Not only were her files missing, but the guy didn't seem to have any personal effects. When she had groped around his neatly stacked underwear drawer, she half expected to find an alarming collection of sordid material, but she didn't find so much as a mothball.

Lisa peered around the room with a critical eye. Fifteen minutes was quickly coming to an end, and Martin's clanking around the kitchen was quieting. In desperation, she checked one more time around the bed, before threading her arm under the mattress. She was swiping it back and forth when her hand collided with something flat and square. Lisa leaned in, and closed her fingers around it. When she withdrew her hand from the mattress, she was staring down at a Moleskine notebook. Flicking it open to the first page, she saw the initials "R.L" and her old work schedule written in neat, slanting print. Jackpot.

A loud thud caused her to jump, and without hesitation, she shoved the notebook into her waistband. Creeping towards the door, Lisa pressed an ear against the wall, and once she heard the reassuring sound of Martin slamming the dishwasher, she cracked Jackson's door open. The coast was clear, and she carefully edged her way to the guest room.

Knowing Jackson could get home at any minute, she frantically scanned the room for a good hiding place. Why, oh why didn't she bring her extra large tote bag? Eyes darting, she honed in on a low bookshelf and got to work making a space between some vintage encyclopedias.

It's the best I can do. Maybe I can sneak it out tonight.

Lisa returned to the kitchen and grabbed at a file. She could feel Martin's watchful gaze, and she pretended to be engrossed in the Dunsworth's bank records. After a long pause, he wordlessly left the room. Lisa glanced up from the papers and let out a sigh of relief. The minutes ticked by, and unsure of what else to do, she began to seriously study the papers Jackson had left out.

This was how he found her. Hunched over the kitchen table, biting her thumbnail, squinting down at a document. She glanced up, surprised to see him. He looked equally startled.

"Do my eyes deceive me? Have you actually been prepping?"

"No. I mean, I guess. I don't know. I was just…"

"You don't have to make excuses," he said drily. "I just didn't expect you to take this kind of initiative."

"No need for snarky comments," Lisa retorted. She shifted her attention to the six carrier bags Jackson was holding.

"Didn't you say supplies? What kind of supplies does Saks carry? Gold-plated dueling pistols? Night vision?"

"You're always full of jokes, Leese. If you must know, these are for you. You have a part to play, after all."

He turned on his heel and headed towards the guest room. Lisa's heart jumped out of her chest. Were there hidden cameras in here? Did Martin notice she was gone for a long time? She jumped to her feet in blind panic, causing the kitchen chair to scrape noisily against the hardwood. She quickly went after him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, trying to disguise the waver in her voice.

"Putting your supplies in your room," he responded. Was that a suspicious look in his eyes?

"I'm sorry. Did you say my room?"

"It's your room for another night, at least," he said as he emptied out the bags. "We have two days until showtime, and I need to make sure my protege knows her stuff."

Lisa stared down at what Jackson was laying across the bed. It was clothing. The most beautiful clothing she had ever seen. Expensive, undoubtedly designer, and there was so much of it.

"Jackson," she breathed. "Are you serious?"

She held up a midnight blue Alexander McQueen knit mini dress and gaped. She had seen this dress in Vogue and knew it cost an upwards of $2,000. And were those Louboutins he was casually unboxing? Though she made a good salary, Lisa did not indulge in fashion. Her wardrobe consisted mainly in pieces she found on sale at Banana Republic or The Limited.

"Serious in what sense?"

"This insane wardrobe, for starters."

"If you must know, we're going to be rubbing shoulders with Miami's elite, and we can't raise any suspicion when Mrs. Murphy enters the ballroom in a dress from Ann Taylor."

Lisa fingered a pair of Prada sunglasses and gave him a look.

"Did you pick all of this out yourself?"

"What, did you think the personal stylist at Saks has this much taste?"

She couldn't help laughing. It was all so crazy. The thought of Jackson spending an hour at the store meticulously picking out clothing made that familiar flutter return to her stomach.

"If it's just a gala, why did you buy enough clothes to last a month?"

"The gala is only the beginning," Jackson responded. "It takes time to work a mark."

He was now emptying another bag, and Lisa drew in a sharp breath when she saw its contents.

"Lingerie?" she squeaked.

He gave her a fleeting look, and she wondered if he was also remembering that humiliating period of time when she was half out of her mind, and lounging around her home in negligees with the windows open. Her attempt to draw him back.

"The real Mrs. Murphy would be dressed to the nines from head to toe," he explained patiently. "That includes her undergarments."

"Must be nice to be Mrs. Murphy," Lisa joked as she picked up a pair of filmy, black underwear. "Except, Jackson, were garters and lace stockings necessary? Is this some kind of hint?"

She was kidding, purely out of embarrassment, but the sudden flash on his face seemed to confirm her jibe, and she gave him a wondering look.

"No, of course not," he said with sudden intensity. "But in the event you need to seduce someone…"

Her head snapped up at him.

"Jackson," she all but yelled. "I'm not going to seduce anyone for information. Are you out of your mind?"

"I'm not asking you to go through with it. We just need to be prepared for every possible outcome."

He excused himself, and left her glowering at his retreating form. Lisa threw the dresses she had admired only moments before, and violently seized a white nightie. What kind of game was he playing at? She thought about the guilty expression that had flickered on his face. Was this seduction business a cover to disguise the fact he had picked out items he personally wanted to see her in? Or was this wishful thinking on her part all over again.

As Lisa pondered, she scooped up the Alexander McQueen and held it against her body. Fine. If this was how Jackson wanted to play it, then she could play the game too. She shimmied out of her clothes and pulled the dress over her head. It hugged her like a glove, and the deep blue set off her eyes and hair. Jackson had clearly given his wardrobe choices some thought. Her eyes narrowed as they fell upon the stocking and garter set. She pursed her lips as she pulled them on. It was someone else's turn to feel pathetic. She was done.

Lisa joined him in the living room where he was busily typing something on his laptop. Jackson glanced up, stared at the dress, and gave her a curt nod.

"Looks nice," he said mildly.

Lisa smoothed the fabric over her hips and watched as his eyes followed the movement. She noticed his gaze linger on the stockings.

"I figured I'd get some use out of what you meticulously picked out for me," she said. "I never wore a garter belt before. First time for everything, right?"

Before he could respond, she sauntered away, feeling more self-assured than she had in a long time.

Let him chew on that, she thought darkly. We'll see who's "confused" about their feelings.

There was a sudden yank on her shoulder as Jackson forcibly whirled her around to meet him face to face. Ordinarily, his touch would cause her to to involuntarily tremble, but this time, she merely quirked her brow and patiently removed his fingers from her arm.

"Pretty slow reflexes for someone who's on her guard all the time," he quipped.

Lisa leaned against the wall to lengthen her proximity from his body, and rolled her eyes.

"I'm not afraid of you anymore, so no, I'm not on my guard."

"Just wanted to test your reflexes," he murmured. "How is your hand to hand combat, anyway."

"Decent, I guess," she shrugged. "I completed a self-defense class not too long after the...parking lot thing."

His face was impassive as he nodded in understanding. Lisa bit her lip, suddenly unsure.

"I find it odd that you would trivialize what happened by calling it a 'thing,' Leese. There's no need to gloss over what happened. We're old friends here," he said.

Lisa tutted.

"You're right. You know what happened, so there's really nothing more I need to say."

"Why did you bother saying anything, then?" he asked. "Back on the plane."

Lisa contemplated his words and sighed.

"In a weird way, I felt that I owed you some sort of explanation," she said. "Remember how you wanted to have a drink before the flight to show me a different side of you, before you ruined my life?"

"I feel like this is a trick question," he said.

"No, I think I understand now. I was mentally preparing myself to stab you in the throat with a pen," she admitted. "And I had been so weak that that entire flight. I wanted you to know my story. I wanted you to know how strong you had made me."

He raised an eyebrow.

"That's a conflicting thing to say."

"Isn't it? Do you see how messed up that would make a person?"

He nodded slowly and glanced at her arm. It was reddening where he had roughly grabbed her. He absentmindedly stroked the inflamed skin with a fingertip. Despite her resolve, the tremors returned at his touch.

"Sorry about that," he said, and he continued to work his fingertip lazily down her arm.

"Jackson," she whispered. "What are you doing?"

He cocked his head at her.

"Don't you know?"

And without another word, he jammed his hands into his pockets and strode back to the living room. Lisa remained behind, shocked, and gritted her teeth in annoyance.

How does he always have the last word? Game on, Rippner, and this time, I won't let my guard down.


A/N: Yiiikes, so sorry for how long it's taken to update. I appreciate all of the messages and reviews I've received encouraging me not to abandon this story. That's not my intention. Life has been getting in the way, but I hope to start updating more frequently.