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The Real Deal	By : Gallivant Category: M through R > Red Eye Views: 3201 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Red Eye. I am not making any money from publishing this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
CHAPTER TWO - As if by Magic
So here was the thing. Lisa couldn't bear the idea of facing Jackson Rippner, but at the same time, she knew she had to – if only to get over everything that had happened to her. Call it cathartic, she told herself repeatedly, as she lay in bed that night, unable to sleep, torn between fear and hope of his coming for her.
Because that was surely be the only way she could meet up with Jackson again.
She reckoned she had a snowflake's chance in hell of tracking him down by herself.
And she had to be ready.
Hence the pocket-sized Dictaphone which she had concealed under her pillow.
If there was any hint of an intrusion … if Jackson should come … it could be easily grabbed, and used to record everything he said.
She wondered if she should also hide a weapon of some sort. A discreetly sized knife or the small canister of Mace she occasionally carried.
She decided on the Mace only.
After all, she didn't want to hurt Jackson. Not yet. What she wanted most of all was to get him talking. To reveal who he truly was. His name. What he had done. His involvement with the Keefe plot.
Then she'd have the evidence to seek a proper conviction.
So she waited, in hushed expectancy. Her body tensing at every tiny creak or patter, straining to hear the gentle roar then silence of a car pulling up outside, the light thud of a door closing.
But that night, nobody came.
XXXXXXXXXX
To get into her office, Lisa was forced to bustle through a clamor of smartly suited businessmen, who were milling around reception at the Lux Atlantic hotel. Lisa noted a sign pointing to the hotel's conference suite, reading Global Finance Investment Strategies; Keynote Speaker – Ira Gershon (Global Securities Index).
Well, that explains it, Lisa thought, as she tried to push her way into her office, but was barged off-course by a hotel workman, sporting an over-sized Maintenance tag on his lapels.
'Sorry Ma'am,' he wheezed. Lisa recoiled. He stunk of cigarette smoke. 'I've just fixed your phone. Good as new now Ma'am.'
'Fixed?' asked Lisa, perplexed.
'Was nothing. A loose connection,' he explained. He sniffed, backing away, a sloppy grin on his face.
A loose connection.
Lisa frowned. Was that good news, or bad news?
XXXXXXXXXX
Lisa immediately called Eric, her head of security.
Eric was a little concerned about his newborn granddaughter. She had jaundice and seemed pretty unwell when he had seen her yesterday.
'Any worries you might have Eric, don't hesitate to take the time out. It's all cool with me,' Lisa said comfortingly.
'That's real sweet of you Miss Lisa,' Eric replied. There was a strained tone to his voice.
Lisa paused, feeling almost self-centered for burdening Eric with her concerns.
'I've just spoken to a guy from Maintenance – says my phone was broken,' she said, a little tentatively.
'Then I guess that explains your funny call yesterday.' He hesitated. 'Well. Almost.'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, our records show you were called from inside the hotel. Like you said. Room 3111. Currently occupied by a Mr ….,' Lisa could hear Eric shuffling papers, ' … a Mr Gordon Buckley. Yup. That's the one.'
'Is he a regular?' Lisa asked, wondering what this Mr Buckley character had against HER. Or was it just a misdial, as Eric had suggested yesterday?
'He's sorta regular,' said Eric. He was clearly scrutinizing some kind of guest log at his end.
'You know what Eric – why don't we just pay this Mr Buckley a call?' Lisa asked brightly.
Eric seemed unwilling. 'Mightn't that scare the fellow unduly, Miss? He's not done anything wrong. Just dialed the wrong number.'
But Lisa wasn't so sure. In fact, she was still more than convinced that it was Jackson Rippner who had called her. She momentarily recalled what she felt sure were Jackson's soft, sighing breathes. A tremor of fear, almost of anticipation, rippled through her.
But she was steeled by a fierce sense of determination. If Jackson was behind this, she was going to make darned sure she found out.
'Eric. Meet me outside 3111,' she said abruptly.
XXXXXXXXXX
Lisa was alone in the elevator, affording a moment's respite to straighten her suit jacket and push her hands through her thick auburn hair, smoothing it away from her face. It was a warm day and she was a little flushed, her clear, strong features glowing with an unnerving sense of excitement. She was faintly aware of a strangely knotted feeling gnawing away at her innards.
She gazed at herself in the mirror. Her green eyes were glossy, alive, a far cry from her usual depleted self. Somehow her newly-gritted desire to see Jackson again, to face him, rather than simply fear him, had revitalized her, imbuing her with fresh energy and focus.
The elevator ground to a halt, its doors sliding open with a loud hiss. Lisa stepped out.
For a busy breakfast time, Buckley's floor was seemingly devoid of people. Lisa strained to capture the sounds of everyday life, but all she could hear was a persistent droning hum, which Lisa instantly recognized to be the fault of a broken electric light at the far end of the corridor. She'd have to call Maintenance the moment she was back in her office.
Come to think of it, there had been a circuit failure on this floor just last week. But it should have been fixed by now.
She pursed her lips in irritation.
Lisa approached Buckley's room, 3111, with mild trepidation. Should she knock directly? Or wait for Eric to arrive?
What if … what if HE was inside? The mere thought of this quickened her pulse. She reached into her jacket pocket pulling out a tissue which she brushed across her forehead, suddenly aware that it was sheathed in a thin gleam of perspiration.
Eric was taking his time, she thought impatiently.
She again wondered why it was so quiet. Where was everybody? Were these the heaviest sleepers ever hosted by the Lux Atlantic, or the earliest risers?
The elevator dinged, and Eric shuffled out, panting a little. He jogged towards her, his gruff, old face sweating profusely. Just looking at him made Lisa feel hotter than ever.
'Is he in?' gasped Eric.
Lisa shrugged. 'I've no idea.'
'You didn't call already? Tell him we were on our way up?'
Lisa shook her head, ignoring the strange look Eric cast her.
Lisa rang the doorbell. A hoarse buzzing sound ripped through the silence. There was no reply. She pressed the doorbell again, this time with a firmer finger, and for a longer period, ensuring the raucous noise could not be ignored.
Eventually, thudding plods could be heard approaching the door. Even from this distance, the plods had an aggravated timbre. Something told Lisa not to expect the occupant of Room 3111 to be overjoyed at their impromptu little visit.
The door was swung open to reveal a heavy-set man, probably in his mid to late fifties, with a large, lionesque head, his sparse hair mussed up from sleep. He was sporting a sneering expression, bordering on the furious.
'What ya think you're doing?' he hollowed. 'Can't a man get some sleep round here?'
Lisa instantly recoiled, as her nostrils were assailed by the man's hot, pungent breath, which reeked of stale alcohol and cigarettes.
'I'm sorry to disturb you Sir,' she gabbled, desperately trying to regain her managerial poise. She thrust her hand forwards in greeting. 'I'm Lisa Reisert, manager of the Lux Atlantic.'
At first he looked uncertain. Then he enveloped her small, fine-boned hand with his own, tightly squeezing her palm with his oversized, pudgy fingers.
'Gordon Buckley,' he muttered.
Lisa smiled politely, desperately ignoring the fact that this sudden movement had dislodged the belt of Buckley's white toweling nightgown to reveal a voluminous stomach cascading over a pair of gold lamé leopard-skin boxers. She felt a little queasy, but carried on regardless.
'It's been drawn to our attention that there might be a problem with our customer communications system,' she said in efficient tones. 'Have you experienced any difficulties dialing out?' She peered around Buckley and nodded towards the phone, which was visible from the door, perched on a desk.
Buckley frowned, then shook his head 'Nah. I made a call yesterday. Was fine. '
'And when would that have been Sir?' Lisa asked.
Eric had pushed past them, as if to check the phone for himself. He ignored the cross expression which flashed across Buckley's face.
'Hey there! Do you mind?' Buckley said, his face a livid red. Eric halted instantly.
'Routine check Sir,' he mumbled.
'We can come back when it's convenient,' Lisa said, flashing Buckley her most charming smile.
Buckley visibly eased. 'Sure sweetheart.'
'But it would help to know when you made that call, Sir. For the record.'
'Oh right. 'Course. It was, er, around seven, seven fifteen. Thereabouts.'
'In the morning.'
'No, no. Last night. I was calling the wife. It's …it's family business. 's why I'm here.'
'I see,' Lisa said. Eric was still standing behind Buckley. He looked disbelieving.
'So definitely not in the morning then,' Lisa added, seeking further reiteration.
Buckley shook his head.
'No Miss. I was here till ten, or could have been eleven, I'm not sure.' He snorted in laughter, wetly smacking his lips. 'Sleeping. I like a good lie-in I do.'
Lisa felt a wave of revulsion surge into her throat.
'Thank you for your assistance Sir. Maintenance will be checking your communications system this afternoon,' she said, backing away, Eric close behind. 'We're sorry to have disturbed you. And sincerely hope you have a pleasant stay.'
Buckley slammed the door closed.
'So he sleep-calls,' muttered Eric.
'Looks like it.'
Lisa fingered the card-key entrance pad. It was a very sophisticated, secure system. How the hell did Jackson get past it? It was baffling.
Her eyes then flicked left and her stomach flipped. Buckley's room was right by the fire escape.
She hastened to the door and standing on tiptoe, prodded a security camera, which was angled in such a way that any intruder would instantly be caught in the act of breaking and entering. But why hadn't the alarm gone off?
'Eric,' she said eagerly. 'Can we get the footage from this camera for yesterday morning, shortly before and just after I was called?'
Eric looked shame-faced. ''Fraid not Miss. There was an incident on this floor last week, and since then the security systems have been out.'
Lisa sighed in exasperation. 'You've got to be kidding me.'
'The guys are onto it. Don't you worry Miss Reisert.'
'So you're telling me anyone could saunter into this hotel unnoticed?'
'I guess that's the long and short of it Miss. Mind you, it's not the alarm on the door that's broken, because THAT works off a different circuit. If someone used that door to get in, we'd all know about it. Believe you me.'
A thought dashed across Lisa's mind. 'But not if they used the door to get out,' she said.
Eric grimaced. 'What do you mean Miss?'
'What I mean is the alarm wouldn't sound if someone used the door to get out.'
Eric thought for a moment. 'No Miss. Not in that instance, no.' He stepped towards the fire escape and with a few deft flicks of the wrist, he turned the safety latch, pushing the door ajar. There was a low buzzing noise to indicate the door was open, but this ceased the moment he closed it.
'Of course that's not an alarm in the real sense of the word Miss,' he said.
They headed back to the elevator.
'Eric,' Lisa said. 'Can you do something for me?'
'Sure Miss.'
'My phone was working just fine the evening before I was called by … Mr Buckley's room. Can you check with Maintenance how it got broken?'
'You mean, was it deliberately disabled?'
Lisa grinned broadly. 'That's precisely what I mean.'
XXXXXXXXXX
Back in her office Lisa fielded a call from her father, reminding her that she was due to come for dinner that evening. He planned to cook Thai and seemed very excited about it. Lisa smiled fondly.
Eric called her the instant this conversation was over.
'Andy in Maintenance says it's very easy to disable the caller display function on your telephone. A monkey could do it. It's simply a matter of flicking a switch.'
'But it was a loose connection,' Lisa recalled.
'Maybe that's what he meant,' Eric said.
Lisa sighed. She couldn't go too hard on Eric here. He was having a tough time, and was clearly a little distracted by his family concerns.
She was almost reluctant to ask him one extra favour. But. She had to know.
'Eric. Could you get together the security footage from overnight to yesterday morning for me?'
'You want it all now?'
'If possible.'
'You do know my team are run off their feet with this Gershon guy coming, don't you Miss?'
'I'm truly grateful for this Eric,' Lisa said sincerely. 'I really am.'
XXXXXXXXXX
The lobby was refreshingly clear of conference delegates, hence Cynthia was looking more relaxed than usual at the reception desk. Lisa flashed her a warm smile.
'I wanted to thank you for covering for me yesterday,' she said gratefully. 'I take it Mrs Moncrieff is a contented customer. There's a bouquet sitting in my office as a token of her gratitude for our efforts last night – and they're for you.'
Cynthia beamed with pleasure. 'What a relief. I spent half the night trying to stop the finance guys from gate-crashing the Diamond Club's after dinner dance.'
'The finance guys being …?'
'Delegates. Geez. Some of those guys sure know how to party!' said Cynthia, her eyes agog in vivid gossip mode. 'They're up half the night in the bar, and they still make breakfast at 7 for an 8.00am start. I guess that's the meaning of work hard, play hard.'
XXXXXXXXX
Lisa hunkered down in the security booth, nursing a strong cup of coffee, as she dissected hours of footage from the night before last, on a TV monitor. It made for very dull viewing. There were a few straggling late arrivals, armed with suitcases, who Dana dealt with at reception. Even though the cameras didn't pan as far as Lisa's office behind the reception area, Lisa was sure she would be able to discern any strange movements towards that area, so it was worthwhile staying patient.
She kept watching, occasionally spooling ahead in slow-motion, pausing if anything caught her eye.
From about 2.00am onwards, the odd band of seemingly inebriated businessmen all but tumbled into the lobby, mainly heading for the elevators, although a few seemed to manage a swift detour to the lobby bar en route. These revelers were clearly conference delegates, Lisa thought, with growing interest.
According to her notes, the conference had opened two days before. There'd been time enough for the delegates to arrive, settle into their rooms, sign up for the relevant plenary sessions, hook up with old buddies … and certainly time for the party animals amongst them to head into Miami to sample the city's finest beach bars.
And then. There it was.
Lisa's heart felt it had missed a beat. She could barely breathe.
She spooled back a few minutes and re-watched.
At 5.33am Buckley had waddled unsteadily into the lobby. She recognized his lumbering gait as he stumbled forwards, and seemed to lurch drunkenly towards Dana, who maintained a polite smile, in spite of this provocation.
So much for an uneventful night, Lisa thought wryly, admiring the girl's stoic professionalism.
She then saw he had company. Two girls. Maybe even call-girls, judging by their get-up. They dragged Buckley towards the bar.
The bar itself was off-screen, but there was clearly a commotion underway. Dana was forced to leave reception.
The shuddering black and white footage showed Dana tripping across the lobby, a look of severe consternation on her face.
And in that instant another figure crossed the lobby, but seemed to pause until Dana was out of eye-shot. The lean, black-suited figure with dark hair, head bent, then darted leftwards – feasibly in the direction of Lisa's office.
However, the disarray in the bar appeared to catch his attention and he hesitated, slightly tilting his head to one side. Lisa gasped.
The grainy black and white video footage clearly revealed Jackson Rippner, his face starkly etched in shadow, his eyes ghoulishly cast as dark hollow orbs. A small smile seemed to linger on his lips as he observed whatever was happening in the bar area with Mr Buckley and his friends. And then he briskly moved off-camera.
Lisa could hear blood pounding fiercely in her ears. She was trembling.
Her instincts had been right all along. He'd been here. In this hotel. Perhaps even, in her house too.
It was him, not Buckley, who had made that call.
She'd always known it. It was HIS breathing she'd sensed, almost recognized, not a lumbering, sweaty, wheezy old oaf like Buckley. That would have been preposterous.
Lisa rewound the tape and then forwarded to the point where Jackson's face was best displayed. She paused the footage at this point and stared for what must have been a good few minutes at the striking features of the man who had tried to kill her, the man she had almost killed. Fear tingled through her, breath-robbing fear, mingled with a surge of adrenaline.
She giggled nervously. Helplessly. Hands cradling her face. What did she do now?
She suddenly felt very alone, sitting in this isolated, darkened room, lit only by the flickering TV screen. She checked her watch, alarmed to notice she had been trawling through footage for a good few hours. The thought made her feel both guilty, and very hungry, as she had missed lunch.
She desperately sought a piece of paper and something to write with, finally finding an old napkin and a pen and a spool of sticky tape. She scrawled on the napkin a note to Eric, telling her that the man on the TV screen was HIM, it was Jackson – or John Doyle, according to the official records of her case. She jotted down his time of entry, and asked Eric to call her – presuming all was well at home, Lisa thought with a jolt of concern. Eric had been called home by his wife just minutes after she entered the security booth and sat down to study the footage. And he was still to return.
XXXXXXXXX
Lisa left her father's house just after nine. It had been a pleasant enough meal, even if her Dad had been a little over-generous with the chillies in his Thai Banquet, which he had lovingly prepared, knowing it was one of her favorite foods. She felt a warm thrill of affection as she drove away, followed swiftly after, as was often the case these days, by a slight pang of anxious concern.
She knew how it felt to be threatened with losing him, and every time they said goodbye, she couldn't suppress the dark thought, the clenching panic … 'What if?'
In truth their evening had been slightly marred by a rather testy phone conversation Lisa had endured with her mother in Texas, which had led to her Dad coming on the phone to defend his daughter.
A couple of months ago Lisa's mother had announced her engagement to Tim Cotton, a man Lisa had tried but failed to like. Lisa had recently turned down her mother's invitation to spend some time with them on Tim's new boat, which was considered something of a flash beast in boating circles apparently. Her refusal had prompted some concern, her mother urging her to reconsider. But she had no intention of doing so. To her mind Tim was nothing but a smarmy stockbroker, fixated on how much money everyone earned, constantly boasting about his own wealth; he was more wedded to his golf clubs than her mother, she thought wryly.
Lisa knew her mother was desperate to get Tim and Lisa on friendly terms, which was perfectly understandable, and normally Lisa would have been all too ready to appease her mother, to 'do the right thing.'
But since Jackson, since the hearing, her tolerance level had waned. She was finding it more and more difficult to do stuff she simply didn't want to do; to 'people-please' for the sake of it.
But even though her Dad backed her decision not to visit Texas – Lisa had complained that she had too much work – she sensed that he wasn't entirely happy with her either. She wasn't behaving like HIS Lisa. Something was amiss.
The skies overhead were rapidly darkening, as Lisa sped away from her father's house. She didn't live too far away, but was having to make a detour. Cynthia had called her cell phone to tell her that Dana would not be in work for the next two days, as her little boy had taken ill, but Lisa was desperate to ask Dana about the 'uneventful' night when Jackson Rippner had managed to sneak into her office whilst Dana was on duty.
XXXXXXXXXX
Based on Cynthia's somewhat erratic directions, Lisa parked as close to Dana's apartment block as she could, in a half-empty, dusty parking-lot, situated directly behind Dana's building.
She quickly scanned the area, none too happy about having to leave her gleaming red Toyota unattended. This seemed a pretty unsavory neighborhood, comprising a batch of mid-rise project blocks, connected by covered walkways, which were far from inviting.
There was an air of desolation here which alarmed Lisa, almost persuading her to get straight back into her car and drive home. She had been reluctant to call Dana, in fear of waking her sickly child. Plus it was more her style to see employees face to face, when she could, as a matter of courtesy. But Lisa couldn't deny that the long shadows creeping ominously across the parking lot were something of a deterrent.
Pull yourself together, Lisa said to herself. She had to remind herself that she had faced off no less than Jackson Rippner, and come out on top. She gritted her teeth, and headed purposefully towards Dana's block.
Thankfully Dana quickly answered Lisa's slightly frenzied ringing of the doorbell. Lisa's panicked expression instantly melted into her customary open, friendly smile.
Dana, meanwhile, was a little taken aback to see her employer standing on her doorstep at this hour. Dana certainly presented very differently to the smart, confident figure she cut at work, dressed in drab sweats, with a bedraggled demeanor.
Lisa could hear a child crying plaintively in the background, at the end of a long, dingy hallway.
'Miss Reisert? How can I help you?' Dana asked nervously.
'Hi there Dana. I'm real sorry to call on you at this hour,' Lisa said apologetically, 'but I, I was passing, so I thought I'd drop by, as I had something I wished to ask you.'
Dana folded her arms defensively across her chest, and eyed Lisa suspiciously.
A flush of self-conscious embarrassment stole across Lisa's cheeks. What had she been thinking? It really would have been easier to call.
'It's no big deal,' Lisa continued bravely. 'Just a quick question about the night before last, when you were on shift.'
Her words were met with a tense, expectant silence from Dana, punctuated by shrill cries from her child indoors. Lisa realized she was not going to be invited into Dana's apartment. So the sooner this was done, the better.
'I … I was checking some of the security footage, and I noticed there was an incident, while you were at reception. About half past five in the morning.'
Dana's face barely flickered.
'A guest - Mr Gordon Buckley, he's staying in Room 3111 – arrived at the hotel with two girls. Do you remember that?'
Dana stared at Lisa, bemused.
She went on. 'Well, on film, it looks like there was an incident in the bar, and you left reception …'.
Dana's expression suddenly shifted gear, in recollection. She looked guilty, concerned.
'It was just for a moment,' Lisa said, in calming tones. 'You're not in trouble Dana, don't worry.'
'It was nothing really,' Dana explained. 'Just one of Buckley's girls … she was sick. All over the leather suite in the bar.'
Lisa pulled a face in empathy. 'Ugh. You poor thing.'
Dana smiled wanly. 'That Mr Buckley. He's always trying it on. He brings back these girls. These hookers.' She almost spat out the word. 'Takes them to his room, and then has the cheek to show you photos of his family. He claims to be happily married.'
Lisa fixed her face into a matching expression of contempt. Although the thought now struck her that maybe 'hookers' were why he didn't want Eric to investigate his telephone this morning? Maybe he had company?
She shivered involuntarily. Even though it was a warm, clammy night, something about standing in the gloomy doorway of Dana's home, in a pool of sickly yellow light, surrounded by ever-deepening darkness, was creeping her out. The back of her head prickled uneasily. Lisa had an unnerving but undeniable sense that they were being watched.
'There … there was something else,' she said, lowering her tones, leaning closer towards Dana. 'The reception security camera showed another guy … he might even have been with Buckley … who came into the lobby around the same time. It's possible he entered my office.'
Dana shook her head adamantly. 'There was no-one else Miss Reisert.'
Lisa realized that Dana had probably been too preoccupied with Buckley and his companions to observe Jackson's entrance. But still …
'This man … he's very recognizable.' Lisa groped for words at this point. 'If you've seen him once, you're unlikely to forget him. Maybe you caught a fleeting glimpse but didn't realize what you'd seen?'
'OK. What's this guy look like?'
Jackson's face instantly filled Lisa's mind. Every fine nuance, every detail, each and every line and contour of his sculpted cheek-bones, the curve of his mouth, his chill-blue eyes that could be dancing with light and charm one moment, cruel and cold the next.
She took a deep breath.
'He has dark hair. Kind of a fresh, young-looking face. With blue eyes.' She paused here. 'Very, very blue eyes. They kind of burn into you …' she added emphatically.
Dana's face lit up. 'Eyes to die for.'
Lisa smiled. 'I guess so. You remember him then?'
Dana laughed. 'Oh boy, don't I? He's a real looker. But he wasn't with Buckley.'
Lisa frowned. She knew he was. She'd seen him.
'He comes during the day,' Dana said. 'Quite early in the morning.' She thought a moment. 'And in the afternoon too I guess.'
Lisa could feel her heart racing in her chest. 'Since when? … When did you first see him?'
Dana pondered a moment. 'Just a couple of days before Buckley and his hookers … before my shift switched to nights.'
'So, since the start of the global finance conference?' Lisa said pensively.
'Yeah. I guess so. Maybe the day before it kicked off.' Dana smiled. 'He's not a guest.'
Lisa grimaced. 'I know.'
Dana's child embarked on another round of high-pitched shrieking. Her eyes shifted anxiously towards the hallway.
'Look, I'd better go,' Lisa said. 'You've been very helpful.'
Dana's eyes were round with worry. 'You're sure I'm not in trouble?'
'Positive.' Lisa squeezed Dana's arm reassuringly. 'Have a good break. And I hope your kid gets better soon.'
'Thanks Miss Reisert,' Dana said.
XXXXXXXXXX
Once Dana had closed her door, all light was extinguished.
Lisa scuttled back to the parking-lot, her steps getting faster and faster, as though she was trying to flee the all-enveloping darkness which had descended around her.
But as she approached the parking-lot, she realized, with cold, sickly fear, that she was not alone. Above the roar of her own blood drumming in her ears, she could hear a loud clattering bang of metal being dashed to the concrete ground, amidst mirthless cheers and whoops. There was a loud thunk, then a crash of glass, followed by hoots of laughter.
Lisa stood stock-still in the tall shadow cast by Dana's apartment block, at first, too terrified to proceed any further. She then crept forwards to peer through the windows of a parked car, a bashed-up Cadillac, and saw two youths, their features indistinct in the darkness, although she could just about make out that they were smashing up her Toyota with what looked like iron bars.
She instinctively crouched down to avoid being spotted, but in that same instant, she felt a hand grasp her from behind, forcing her roughly against the cold metal of the Cadillac she was hiding behind, smashing her head heavily against the car's windscreen.
She tried to scream but couldn't, as her assailant's hand crushed her throat, his other hand grabbing at her jacket which was dragged from her shoulders. She could hear him calling his mates – a vague booming noise above the dazed burble that was currently fizzing through her head. She gradually become aware of a sharp pain, just above her right ear, and could feel a trickle of hot blood slithering down her neck, staining her blouse.
Tears pricked her eyes as she felt a warm frenzied rush of limbs and hands grabbing at her. Someone was pulling her head back by the hair, their knee jabbing painfully into the small of her back, ensuring she couldn't move from her standing position at the car. The hand clutching her throat released her, choosing instead to slide slowly up her legs, egged on by cackling laughter.
Hot sick filled her mouth. She desperately wanted to cry out, but her voice had been strangled to a rasp. Instead, she was shaking with dry, retching sobs, her body convulsed with fear.
Not again, not again, she begged.
Almost three years ago she had been raped in a parking-lot, a crime which had left its scars, emotional and physical - a thin white mark on her chest. She had vowed to never let it happen again.
But here she was. Powerless, defenceless, against the combined forces of these three men. She soon realized she was panting, squealing with fear, as they pushed her onto the ground, pawing at her like animals.
Her head was dashed onto the concrete.
Then. Out of the blue. There was a thunderous report, which exploded into the air above her. One of her attackers was flung backwards, falling in a crumpled heap beside her. Hot sticky blood gushed towards her, soaking her blouse, her skirt. The jeers suddenly ceased.
Lisa's ears were ringing from the deafening shock of it all. She rapidly recoiled from her attacker's blood, gagging in disgust.
Yelps of fear and a mad scamper of feet indicated that her attackers were trying to flee; one set of footsteps soon skidded out of earshot but the scrape of shoes being scuffed on concrete and pleading whimpers indicated that his companion had been caught, and was now being dragged unceremoniously towards her.
Lisa couldn't make out how it happened, but the youth was thrown with considerable violence and a loud clunk against the Cadillac. His body crashed limply to the ground and he lay still, juddering, convulsed by groans.
'No man, no!' he begged his silent attacker, who Lisa could sense was now standing beside her. She saw a glint of cold metal flash momentarily, and then he lunged forwards, kicking the youth, pulling him upwards and across the car's bonnet.
Lisa buried her head in her hands, trying to block out what was happening.
It's me next, she thought. Oh God no. Please, no.
She frantically tried to crawl away, her knees grazing against the concrete, desperate to hide in the shadows, maybe try to get back to Dana's. But she could hear him approaching.
'Leave me alone!' she screamed, rolling herself as far as she could towards the back-end of the car.
But there was no stopping him.
A leather-gloved hand reached down and, despite her frenzied twisting to escape his grasp, she was pulled upwards to a standing position by her shoulder. She kept her eyes tightly shut, as another gloved hand encircled her neck, then cradled her head.
Lisa could now hear his breathing, which was slightly labored, close to her ear, as his head bent towards her own. With his free hand he shone a flashlight in her face. She blinked into the blinding white light, trying to turn her face away, shielding her eyes, her body bridling as he pinned her against the car.
'Lisa,' he whispered. 'I'm not going to hurt you.'
A fresh ripple of fear surged through her, mingled with a strange exhilaration.
Her eyes darted sideways, and she saw through the white haze of the flashlight, that her rescuer was none other than Jackson Rippner, his piercing blue eyes staring intently at her.
Where had he come from? He had appeared from nowhere. As if by magic.
Lisa felt winded, as though all the air had been sucked from her body. Her legs went to jelly. She could barely stand, and was now wholly supported by Jackson's weight pushing against her.
'Leave me alone,' she gasped, wracked with panic and close to tears. 'Jackson. Please.'
She tried to wriggle out of his grasp.
'Don't be silly Lisa,' Jackson said drolly. 'This is a very nasty neighborhood. It's not a place for a nice girl like you.'
His hands were now locked onto her arms. She briefly struggled against him, but his hold on her simply tightened. Seized with hot seething fury against the man who had tormented her all these months, Lisa summoned as much force as she could possibly muster, wrenching her arms free, then peppering him with blows. She clawed at him, scratching his face with her nails, then with one hand, she grabbed one of his ears, which she squeezed tightly.
Stung by pain, Jackson sharply smacked her arm down, jamming her elbow against the car as she lost her footing and stumbled backwards, now spread-eagled on the bonnet.
'Now THAT wasn't very nice, was it? I'll have to reassess your character,' he said, his voice cold, menacing.
He pulled himself into a standing position, looming above her. Then, in one swift movement, he scooped her into his arms and hastened towards a black BMW which was parked some fifty yards away.
Despite his best efforts to keep her arms, and more importantly, her fists, which she had screwed up into fierce little balls, pinned to her side, one fist still broke free and was soon set on punching him in the chest, the shoulder, the neck where she gleefully recalled she had injured him once before, stabbing him with a pen.
She noticed his breathing was ragged with the effort of carrying her while holding her so tightly.
He set her down, pulling open the door of the front passenger's side, while still retaining a firm hold on her, his arms encircling her waist, so she didn't try to run away.
'Get in the car,' he demanded hoarsely.
'You've got to be joking,' Lisa spluttered.
'Just do what I tell you,' he hissed.
She could sense his rising anger.
'No,' she said coolly.
He sighed. 'I'm not going to kill you, if that's what you're worrying about.'
Lisa quivered in disgust and fear. 'You expect me to believe that? What the hell did you just do to those kids over there?'
'Nothing they didn't deserve,' Jackson said darkly. 'Those kids, Lise, dismantled your car and were going to rape you repeatedly, before beating you to a bloody pulp and leaving you for dead. You do realize I just saved your sorry ass, don't you?'
She did realize it. That was half the problem. But she loathed that HE, of all people, was her rescuer. The idea that she should bear him any gratitude was beyond endurance.
But yes. He had probably saved her life.
'Where are you taking me?' Lisa asked tremulously, studying his face.
He stared directly into her eyes . 'Home of course.'
Again, she tried to squirm out of his hold.
'YOUR home,' he added, tightening his grip.
'How can I be sure?' she said.
'Dear me Lisa. You're so untrusting.' Jackson grinned. 'Most particularly when I am currently the least of your worries.'
His face suddenly clouded with impatience. 'Any minute now, our little runaway's going to show up, and you can bet he won't be alone. So quit moaning Lise, and get in the fucking car!'
Lisa realized she had precious little choice in the matter and sat down.
She watched as Jackson fetched something from the trunk of the car. He moved rapidly towards her smashed-up Toyota, and then walked slowly round the car, methodically coating it with what Lisa could only presume was gasoline, judging by the dark, square can he was holding. He then stepped back, struck a match and threw it at Lisa's car, before chasing back to the relative safety of his BMW. He leaped into the driver's seat, cranked the car into life and sped out of the parking-lot.
There was a loud crashing explosion directly behind them as Lisa's Toyota burst into flames.
'I loved that car,' she said miserably, gazing sorrowfully out of the window.
Jackson stared straight ahead at the road, unmoved by the pyrotechnics in his rear-view mirror.
Lisa shot him a quick glance, barely able to believe where she was, who she was with.
She took a deep breath. She had to keep her cool. Stay focused. Even though her head was spinning with an increasingly hysterical mantra: What do I do? What do I do? Oh God help me. What do I do?
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The Real Deal