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The Real Deal	By : Gallivant Category: M through R > Red Eye Views: 3200 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Red Eye. I am not making any money from publishing this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
8 – A Fateful Meeting
Lisa gazed out over Central Park from the lofty, exclusive heights of the lobby bar at the Mandarin Oriental hotel. It was a crisply chill afternoon. The trees and avenues in the park were dappled gold in the soft sunlight, while the soaring skyscrapers and towers downtown, viewed from the hotel's panoramic windows, were gilded and glinting, against a clear blue sky.
Lisa sighed at the beauty laid out before her.
Her reverie was interrupted by Talbot Haynes who approached Lisa with an unctuous smile, bidding her seat herself at a cream chair pushed close to a low glass table, while he nestled himself into the corner of a couch opposite.
He was nothing like she'd imagined. Lisa had envisaged a pink-cheeked, chubby man in middle age, but instead Talbot Haynes was gangly and balding, with a waspish face and thin lips, but was probably only in his early thirties.
'Colm is on his way. But it seems unfair to rush a man when he's enjoying a Thai Yoga massage, doesn't it?' Talbot tittered. 'So what can I get you to drink?'
A Seabreeze was on the tip of Lisa's tongue, but seeing as this was more or less a job interview, she plumped instead for an iced cranberry juice.
Talbot ordered an iced tea for himself.
'So, Keefe's still in Washington,' Lisa said, disappointed.
''Fraid so Lisa. These emergency talks can go on a mighty long time. He's desperate to get here by tomorrow. Like I said before. He's got personal business. Plus he's got TV spots lined up through Monday, so the guy's gotta be here, come hell or high water!'
'Well. I'm staying next week. So perhaps I can see him then?' Lisa asked. She sipped at the cranberry juice, rather hoping that this might mean she could be excused from this little meeting, which was now little more than a rude intrusion on her thoughts … now that she was so preoccupied with the idea, the fear even, that Jackson might attend Charley's art show that very evening.
'Sure Lisa,' Talbot said. 'Charles wants to see you, so it'll be great if you can stick around.'
Talbot paused to sip his iced tea. Lisa couldn't help but notice that he had a strangely repellent way of drinking, which involved too much tongue for her liking. There was something reptilian, lizard-like in his manners which repelled her.
'Now. Colm – who you're gonna meet shortly – he's a great guy. He spearheaded America First for Leighton Ritchie's campaign, four years ago. But we've persuaded him to jump ship – and we're very proud of the work he's being doing on his latest project. America Forwards.'
'But isn't Keefe running against Ritchie for the nomination?' Lisa asked.
Talbot chuckled. 'Which makes it all the better that Colm's come on board!'
'And … just what is America Forwards?' Lisa asked. She didn't know what America First was either, but didn't fancy displaying her ignorance in full.
'America Forwards is a 501c4 group. Better known as a 527,' came a deep, pleasant voice from behind them.
Lisa swung round to see a tall, well-built man, tanned and elegantly dressed, sauntering towards them, his hand outstretched to Lisa in welcome.
He had a warm, firm handshake, and an engaging smile.
'Hi there,' Lisa said.
'And you must be the famous Lisa Reisert,' he said, still holding her hand in his own. 'I've heard a lot about you.'
'And you are … .'
'Colm Buchanan.'
He sat down, then gestured to a waiter and ordered a Bourbon on the rocks.
'Colm's one of our foremost campaigners,' Talbot said deferentially.
Colm grinned. 'Don't flatter me Talbot. I'm just a fixer. I arrange the right meetings, with the right people, usually with the right amount of money.'
His smile broadened.
Only now did Lisa notice that he wasn't actually American. His voice was deep and burnished with a mild American twang. More like somebody who had lived in the USA for many years. But the brusque, guttural inflection at the heart of his accent suggested he was originally Scottish or Irish.
'And America Forwards does what exactly?' Lisa felt she should try to ask an interested question, but mostly she just wanted him to talk some more. He had a soothing yet authoritative voice.
'Well, as you know Lisa, there's only a certain amount of campaigning and fundraising a candidate is allowed to undertake. Hence we have groups like America Forwards. We ease the pressure. We take on a lot of the fundraising and run our own ad campaigns in support of our preferred candidate. Which in this case is our dear mutual friend, Charles Keefe.'
Scottish. Definitely Scottish, Lisa decided. Irish accents were more singsong whereas Colm's accent was quite harsh, tempered with an easy charm.
'So … do you want me to work for you,' she said pointedly to Colm. And then, with a nod towards Talbot, 'or for the Keefe campaign?'
Colm and Talbot exchanged puzzled looks. 'Both,' Talbot said. 'It's one and the same thing.'
Lisa couldn't quite see this, but she remained tight-lipped.
Colm agreed. 'What we're looking for are strong-minded, flexible managers, skilled at organizing people and busy schedules. And you, Lisa, fit that bill.'
Lisa thought for a moment. 'You know I do like my job at the Lux Atlantic. And I'm not certain what I would do once Charles was elected.'
Talbot frowned. 'This would be a great opportunity for you Lisa. High-level involvement with the Keefe campaign will open a lot of doors for you in the future.'
Something in his sombre, ponderous manner amused Lisa. She suppressed a desire to giggle, looking instead at Colm, who's face was still and attentive, although his eyes were smiling.
He had really rather nice eyes, Lisa thought. Green, slightly feline.
'You still haven't really answered my question Mr Buchanan,' Lisa said.
'Call me Colm,'
'Sure. Colm.' Lisa smiled. 'You've explained the functionality of a 527 group as a genre, but I'd still like more of a handle on just what America Forwards stands for?'
'A lot has been said about the dangers of terrorism. And rightly so,' Colm said. 'Charles has performed wonderfully at the Department of Homeland Security. It's a strong platform for Charles to campaign on, based on his record – both professional and private.'
Colm paused here and seemed to gaze at Lisa with particular meaning.
'At America Forwards, we are focusing foremost on dangers even closer to home. Those that affect everyday lives. Organized violence, street crime, gang warfare, anti-social behavior, even petty vandalism. We want Americans to reclaim their homes, their streets, their communities. Free from anxiety, threats against their personal welfare, the welfare of their families and loved ones.'
Colm continued speaking, but his words began to wash over Lisa, as she found herself wondering why and how Colm, a Scotsman, had become so interested in American politics. What was his background?
And then, she thought of Jackson, and how he and his murderous machinations, designed to undermine and disrupt the social fabric, were part of the very culture Colm Buchanan's America Forwards was so keen to stamp out.
Of course, there was Jackson's apparent, though unproven connection to De Bowens. In the cold light of day it seemed ludicrous. How could he, an assassin, possibly be connected with what she knew to be a well-established, highly respected pillar of American society?
There had been some rhyme and reason to his involvement with Beauchamps, which seemed a decidedly shady organization. But not De Bowens.
Lisa realized that Colm had stopped speaking some time ago, and the heavy silence indicated that she was now expected to offer her opinion.
She nodded her head in appreciation. 'It sounds … really interesting.'
Colm smiled, sitting back in his seat, arms folded.
Lisa had the distinct feeling he knew she had tuned out, but he didn't seem to mind too much. After all, she was under no real illusions here. She knew full well that any appointment would be based on personal reward for saving Keefe's life, rather than political acumen.
'Good' Talbot said, a little tentatively. 'It's key Lisa, that you agree with our main principles. And you seem a sensible girl, so I'm certain we can work well together.'
Lisa's eyes flashed angrily at Talbot. A girl? Could the man be any more patronizing? He was only a few years older than herself.
Colm quickly interceded. 'I guess you'll be wanting a lot more information before you make any firm decisions Lisa.'
'I'm looking forward to speaking with Charles,' she said pointedly.
She took a long cool drink of cranberry juice.
This isn't my world, she thought.
Her eyes drifted away to the green spaces of the park, the tips of trees in the distance visible through the window. The sun had waned to a ghostly silver, and was skulking behind a steady stream of long, gray clouds.
'I'm going to have to get going I'm afraid,' she said apologetically. 'I've made prior arrangements with a friend.'
'Don't worry about it. I shouldn't have spent so long in the Spa … cut into our time a bit,' Colm said politely.
He deftly flicked a card from his jacket's inside breast pocket and pushed it firmly towards her. She picked it up and studied it.
Colm Buchanan
Buchanan, Sheen and Smith Associates.
And then two numbers and an email. No address.
'The second number's my cellphone,' he said. 'If you're at a loose end, just give me a call. I'm based in Manhattan.'
'That's very kind,' she said.
'It'd be good to talk some more.' Colm glanced dismissively at Talbot who was occupied in signing for the drinks. 'I've already got your number,' he added, a little sheepishly. 'Hope you don't mind.'
Talbot leaned forward. 'I'll call you tomorrow Lisa. Update you on Charles's movements.'
'Great,' Lisa said.
Colm's phone was beeping frantically. 'I've got to take this I'm afraid,' he said, looking a little downcast. 'So if you'll excuse me. It was good to finally meet you Lisa Reisert,' he said, quickly squeezing her hand in his own.
He moved away in pursuit of privacy.
Lisa and Talbot bid each other a slightly awkward farewell. It hadn't been a tremendously successful meeting and she could tell that Talbot was a little deflated.
XXXXXXXXXX
Lisa was glad to move from the Sheraton Manhattan to Charley's snug little apartment on Upper West Side. She liked this part of the city. There was a string of bars and sidewalk cafes on Broadway, close by, and a local deli straight across the tree-lined street from Charley's apartment block.
Charley's apartment was at the top of a long flight of stairs, snuck into four pokey rooms. Charley mainly occupied a living room which was the biggest space, and looked out onto the street below. There was a tiny kitchen, an even tinier bathroom and a small spare room, mainly filled with boxes, bin liners stuffed with clothes and a narrow single bed.
Lisa lay on the bed and was soon fast asleep.
XXXXXXXXX
Darkness had fallen by the time Lisa awoke.
Lisa glanced at her watch, leaped off the bed, and headed into Charley's dingy bathroom, where she hastily showered. She then dashed, shivering, back to the spare bedroom, where she jostled open her suitcase and pulled out a small, black dress. Nothing flash or exciting. But an old favorite. She applied a dab of perfume and a lick of lipstick, then pulled on a pair of black high-heeled sandals, hoping they didn't look too summery for New York in Fall.
Minutes later Lisa hailed a cab on Broadway, gabbling directions to the art gallery in Chelsea, where Charley's art show was being held.
XXXXXXXXXX
Lisa was surprised at the large number of guests crowded into the art gallery when she arrived. The gallery itself was bright, spacious and well lit, with a circular upper tier, overlooking a wide atrium.
As she stepped into the atrium from the foyer, Lisa was struck by the buzzing wall of chatter which animated the otherwise austere surroundings. The gleaming white walls were festooned with Charley's art; large, colorful and often confusing painted canvases.
A smart young waiter professionally wielding a tray of fluted glasses brimful with champagne, approached Lisa, flashing her a welcoming smile. She was glad of a drink, downing it quickly, hoping to quell the nervous butterflies which were churning through her stomach.
Lisa took a deep breath, scanning the premises for Charley. But she was no-where to be seen.
There was no sign of Jackson either … .
But then again, had she really expected him to be here? Just because he might work for De Bowens – and she had precious little evidence bar a grainy cellphone shot of his carrying a De Bowens folder. And even if he did, it didn't mean he was likely to attend an event they were sponsoring. Far from it.
Lisa snatched another champagne from a passing waiter and gulped it back, twirling aimlessly in the center of the room, still seeking out Charley.
Her eyes finally alighted on Charley's familiar form, her clean, crisply cut blonde hair bobbing in friendly greeting to a long line of appreciative guests, at the head of a spiral, wrought-iron staircase which led to the upper gallery.
Beside her was a silver-haired gentleman with a pleasant, patrician smile, who Lisa instantly recognized from their corporate website, to be the famous George De Bowen, head of De Bowens Bank.
Lisa hurried up the staircase.
'You got here!' Charley exclaimed, 'finally!'
She clutched Lisa into a tight embrace.
Lisa realized that Charley had the telltale flushed cheeks and glistening eyes of someone who was fast approaching inebriation. One swift glance at George De Bowen beside her, confirmed her fears. He had a benign but concerned expression on his face. He reached an arm out protectively as Charley teetered forwards in excitement, almost toppling Lisa down the stairs in the process.
'Sorry I'm late,' Lisa gushed. 'I hope I haven't missed anything.'
'Just my grand opening,' Charley drawled. She staggered a little. George De Bowen quickly signaled to a broad-shouldered man in a suit standing close by, who guided Charley away from the stairs.
George turned to Lisa. 'Our illustrious artist could do with a rest. Her show has been a triumph.'
Lisa was a little worried about Charley's welfare but felt it was rude to brush off the eminent likes of George De Bowen. 'I hadn't realized just how brilliant her paintings were, until now. I haven't seen her work for some years.'
'You don't live in New York then?'
'No. I'm from Miami.'
George nodded, seeming to digest this information with earnest seriousness, although Lisa knew full well he was merely being polite for a respectable period of time before switching his attention elsewhere.
And sure enough, moments later, his eyes brightened in welcome when a tall, well-groomed girl with dark, lustrous hair, bounded up to him.
'Daddy,' she enthused. 'I've found a darling little study of the cutest dog I'm simply dying to show you.'
Lisa felt she should move away, but was rooted to the spot. Stunned and horrified.
This was clearly Alex De Bowen.
But more importantly. This was also the young woman who had waited for Jackson in that downtown cafe, who had kissed him, like a lover, in the street.
Which surely meant he had to be here.
Then, almost as if he was suddenly recalling his manners – although it was actually Lisa who looked more intrusive because she had not moved away according to popular party protocol – George De Bowen sought to introduce Lisa to his daughter.
'Please excuse me, I didn't catch your name,' he said.
Alex De Bowen was scrutinizing Lisa with considerable interest.
'Have we met?' she inquired.
'No … I don't think so,' Lisa stammered.
Should she mention – in as casual a tone as possible – that they had shared a table in a café on Hanover Street, just yesterday morning? Surely there was no harm in that.
But Alex was looking beyond her, to someone climbing the stairs.
'Jackson!' she cried. 'You made it!'
Lisa suddenly felt faint and a little nauseous. The sounds of the crowd dulled to a rushing roar in her ears. She grabbed hold of a hand-rail at the top of the spiral staircase to ensure she didn't miss her footing and tumble backwards, which would have been a fatal error, as she could feel that Jackson was directly behind her, a looming presence.
All she wanted was to skulk out of sight, as fast as possible.
Alex De Bowen pulled Jackson towards her. He brushed past Lisa but didn't acknowledge her presence, and now had his back to her.
Lisa used this opportunity to slowly descend the stairs.
She glanced upwards. Jackson was talking with George De Bowen, while Alex De Bowen had her arm hooked tightly through his, and was gazing up at him in unalloyed admiration.
It seemed incredible.
Jackson was intimate with the daughter of George De Bowen. One of the most powerful men on Wall Street. In the United States.
It was too much. It didn't make sense.
XXXXXXXXXX
Lisa felt sweaty and sick. Her head was spinning.
She grabbed another passing champagne and immediately drained it.
She stumbled her way through the crowd to the restrooms, then perceiving that the disabled cubicle was empty, she tripped towards it, and was about to enter, when a strong hand gripped her shoulder and roughly shoved her inside.
She lurched forwards, crashing painfully into the toilet, before sliding to the floor. She was aware of the restroom door being banged shut with considerable force, behind her.
It had to be Jackson. She knew it was Jackson. But hardly dared to look.
She rested her forehead against the cold, white wall-tiles, panting in fear and confusion. Waiting for Jackson to say something.
'Well I never,' came Jackson's cool, laconic tones. 'Ain't this just the funniest thing?'
Lisa sighed heavily.
She quickly scrabbled to her feet, all the while nursing a sore knee which she had bashed against the china toilet bowl. Then she slowly turned round to meet him, face to face.
Jackson was standing against the door, his arms folded, a sneer curling his lips.
'I'm not here on your account if that's what you're thinking,' Lisa scoffed. 'The artist whose show this is …Charley Robinson … she's a close friend of mine.'
Jackson seemed indifferent. 'Is that so? Well. That's very nice Lisa.'
He paused.
'But I'm much more interested in finding out why a responsible, home-loving, sweet young woman like yourself, is following me and my fiancée?'
'Your fiancée?' Lisa hated herself, the moment she said it.
'Yes Lisa. That's right. My fiancée.'
Then he seemed to remember something. 'Oops. Excuse me,' he mumbled.
He slid the lock on the door firmly into place.
'We don't want to be disturbed now, do we?'
He flashed Lisa a sardonic grin, his eyes an unnerving, penetrating blue.
'Yes. It's the oddest thing. She says she's sure she saw you, only yesterday. Not once. But twice. And then, of course, tonight as well.'
Lisa stared at him, with what she hoped looked like fearless defiance.
Jackson continued. 'I tried to assure her that she might be imagining things. She probably passes hundreds of ditzy little red-heads everyday, and it's very easy to get one face mixed up with another.'
Jackson was advancing stealthily towards her as he spoke.
'Mind you,' he said. 'Even I thought I saw you yesterday, and I'm good at faces … comes with the job … but I figured it had to be some kind of illusion.'
Jackson was now standing directly in front of Lisa, an insolent sneer on his face, his cold, blue eyes never once faltering in their gaze.
Lisa could feel herself shrinking into the wall, almost overwhelmed by his physical proximity.
'You do believe me, don't you Jackson, when I say I had no idea you would be here tonight?' she said. 'This is truly a coincidence.'
'Sure Lise. Course it is. We'll call it fate,' Jackson said scornfully. 'But … that's not why we saw you yesterday, is it?'
Lisa knew he was onto her.
'OK. Yes. I was following you,' she conceded.
Jackson's face broke into a smile. 'Good for you, Lise! And how did you manage to do that?'
He moved closer still, so close their bodies were almost touching.
'Tell me everything,' he murmured. 'How you found me … every last little detail.'
Lisa intended to speak, to tell all, but she found herself immediately distracted, her eyes constantly drawn to his lips, which were slightly apart, just inches from her own.
Was he doing this on purpose?
She snapped her eyes away, staring instead at a small patch of travertine-tiled floor, to the left of him.
'I worked out that you were with Beauchamp Finance,' she said.
'And how did you do that?'
'Buckley,' she said simply. 'I went to see him.'
'Ah. Good thinking. So … did he remember me?'
'I had a photo.'
Jackson's face creased into a frown.
'A photo? How?'
'You were caught on the security cameras … in the hotel lobby.'
'I was?'
'Yes … as you … no doubt know … .'
A thought was beginning to evolve in her mind. Was she supposed to find him? Had this been a test of some kind?
'And then?' he prompted. She could feel his eyes roaming her face, moving from her eyes to her mouth. She tried to blank him out. Make her face inscrutable, unreadable.
'And then … I did a little research, and I found out that Beauchamps had recently invested in Mogando.' She could sense him tense a little. 'And, I knew you'd recently been in Mogando. Because … .'
'Because you meddled where you shouldn't,' Jackson said tersely.
'Surely you knew I would look at your damned passport? That's why you left your briefcase open, isn't it?' Lisa snarled, suddenly convinced that this was indeed the truth.
Jackson vehemently shook his head. 'Nope. I thought you'd try to take the tape.'
'I meant to,' she said under her breath.
'Although you weren't going to get away with it.'
'I wouldn't be too sure of that, if I were you Jackson Rippner,' Lisa said venomously, her face flushed with anger. 'You're not half as clever as you like to think you are. And it was really very, very foolish, just to leave that passport lying around. I learned some very interesting things … .'
'Like what?' Jackson jeered. 'That I've been to Mogando? Whoopee.'
'That you also call yourself James Ryder.' She paused, wondering if he was about to interject, but he said nothing. 'And I now know that there's a Graham Ryder who works for Beauchamps. Based in London. So I'm guessing that you operate under that alias too.'
'Come on Lise, that's bullshit. And you know it. You can do a lot better than that,' Jackson said in condescending tones.
He thought for a moment and then suddenly burst into loud, mocking laughter.
'So let's get this straight Lise. You took the Buckley hint, well done, and then, based on your seeing I, or at least some guy called James Ryder, has been to Mogando, you decide, for some inexplicable reason, I must work for Beauchamps. So you head up to New York to …. to do what exactly? We still haven't quite ascertained that, have we?'
'I was coming to New York anyway. On business,' she said, her voice shaking with frustration at his flippant tone. 'The Keefe campaign want to hire me.'
Jackson seemed to flinch a little, but he said nothing.
'And … I thought it might be interesting … to see where you worked. Which is how I came to be following you.'
Jackson remained silent. A troubled expression crept across his face. He pulled back from her, hands on hips, chewing his bottom lip pensively.
'Well, if your objective was to track me down, then I guess it's a job well done,' he said reluctantly.
'Although, for the record,' he added, barely able to suppress the smug triumphalism in his voice, 'I don't actually work for Beauchamps,'
'No,' Lisa said coolly. 'You work for De Bowens.'
Jackson was clearly taken aback. 'What makes you say that?'
'It's obvious,' Lisa smirked. 'You had a folder yesterday, with the De Bowens logo, and you say you're engaged to De Bowen's daughter.'
'Doesn't have to mean I work for her father,' Jackson muttered darkly.
Suddenly there was a shuffling sound, just outside the door, clearly audible above the cacophony of voices beyond the restroom, which had faded to a droning background hum, occasionally punctuated by a louder, roaring laugh or shrieking giggle.
Presumably it was somebody waiting to come in.
Instantly on high alert, Jackson's eyes inched sideways towards the locked door, as he strained to catch the telltale sounds of an eavesdropper.
His apprehension bordered on dread, Lisa realized, and with that came a startling revelation. He was frightened of the De Bowens.
'But you do work for De Bowens … I'm right, aren't I?' Lisa said in cutting tones, enjoying Jackson's sudden discomfort, even though she was also disconcerted by his fear. 'And they don't know what you really are, do they? Your real life. Your profession. That's your dirty little secret, isn't it?'
Jackson lunged forwards, clapping his hand forcefully across her mouth, cracking her head painfully against the tiles.
He whispered in her ear, his voice suddenly hoarse. 'None of this Lise, is for you to know or think about.'
Lisa desperately tried to twist her face away from his smothering hand.
'So listen up sweetheart,' he added, his voice low and menacing. 'I want you to quit this fucking Nancy Drew crap. Right. Now. It's not clever. It's not funny. And it serves no fucking purpose other than getting you killed quicker.'
Lisa could feel rage boiling up inside of her.
'Do you understand what I'm telling you?' he hissed.
Lisa had manoeuvred her mouth sufficiently to bite down hard on the soft, fleshy side of his hand. Jackson yelped with pain.
She recoiled, expecting him to strike her in return, but instead he simply pulled his hand away and glared, his eyes blazing with hurt and fury.
'Fuck you Jack!' Lisa yelled, suddenly not caring who heard her through the restroom door. 'What gives you, the God-given right to stalk me, to play with my life, my emotions …to trash my workplace? You deserved a taste of your own medicine.'
Jackson had suddenly narrowed his eyes and was watching her closely. Lisa first thought he was still consumed with anger, but then she noticed a sneaky smirk, teasing his lips.
Lisa replayed what she had said in her mind, and realized where she had gone wrong.
'When I said you were playing with my emotions, it wasn't meant how you think,' she explained, in a slow, steady manner. 'I meant it in the sense of your constant, merciless hounding me and threatening me.'
'Whew. That's a relief,' Jackson said, a smile slowly creeping across his face. 'For one moment there I thought you were getting a girly crush.'
Lisa trembled with shame and loathing. How dare he.
There was a loud thumping on the door.
Lisa jumped, and was further surprised to find Jackson had pressed close against her, his hand again covering her mouth.
'It's only some poor bugger busting to go,' he whispered. 'But I really can't allow us to be seen to leave together. So keep still. And say nothing.'
They stood close together, in silence.
Someone else had joined the queue outside.
'Still occupied?' came a testy sounding woman.
'Yeah. Someone must be having real bad gut problems,' came a tetchy, deep-voiced reply.
'Well I hope it's not the canapés,' said the testy sounding woman. 'My Eric's not stopped eating since we got here.'
In spite of the tense circumstances, Lisa couldn't help but giggle.
Jackson wrapped his arms tightly around her, squashing her close to his chest, to smother any sound. Lisa could feel his heart pumping, against her ear.
Her head was swimming, overwhelmed by his warmth, his scent.
She tried to pull away, but he held her close. 'Quiet Lise,' he murmured.
'This is so rude,' moaned the testy woman. 'Some people have no consideration.'
'I'm gonna go call security,' said the tetchy man. 'It's probably some junkie, shooting up, or whatever it is they like to do these days.'
'Damn him. Just when we were getting cozy,' Jackson whispered.
'You call this cozy?' Lisa said, stamping hard on his foot. He cringed, but then pushed her more firmly against the wall.
There was a further bout of banging on the door.
'Come on out. We can hear you're in there,' came the tetchy man. 'Did you hear that?' he said, clearly addressing the testy woman.
'Sure did Hon,' she moaned.
Jackson smiled. 'Now look what you've gone and done Lisa.'
'Come on. Let's get security,' grunted the testy man.
They both froze, listening intently as the man and woman trotted off, still whinging in unison, their footsteps gradually dissipating, melting into the background hum of the crowd.
The restroom fell silent, except for their breathing; deep, matching breathes.
They were still holding each other, seemingly unable to move.
Lisa didn't dare look at him, but she could sense that Jackson was watching her closely, his eyes fixed firmly on her face.
She could feel his attraction to her, like a palpable force, barely contained. She closed her eyes in rapt expectation.
With quivering fingers, he tenderly stroked her hair, his fingertips softly caressing her neck, her face, then, with a faint groan, he nuzzled his face into her shoulder, his lips warm against her bare skin.
Then he pulled back, inhaling deeply, almost as though he was fighting to breath.
'Lisa,' he whispered. 'Look at me.'
He gently tilted her head upwards, so that his mouth hovered directly above her own.
'I really want to kiss you,' he said, his voice harsh and broken.
'That's … that's not such a good idea,' she stuttered, even though she was sharply aware of an acute pang of mind-reeling arousal surging through her.
This feeling only intensified as Jackson slowly trailed a finger across her cheekbone, then down to her chin, his eyes never once leaving her face.
And then, he brushed her lips softly with his own.
Lisa couldn't help responding. She encircled his neck with one arm, her hand intertwining with his hair, pulling him closer.
He kissed her deeply, with increasing urgency, wrapping her tightly in his arms.
Lisa found herself succumbing, aware only of his warm mouth plundering her own, her heart thumping wildly inside her chest and the heated pleasure which was coursing through her limbs.
There was more thunderous, impatient banging on the door.
Lisa jerked back from Jackson, unable to look him in the face.
How the hell did that happen?
'Get a move on, will ya!' came a man's voice. He sounded livid.
Lisa could sense Jackson was still looking at her. He leaned closer, placing a hand on her shoulder and whispered in her ear.
'OK Lise. Plan B. We're going to walk out of here, and act as though we've never met. Is that clear?'
Lisa nodded, awe-struck at how quickly Jackson could switch from gentle and loving to hard and businesslike in an instant.
The angry man continued to pound on the door.
'Lise,' Jackson urged, 'listen to me.'
He grasped her face in his hand, forcing her to meet his eyes.
'This is really important.'
Lisa realized he was deadly serious.
'Whatever you do, don't tell anyone – and I mean anyone – who you are. Better still. Get out of here as fast as you can.'
'I can't just leave. This is my friend's exhibition,' Lisa complained. 'I've hardly seen her.'
Jackson sighed, leaning his forehead against the tiled wall behind her.
'I'm begging you Lise,' he said softly. 'Don't tell them anything but your first name. Or make one up.'
'Who's them?' Lisa asked anxiously.
'Everyone. Now let's go,' he said, steering her towards the door.
XXXXXXXXX
Lisa had only just quit the restroom, ensuring she moved off in a different direction to Jackson, when Charley leaped on her and pulled her over to a group of her friends.
Lisa was swamped by an effusion of greetings and small talk, which she fielded with professional expertise, all the while wondering where Jackson had snuck off to.
What would he say to Alex and her father to explain what had clearly been a prolonged absence?
And why had she allowed him to kiss her?
She kept replaying it over and over in her mind, barely able to breath, as she recalled the warm, tingling sensation that had overtaken her senses.
She was jolted out of her thoughts by a waiter approached bearing a tray of drinks. Lisa gratefully received the glass of champagne he offered, drinking it with more gusto than usual.
Charley sidled up to her. 'So you've met the famous George De Bowen … isn't he just a sweetie?'
She grabbed two more champagnes from a passing waiter, thrusting one into Lisa's hand.
Lisa felt a little silly clutching two glasses so she downed the first one and deposited the empty glass onto the waiter's tray.
'Did you get to speak with his daughter?' Charley asked eagerly.
'Very briefly.'
'Then you must speak some more! She's an absolute doll!' Charley cried. 'She's already bought three pieces tonight. Come and see!'
Charley dragged Lisa through a throng of champagne-guzzling art-lovers, who were keeping an attentive cluster of champagne waiters extremely busy, clearing glasses and replenishing supplies.
At the far end of the gallery, the crowds had thinned considerably and a number of less jovial types were engaged in more earnest, sober discussion.
Charley showed Lisa a small oval-shaped oil painting, which looked sadly disconsolate amongst the vast, colouful canvases which were more closely associated with Charley's trademark style.
Charley clapped her hands together in girlish glee. 'I can't believe Alex wanted this one … it means such a lot to me.'
The painting comprised a series of colored cubes and spheres, arranged to represent what Lisa could only presume was a large beige woman, seated on a rug.
'My pet Labrador.' Charley's mood had turned strangely sombre. Lisa was surprised to spot tears welling in Charley's eyes. She wasn't generally this sentimental.
Then her eyes shot to the empty champagne glass, dangling from Charley's hand, which perhaps served as some form of explanation.
'There she is!' Charley exclaimed, again grabbing Lisa and pulling her towards a small knot of people who seemed to be moving slowly but surely towards the exit.
Lisa tried to hold Charley back as she recognized the De Bowens bidding farewell to a glamorously attired older woman wearing a voluminous scarlet cape and black feathered hat and a tall, spindly man in a tuxedo.
Luckily, Charley's path was temporarily brought to a halt, as she accosted a passing waiter, snatching a full glass of champagne from his tray.
'That's Alex with her father … who you met before,' she garbled, indicating the De Bowen party with her wine-glass, champagne slopping over the sides onto the floor. 'And that's Joysie Hamilton, a major buyer ... I don't recognize the man …,' Charley said excitedly.
She interrupted her commentary to whisper in Lisa's ear. 'Now's your chance to ask about that chap you've been chasing after. See if he might work for De Bowens after all. You never know.'
Lisa's insides suddenly turned to jelly, as she watched Jackson purposefully stride towards the De Bowens with what looked like a fur stole hanging over his arm.
He flashed Lisa a piercing glance warning her not to advance any further.
But it was too late.
Charley pushed Lisa towards the De Bowens, particularly Alex, who was being helped into her fur stole by Jackson.
Jackson's face had stiffened into a mask of cold politeness, in response to Charley's over-exuberant, champagne-fueled exhortations.
'Oh no! You're not all leaving are you?' Charley cried.
'It's been a resounding success,' George De Bowen said indulgently. 'But needs must.'
'We're off to the beach house in the morning,' Alex explained curtly. She hooked her arm through Jackson's. 'But it's been a pleasure.'
Charley snatched at Alex's arm, swinging her round.
'Alex, this is my dear friend Lisa, the one from Miami that I was telling you about earlier,' she chortled, her face flushed crimson.
Alex paused, eyeing Lisa intently. 'You really are very familiar,' she asked. 'Are you sure we haven't met?'
'Quite sure,' Lisa smiled.
She cast a sidelong look at Jackson, who was subtly trying to usher the De Bowen party out of the gallery, by means of a protective palm pushing Alex gradually forwards and away from Charley and Lisa.
George De Bowen smiled graciously at Lisa.
'Are you staying in New York long?'
Lisa smiled. 'A week.'
She could feel Jackson's eyes boring into her face as she spoke.
'So short a time? That's a shame.'
Charley was leaning heavily against Alex and from the quizzical expression on her face had now latched onto the fact that a handsome, blue-eyed stranger was standing close by.
'Is this the guy you were telling me about?' she drawled, pointing at Jackson. His face was cold and emotionless.
Alex grinned. 'Sure is. This is Jackson.'
Charley froze, spellbound, eyes staring. She stumbled drunkenly towards Jackson, who backed away.
'Jackson!' she breathed, hand outstretched.
Lisa clutched her friend into a tight hug, and tried to lever her away from the De Bowens.
'I'm sorry … she's a bit worse for wear,' she gasped. Lisa stole a quick glance in Jackson's direction, and was disheartened to see a cold, murderous glint alight in his eyes.
She had to get Charley out of here. And fast.
Thick tears were rolling down Charley's cheeks. 'That was his name,' she sniveled.
Lisa's heart was pounding inside her chest. Please don't say it, she silently begged.
'That was the name of my little dog, the one I painted,' Charley continued, the tears now falling thick and fast.
Lisa felt faint with relief, and also with a sudden weariness which flooded her body – the effects of alcohol and high tension.
Alex laughed. 'Well isn't that uncanny?' She turned to Jackson. 'I've just bought that painting.'
'Hysterical,' he said, in dry, flat tones.
A black-suited, clean-cut young man walked rapidly towards them. He approached Jackson, informing him that their car was waiting outside.
'Come on,' Jackson said briskly to his companions. 'Let's get out of here.'
'Where are they going Lisa?' Charley whined.
'Home Charley. Which is where you should be going too,' Lisa said primly.
'Would you like some assistance?' George De Bowen asked politely.
'I'll be fine,' Lisa said.
'Are you quite sure? We can easily accommodate you.' George turned to the clean-cut young man. 'You brought the limo?'
The clean-cut young man nodded his assent.
Lisa noted Jackson was looking away from them – his way, she felt, of warning her not to accept George's offer.
'That's very kind of you,' Charley enthused.
'No, no, Charley,' Lisa countered. 'You still have other guests to say goodbye to.'
She scanned the rapidly emptying room. A few partygoers remained upstairs, watching the dwindling crowd below. Lisa couldn't help but notice that there were other similarly young, clean-cut guys in sharp black suits, and wondered just how much security George De Bowen and his daughter required.
If they knew anything at all of the talents of Jackson, they needn't have bothered, she thought wryly.
'I'm not sure Miss Robinson's in a fit state for further conversation,' George said with an avuncular smile. His hand patted Lisa's, much in the manner of an over-affectionate yet patronizing elderly uncle.
Alex was already guiding Charley out of the gallery.
'There's plenty of room for you too,' George said, his eyes twinkling.
'Thank you, thank you very much, but … but I'm meeting up with a friend,' Lisa blurted, desperate to get away.
'Well, at least let us take you to wherever it is you're headed,' he persisted.
'Come on George. Let's go,' Jackson interjected. 'Alex is tired.'
'But we can't just leave this sweet young thing defenseless and alone. That's hardly chivalrous behavior, Jackson.'
'I'm perfectly capable Sir,' Lisa said, increasingly irritated. 'Really I am.'
'She says she's fine,' Jackson said. 'Aren't you Lise?'
Lise. Why had he said Lise?
Luckily George De Bowen hadn't noticed. 'Well, you can at least give us directions to Charley's home. Frankly I don't think the girl's capable of coherent speech.'
Lisa conceded, following George and Jackson towards the exit.
She hadn't dared look at Jackson.
She still didn't really understand why he so wanted to keep her identity under wraps. Surely if the De Bowens were to know that she was Lisa Reisert, manager of the Lux Atlantic hotel in Miami, and yes, earlier that year she had been involved, against her will, in an attempted assassination on the Deputy Secretary for Homeland Security, they wouldn't automatically associate Jackson with that crime? Why should they?
His paranoia didn't add up.
Outside the gallery, they headed for a waiting limousine. Alex and Charley were already seated inside, with Charley lolling on Alex's shoulder, fast asleep.
Jackson stopped.
'Hold on,' he said. 'I had a jacket.'
He dived back inside to retrieve it. George gestured to Lisa, to get into the limo. But just as she was about to do so, she heard her cellphone rattling around in her purse.
'Please excuse me,' she said to George, standing aside. She pulled the phone out. She didn't recognize the number displayed, but she instinctively knew it had to be Jackson.
She answered the phone as chirpily as possible. 'Hi there,' she said brightly. 'I was just on my way.'
'That's good Lise. Real good,' Jackson said. 'Now listen up. Whatever you do, don't get in that car. Make up some excuse. Anything.'
'That's great,' Lisa said in jovial tones, meanwhile wondering what the hell she could say, aware that George De Bowen was still waiting patiently by the limo. 'I'm still at the show … would you rather I stayed put?'
'Walk away Lise,' Jackson said. 'Just walk away. I'll come and find you.'
'You don't need to do that,' Lisa said impetuously. 'I'll be fine on my own.'
She turned away from George and the clean-cut young man who was now standing beside him.
'Where's Jackson got to?' Alex was calling from inside the car.
'Come on Lisa. Trust me. This once,' Jackson said urgently.
Lisa was silent a moment. She could hear Jackson's tense breathing at the other end of the phone.
'For fuck's sake Lisa. Get moving!' he shouted.
'So it's just a few blocks away?' she asked, resuming her former friendly manner.
'Head right and walk straight till you hit 9th Avenue, then head for West 23rd Street. Turn left and carry on walking. Cross 8th, and you'll see a bar, not far from the Chelsea Hotel. There's a YMCA just across the street. You can't miss it. Go grab yourself a Seabreeze Lise, and sit tight.'
'I'm on my way,' she said.
Lisa killed the call and turned back to George De Bowen.
Had it been too obvious? This wasn't exactly the slickest of plans.
'My friend's suggested we meet close by, so I'll hang around. But thanks very much for your kind offer,' she said, breezily.
She looked in on Charley who was already snoring. Alex looked a little pained at the dead weight rumbling against her.
'It was very nice to meet you,' Lisa said.
Alex smiled wanly.
Lisa shook hands cordially with George De Bowen, quickly telling him Charley's address. She then tripped away, down the road, as fast as she could, without actually breaking into a run.
Why was Jackson so adamant that she didn't get in the car with them? They seemed harmless enough. And he had no qualms about leaving Charley in their care.
She walked quickly, allowing the darkness to envelop her. She could hear footsteps in the distance and the burble of voices. She imagined Jackson had returned to the car.
She soon reached the junction of West 24th and busy Ninth Avenue. She headed right. Just as Jackson had told her. And then turned left onto West 23rd, which was similarly active, even for this time of night. She carried on walking, ignoring a panhandler who called after her. It was too late and too dark to be generous.
Her mind was teeming with worries. Had she done the right thing? Should she have left Charley alone, and in that state?
But this was ridiculous. What could be safer than the De Bowens? They were a hugely respected family. George headed up one of the USA's most esteemed financial corporations.
She stopped at Eighth Avenue, waiting to cross.
This was all Jackson's fault. All because he was paranoid that she might blab to his pretty little fiancée, or give any cause for alarm about his character to his prospective Daddy-in-law.
It seemed very petty. And why should she be involved?
She could see the Chelsea Hotel in the distance, and close by, on the same side of the road, a small bar. She wondered if she should even bother meeting Jackson, particularly after what had happened in the restroom … .
Suddenly she heard footsteps rapidly approach from behind. A strong hand grabbed her arm, pulling her to an abrupt halt.
Jackson was panting.
'You did good,' he said.
'Did I indeed?' Lisa said haughtily. 'Well I'd like an explanation.'
'It's best you know as little as possible,' Jackson said, hailing a cab which slowed and stopped a few metres ahead of them. 'Come on,' he said, dragging her towards the cab,
'Get off me,' she protested, breaking free. 'I'm not going anywhere until you at least tell me what's going on.'
Jackson sighed, exasperated.
'Lisa. Please believe me when I say that it would do neither of us any good if they … or at least he … were to know who you really are.'
Lisa chilled. She knew, with the utmost certainty, that Jackson was being sincere, and this worried her hugely.
'He being George De Bowen,' Lisa said.
'Yes. He being George De Bowen.'
'I don't get it,' she said weakly.
'Which is why we need to talk,' Jackson said, coaxing her towards him with an outstretched hand. 'Lisa. Please.'
The cab driver hooted his horn, urging them to hurry up.
'Come. Give me your hand,' he said softly.
I am a friend, and am not come to punish, Lisa thought ruefully.
Except the fierce man of bone had promised not to be savage … but he'd killed his maiden, all the same.
But she wanted to trust him. So very badly.
Lisa placed her hand in Jackson's and got into the cab.
- 7
- 8
- 9
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The Real Deal