Five Years Gone

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Red Eye! The characters of Lisa and Jackson are property of Wes Craven, Carl Ellsworth, and DreamWorks Pictures.

Summary: A lot can happen in five years. Lisa falls in love, finally moving on after a disastrous encounter with a handsome stranger. Just days before her wedding, Jackson Rippner drops back into her life, looking better than ever, with a warning about her fiancé. Now she has to choose between Mr. Perfect and a white picket fence and Mr. Wrong and a life of danger.

Chapter One

Lisa Reisert turned this way and that in front of the half-circle of floor-length mirrors. The light caught some of the sequins sewn into the delicate silk. She ran her hands over the smooth fabric, sucking in her stomach at the same time.

The white color flattered her tan skin and dark hair. It also matched the large diamond set in white gold on her left hand.

She studied her profile in the mirror, noting the way the material clung to her curves, not flattering them in the slightest. "Do you have anything with a more fitted top… and a fuller skirt?" she asked the saleswoman standing off to the side.

"Of course, Miss Reisert. Is there any particular style? Do you want a train on the dress?"

"Umm, no, no train. Floor-length's fine. I just don't want a really poofy skirt."

"I'll bring you a few more choices," the blonde said before disappearing out onto the floor.

Lisa stepped down from the platform, careful not to rip any stitches, and slipped back into the fitting room she'd left her purse and street clothes in. She wriggled out of the gown and sighed.

She'd never been a fan of dress shopping. All the lights and mirrors were intimidating. She hated trying to squeeze into unflattering gowns in hopes of finding one that fit, flattered, and hid the long scar over her breast.

Even here, under the artificial lights, she could remember a cool hand slipping down her shirt and fingertips skimming over the raised scar. His touch was almost a caress.

And his voice. Well, she would never forget his voice.

"Get a grip," she told her reflection. It had been five years since she last saw him; seven since she ended up with the vicious mark.

"Here you are, Miss Reisert," the saleswoman said, knocking on the dressing room door. "I brought you another five to start with."

Lisa plastered her happy bride-to-be smile on and opened the door.

She picked at her salad, spearing bits of greenery with her fork, but hardly chewing.

"So, did you find a dress today, honey?" her father asked, his voice soft and filled with concern. Joseph Reisert always looked out for his only daughter. After the events of five years ago, he had more reason than ever to keep an eye on her.

"No, not yet."

He took a sip of red wine from his glass. "You know, Lisa, if you aren't sure, it's not too late to back out…"

"What?" Her head shot up from her plate. "You mean call off the wedding?"

"Yes or postpone it."

"Why would I do that?"

"I'm sorry, honey, but you just don't seem very happy or into all of this wedding business. I remember when I married your mother… she couldn't stop talking about this or that little detail and arguing the pros and cons of different flowers and menus… But you, you don't seem very into the planning."

"I just have a lot on my mind," she said.

He nodded across the table. "I understand, but you know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "I know, Dad. I know."

Except she wouldn't. She couldn't ever find the right words to explain what exactly happened. Even to her therapist or the police. There were pieces of the flight that stayed locked in her head. If she talked about it, then what happened would be real.

She couldn't deal with that. Not when she was about to get married in two months.

She met her fiancé not long after the flight from hell. He had warm brown eyes, carefully trimmed and styled dirty-blond hair, and a more muscular frame than most men she'd dated. He also carried a loaded handgun.

Lisa felt safe with him, even though he was one of the several people asking her over and over again what happened en route to Miami from her grandmother's funeral.

Once the investigation cleared her of all wrong-doing, Timothy Greene asked her to dinner. She said yes.

What followed was ancient history. They dated for two and a half years before he popped the question on the anniversary of the flight. Lisa said yes without much hesitation. Now, almost two years later, they were fast approaching their wedding date.

Tim worked for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He was currently assigned to a Florida field office. After they married, there was a chance the Bureau would reassign him to another office elsewhere in the United States.

As long as she didn't have to step on a plane, Lisa didn't care where they went.

Across an ocean, a man stepped off a plane. He pulled a carry-on with one hand as he slipped sunglasses over his eyes. His suit was well-cut and expensive, his shirt and tie made of the finest silk available for purchase, and his leather shoes were handmade in Italy. The platinum watch on his left wrist was a real Rolex, not a fake or a knockoff purchased on a street corner.

The wind ruffled his long dark hair. He ignored it, intent on a waiting limousine.

He folded his lean body into the backseat after handing his suitcase off to the waiting chauffer. The door closed behind him.

"What's so important that I had to rush all the way over here?" he asked the other man already inside the limousine. He sounded bored and annoyed.

"Sorry to interrupt your vacation. How is Russia, by the way?"

"Fucking freezing. What did you expect?"

The older man smiled. "Then I think you'll like this job. It's in a much… warmer climate."

"How warm are we talking?"

"Let's just say at least eighty degrees on a cloudy day."

"Is this an island?"

"No, no. It's Florida. I need you to keep track of a man for me. We think he's got sticky fingers."

"And?"

"I need you to prove it. Do what you do so well and get inside his head. Learn his routines. You know—the basics."

"What's in it for me?"

"Oh, let's see… two million sound good?"

"What did he steal?"

The older man shrugged. "That's your job, not mine."

He frowned, settling back into the leather seat. "Fine. When do I start?"

"After the plane refuels."

"So soon? I haven't even had a cup of coffee yet."

"Don't worry. We've got some time."

The younger man took off his sunglasses. "So who is this guy?"

"His name is Timothy Greene. He's a fed."

Author's Notes:

The idea for this story has been chilling in my notebook for a while. I wanted to get Newfound Clarity finished before I jumped into a new story, but the plot bunny demanded to be taken care of. Thanks for reading and please review!