A/N: Posting this a day early. I don't know if any of you remember the kitten I saved last year around Christmas, Jackson, but yesterday we took him to the vet because he'd been lethargic and depressed. At first, Dr Bush thought it was because he had an inflamed vertebral disk, but after doing some blood tests, he determined that Jackson is finally starting to show symptoms of his leukaemia, which was diagnosed late last year. Going by his blood work, Jackson's in stage five of FeLV. He stayed at the vet last night to receive fluids and antibiotics, and he might be getting a blood transfusion within the next couple of days to try to elevate his erythrocyte count.

Please keep him in your thoughts. He's very important to me, perhaps the most important being in the entire world, and having him like this is absolutely killing me inside.

---

Three weeks later, Jackson was settling in his car for another night of watching Lisa Reisert. Going into the assignment, he had a completely different picture of her. She seemed like such a bubbly woman when he'd met her less than three years earlier but now she was, quite frankly, kind of a bore, something that he found vaguely alluring. There was something mysterious about the woman, something that she didn't let anyone see. Whereas before she was relatively transparent, now the only thing that was transparent to him was her smile. She smiled all the time with other people, but he could see right past it when no one else seemed to. He didn't like to see her like that—it was like she was lying all the time, putting up this façade to hide her real self, and it enraged him. Every time he watched her at work, he wanted nothing more than to wring her pretty neck.

Of one thing he was certain, however, and it was that to get to her, he'd have to go through her father. She couldn't be allured by pretty men, as was apparent by the guys who tried to pick her up at her normal bar every time she went, so he couldn't fall back on his old tricks to get a woman to do something for him. She liked men defending women, which was apparent every time the bartender would swat some guy away from an overly drunk woman at the bar. Whenever she saw him do that, she'd leave him a tip worth more than the price of the Seabreeze she'd consumed. She was always up for conversation but also always alert as though the person would jump out and bite her at any time. Whenever given an invitation to do something or go somewhere by a man she had just met a few hours earlier, she always found a way to weasel out of it.

By the end of the sixth week, he had a perfect plan in his head. He'd take her when she was leaving work because no one ever checked up on her until the next morning when she came into the hotel. Taking her back to his office at the Miami headquarters, he'd tie her up and announce that Ian was waiting outside of her father's house with his weapons then present her with the current photos of the outside of the house streaming from Ian's laptop then drop her father's wallet in her lap. A flip of a switch and her father would appear on the screen, watched over by a small camera implanted in his living room, sitting there quietly doing whatever he decided to do that night, most likely watching television and eating leftovers as he seemed to do every night. After she'd collected herself, he'd have her call the hotel, arrange the room change, and then after all was done, he'd inject her with Ativan and lay her out on the couch of his office.

This was for his own pleasure, because he liked to watch her sleep.

Once the deed was done, she'd be thrown into the ocean. If she lived, fine. If she died, that was how it had to be. Something about her just wanted to be sure that if she was going to die, he wanted to do it, because he didn't want anyone else to touch her but himself. He'd have preferred strangling her to watch her reaction, but for safety purposes, a simple drowning was much more plausible. At least that way, he reasoned, there wouldn't be any bruises on that flawless skin.

Ian expressed concern about the plan a week before they were going to put it into effect. 'Jackson, are you sure you haven't come a little too close to the target?'

'What are you talking about?' Jackson asked, flicking the ash off the tip of his cigarette as the two stood on the balcony of Jackson's condo after going over files. 'She's just a pretty and mysterious girl. I've fucked tonnes of them.'

Usually Ian was a good dog, but his concern for Jackson leapt over his obedience. 'Your plan focuses far too much on this woman. You're practically stalking her but you should just be information-gathering for a job.'

In a flurry, Jackson turned and pressed his cigarette to Ian's neck before slamming the older man into the sliding glass doors. 'How I do my job is none of your business, dog.'

Ian shoved him away and then adjusted his glasses. 'Don't let the emotions you have associated with her get in the way of completing this. If you get upset by her, you're going to fail, and you're going to fail miserably.'

Before Jackson had another chance to attack him, Ian made his way through the door and to the elevator, disappearing behind the doors as an angry Jackson crossed the room and banged on the metal. Turning back around, he looked at the pictures of Lisa at the park, playing with her cat, taking her cat to the vet, talking on her cell phone in her car, et cetera. After looking at his favourite, a photograph of her talking on the phone with her grandmother with a broad, honest smile and a hand running through her hair, he grabbed his coat and called the elevator. He had to see her again.

---

The plan completely fell to shit three days before it was to be put into effect. On that day, Jackson had fallen asleep in his office chair, his head by the computer screen watching Lisa sleeping, and was jarred awake by the phone ringing on his desk and next to Lisa's bed. They sat up almost simultaneously, reaching for the phones. Jackson pressed a button and the sounds of the conversation filled his office.

'Hello?' Lisa asked in a sleep-laden voice.

'Lisa, honey, it's Mom,' said her mother, who had obviously been crying.

'Mom, what's wrong?' asked Lisa, suddenly alert.

There was a long pause. 'Grandma died, honey.'

The hand that wasn't holding the phone flew to Lisa's mouth and she quickly started crying for the first time in what seemed like forever. Jackson watched the grainy representation of Lisa on his screen and found another thing he liked about her—she made a wonderful face when she cried. Those eyebrows arched a certain way, her eyes became clearer and her cheeks reddened.

'When... when's the service?'

Jackson froze.

'The 26th.'

'In Dallas?'

'Of course, honey. Grandma wouldn't want to be buried anywhere else now, would she?'

'Of course not,' Lisa said in a strained voice, reaching over to turn on her nightstand light. She picked up a pen and took a few notes. 'What time, Mom?'

'The funeral's at noon and we'll have a gathering at my house afterwards. If you'd like, you can stay at my house that—'

'No, Mom, I have to be back here on the 27th. We have a VIP coming from Washington and I'll need to be here for it. I'll just take the red-eye back to Miami, it's all right.'

'I love you, sweetheart. I'll see you on Friday.'

'Love you too, Mom.'

After she hung up the phone, she disappeared into her living room to make flight arrangements, but Jackson was already one step ahead of her. The computer screen flashed up her own so that he was able to watch what flight and seat she was on. He got Greg on the line and he, in turn, had their contact at Fresh Air on the line so that they could arrange everything perfectly. Once she was placed in row 18, Jackson was placed in the same row, seated right next to her. The seat had an Airfone and she would be pressed right to the window so there was less chance for her to escape. Perhaps she would be stereotypical and feel her mortality because of her grandmother's death and therefore be more willing to help make everything go to plan.

'Jackson, you'll be leaving tomorrow morning to go get a feeling for the airport. I've made reservations for you at a hotel adjacent to the airport; if Ian needs to send you anything, it'll be fast and easy because of the airport being there. We probably won't be speaking again, so it's been good working for you over the last few years.'

'You've been a great help, Greg.'

With that simple, unemotional good-by, the two hung up for what Jackson hoped would be the last time.

---

Lisa spent her Friday in numb shock. The death had definitely broadsided her, and as she sat in the church beside her mother staring at the casket, it seemed like everything was just a bad dream. No one had expected Henrietta's death—it had been very sudden and her mother had known at that ungodly hour only because Duke had called her immediately. As they drove to the gravesite, she just stared out the window at the heavy rain. She never cried in front of the family, not even when they lowered her grandmother's body into the wet earth.

After the funeral, the party went to Carol's house to express their condolences and reminisce. Lisa, on the other hand, spent the entire afternoon in the kitchen watching the guests as she drank glass after glass of Almaden Burgundy, occasionally interrupted by people she didn't know who told her over and over again how wonderful her grandmother was and how much she must miss her. And she did miss her, that was true, but she didn't need everyone reminding her of her loss. So she drank some more.

Jackson's day started very early. He was growing increasingly worried that Ian wouldn't be able to filch Reisert's wallet, so he alleviated the worry by studying the blueprints and photos he'd accrued over the last few weeks. Finally, by early evening, the phone rang and a man at the front desk told Jackson that he had a package and that he'd be sending an employee up to deliver it to him. When it was placed in his hands, a weight dropped off of his shoulders. Standing by the bed, he ripped open the envelope and looked at the monogrammed leather for a moment before opening it and dumping all of Reisert's credit cards. He stared at the picture of a younger Lisa for a moment before closing it and looking at the initials again. Crossing the room to the desk, he replaced the contents with his own credit cards and Florida identification. That finished, he packed up all of his reference material on the Lux Atlantic and headed off to the airport. He wasn't sure when Lisa would actually arrive, that was dependant on when the gathering dispersed, but when she got there, he wanted to be ready.

---

He sat on a bench looking towards the outside for a few hours, glancing down at his watch nervously as the departure time crept closer and closer. Every taxi that arrived at the airport made him perk up, but when middle-aged housewives and self-righteous businessmen alighted rather than the petite hotel manager, he just grew more and more angry. It was about ten minutes before the scheduled departure when he saw her get out of a taxi talking on her cell phone and he stood, following a good forty feet behind her as she checked for the new departure time and headed off to the check-in. By the time he reached her, however, she had already crammed the ear-buds of her iPod into her ears and wasn't paying any attention to anyone around her. By her nervousness, Jackson was able to detect that she was terrified of flying, and that just made his job all the easier.

Pretending to read the USA Today, he stood right behind her, taking in the scent of her perfume and the slight aura of cheap wine. She was reading a self-help book; he'd noticed that that was basically all she kept on the shelves in her living room, but he had no idea why a young woman like her would feel such a need to 'transform' herself. Honestly, when he'd seen her in earlier years, he'd never have picked her as the self-help book type, especially since she didn't seem very close to her psychiatrist mother. He knew something had happened to her but had absolutely no clue what it was. Whatever happened, she never talked about it and no one ever mentioned it. Occasionally, when he watched her sleep, he would catch a glimpse of a scar on her chest, but he couldn't see enough of it to determine how old the scar was, so he didn't know if it was just a field hockey injury or something else.

She bumped into the woman in front of her and apologised profusely without removing her headphones. When the woman started talking, however, she removed them and started up a conversation with her about that damn Dr Phil. Jackson just kept fake-reading his paper as she offered up the book to the older woman. He was pleased to see that after the exchange, Lisa didn't bother putting her headphones back in her ears; after all, she was second in line. When a man next to them started up a fight with one of the ticketing agents, Jackson lowered his paper with a mental grin, knowing that this was the perfect opportunity to grab Lisa's attention. Before he was able to say anything, however, she spoke.

'Sir, please don't make her do that. She's doing the best she can.'

Jackson looked at her darkly.

'I don't think I was talking to you,' said the man.

'No, I realise that—'

Despite the glare that Jackson was giving him, the man continued. 'Listen, I'm just trying—'

Jackson had had enough of this guy's bullshit. No one was going to talk to Lisa that way. 'Please, sir, um... she is the only one standing between us getting out of here at all and total anarchy.'

'Yeah, but she's not the one—'

His left hand flew out and grabbed the man's wrist. 'She's exhausted, she's worked eighteen hours straight, and she suspects we all hate her just as much as you do. So what do you say we give her a break? Let her get back to her job, which I'm guessing is a lot more thankless than yours.'

One look into his icy eyes, and the man lost the fight. '... this airline sucks.'

Lisa looked back at him and without thinking, he gave her a face and she turned around. He watched her closely as she ran to give the old woman's umbrella back to her, willing her to speak to him. He was rewarded as soon as she took her place back in line. The old woman thanked him first, and Lisa took off from that.

'Yeah, thank you,' she said quickly, looking back down at her bags.

'Oh, not at all. I was just backup,' he said, leaning closer to her. 'You got the ball rolling.'

She smiled. 'Yeah, reflex I guess.'

'Why is that?' he asked, a British accent slipping through his words for whatever reason; this was going extremely well.

'Well...' she started, looking up at him. 'I work in a hotel. I deal with people like that all the time.'

Of that, he was completely certain. Whenever he got the balls to watch her at work, flashing her fake smile, it was always total douchebags she was dealing with. 'Oh, so, uh... the Marriot, Hilton?'

'The Lux Atlantic, it's in—'

'Miami, right.'

'Yeah.'

'I know it well,' he said. She had absolutely no idea how well he knew it—he was willing to bet he knew more about that building than she did. 'So, you're on this, uh—'

'Very delayed flight to Miami, yeah. You?'

Ah, the conversation was finally turning to him. The first step in a relationship. 'Yeah, sadly, yeah. You know what? That's why God created the Tex Mex. Best nachos in the airport, and right across from our gate.'

She smiled awkwardly. 'Good tip, thanks.'

He was slightly upset as she turned away, so he stared icily at the back of her head when he spoke again. 'Save you a seat?'

Again, awkwardness. 'Oh, um...'

What the hell was wrong with this woman? Time to regain ground. 'Yeah, you know, that was... I just thought since we were on the same flight... I didn't mean to invade your personal space...'

'No, no...' she said, seemingly surprised at his shyness and the display of apology. 'I just, I have... calls to make...'

'Sure, I understand,' he said, making sure to give her a slight sad puppy dog look as though his little hopes and dreams had been crushed by her rejection. 'You go ahead. Have a good flight.'

'Okay...' she said, and he knew he still had her in his grasp by her body language and the fact that she'd used an excuse rather than an outright rejection.

Security was a bitch, especially because the airport was absolutely packed with angry travellers who decided that it was a good idea to mess with the security officers. Jackson was about eleven people behind Lisa in line and kept an eye on her over his newspaper. She was just listening to her iPod, completely oblivious to anything else. She reached the checkpoint and went through without problem, disappearing to the side. He didn't have much to do at the checkpoint, so as she gathered her things at her station, he went on to the gate and took a seat at the Tex Mex place he'd scoped out a couple of days earlier. Staying in character, he ordered the nachos and just got himself a scotch on the rocks. Although not wanting to appear too intense, he kept a lookout for her in his peripheral vision.

There she appeared and was immediately doused in an iced mocha. She disappeared into the bathroom, and for several long minutes he fidgeted in his seat, blankly eating nachos and emptying his glass. If she didn't come and he wasn't able to butter her up, it was going to be much more difficult to engage her in conversation on the plane. He wanted this to go quietly and smoothly so he could return one of his apartments, he wasn't quite sure where, and just live out his life peacefully. If he fucked this assignment up, this incredibly straightforward and simple assignment, he'd leave the organisation as a failure. When they discussed the history of the organisation with new recruits, they'd talk about his successful Abacha assassination and the Nepal murder-suicide, but at the end, when the recruits asked about what Jackson was doing, they'd say that he failed on a completely routine mission and left in shame. The bartender refilled his glass and Jackson tapped it on the counter before taking a big swig of the smooth liquid.

As he set the glass down, he heard rolling wheels and looked up with a genuine smile at Lisa, who was now wearing a much more flattering cardigan over a pretty tank-top. He laughed a little. 'Oh, hi.'

'Hi,' she said, suddenly sheepish. 'Um... is this... taken?'

Perfect. Absolutely perfect. 'No, it's all yours.'

He watched her sit; she had a beautiful smile, and as far as he could tell, it was honest. It wasn't the same peppy look she gave to all of the customers at the Lux. 'Thanks.'

'So, uh... get your... calls made?' he asked, and she gave him a surprised look.

'Yep, no more calls,' she replied, her wide eyes completely giving away the fact that she'd been lying.

He was displeased with this but kept up appearances. 'Good. What'll you have?'

'Oh, ah... no, it's, I'm okay,' she said, knowing full and well she'd had more box wine in the last few hours than she'd had over the last three years.

'If I can guess,' he said, and she perked up in interest.

'Okay...'

He threw his head back, acting as though he were lost in thought, when really he was just trying to figure out the best winding trail to the already known answer of Seabreeze. 'Um... I'm feeling vodka.'

Even if he didn't know the answer, the look she gave him would have given away the fact that vodka was in the drink.

'Definitely sweetened...' he continued. 'Um... Cosmo.'

'Noooo...' she creaked, tipping her head to the side.

'Too common,' he said, paying her a sleek compliment. 'Screwdriver.'

She made the face just like before she cried, but then copied the face he'd made to her in line and looked over at the gate.

'Too boring...' he continued, another compliment—she seemed dull at first, but the mystery surrounding her odd behaviour changed that—and she gave him a little blushing look. 'So that leaves the simplicity of grapefruit or the complexity of pineapple.'

Now there was a little fear in her look as she stared at him, nodding. 'Hm.'

'Grapefruit,' he said smoothly, pointing at her. 'Seabreeze.'

She gave him a dark look before turning to the barkeep, and he gave an equally dark look because he could tell she was up to something. 'Uh, could I have a Baybreeze?'

'Ah...' he said, and immediately had a sense of foreboding.

This wasn't going to be as easy as he first thought. He could already feel the anger crawling up his spine, the same anger that was usually focused on Lyna, and at that moment, he knew nothing from that point was going to go as planned.