But I’m not surprised when we step out of the airport to find a man holding a sign that reads: “Mr. Banks” waiting beside a black MercedesGLA.
“Wow, you think of everything, don’t you?” I say as I follow Elijah to the idlingcar.
“I tryto.”
Elijah steps to the passenger side and opens door. “Your chariot awaits.” He bows his head and motions toward the interior of thevehicle.
“You’redriving?”
“Yes.”
I eye him suspiciously when I climb into the luxury car. “Why does this concernme?”
“Because everything concerns you?” Grinning, he closes the door, then rounds the car, quickly climbing behind the wheel. “Now…” He presses the ignition and fiddles with the column. “The gas pedal is the one on the right,correct?”
My eyes go wide, fearing he’s going to kill us. “You’rekidding?”
He shrugs before revving the engine. “Yep. It’s the rightone.”
I can’t decide whether he’s serious or not, but I’m going to pray that he’s joking. After all, I’ve never seen him drive. Hell, he may not even have a validlicense.
He shifts into gear, revs the engine one last time, and we shoot away from the curb with tires squealing. I bet if I looked in the rearview there would be a cloud of gray smoke drifting off in thebreeze.
“Who knew SUVs where so speedy.” I side eye him while checking the catch on my seatbelt, which, the laugh that just bellowed from his chest indicates he findsamusing.
The second we’re on the highway, Elijah floors it, switching lanes like he’s Jeff Gordon and this is the Daytona500.
“You know, when you told me you had a driver because you were a liability behind the wheel?” I ask, and he grins. “I believeit.”
He moves to the far lane— without using his blinker. I shake my head and take a deep breath, praying that wherever we have to go isn’tfar.
Anhourlater,we’re on a country highway, surrounded by woods and the Appalachian Mountains. And my nerves are more than rattled. Elijah cutoff one eighteen-wheeler, and he nearly made Bambi’s stunt double intoroadkill.
When the sun drops below the horizon, the halogen headlights automatically illuminate the street and then the thick woods. “At least now we’ll see the eerie, green glow of the deer’s eyes before it leaps out in front ofus.”
“I wasn’t close to hittingit.”
“Pfft.” I cross my arms over my chest. “It was so close, I saw it’s butthole,Elijah.”
Shaking his head, hechuckles.
My phone chimes with a text from Steph:Did youcrash?
I roll my eyes.Me: I’m in North Carolina withElijah.
Steph: He flew you to NorthCarolina?
Me: Firstclass.
Steph: Forwhat?
The last of my signal bars disappears, and I quickly type:I don’t know yet, but I’m about to lose reception. I’ll text you later,and press send, not sure whether the message will go through ornot.
Elijah makes a hard turn onto a narrow road that appears to lead up themountainside.
“Still not going to tell me?” Iask.
“No.” There’s an audible smile in histone.
