hurry.”
Surprisingly, that phrase did not inspire confidence. We waited through ID checks, credit checks, whispered conversations, and finally a massive set of paperwork, including a clause that I was fairly sure included forced organ harvesting in the event of nonpayment.
I just signed it, scribbling as fast as I could anywhere her well-manicured finger pointed. She wished us a pleasant stay in Miami. I didn’t correct her, just stood tapping my foot impatiently until the uniformed valet had brought the Boss around to the front.
Cherise opened the trunk and looked inside. “You’re kidding, right? My luggage will never—”
“Downsize,” I said. “You’re not packing for a photo shoot, you know.”
“How do you know? There’s always time to book a good gig before the end of the world. . . . Okay, fine.” She crammed two of the suitcases in, and rolled two more back inside. She came out empty-handed, and I raised my eyes. She scooted her big round sunglasses down to roll hers. “They’re shipping them to Warden HQ,” she said. “What, you really thought I’d just leave them? Girlfriend. There is Elie Saab in there. Ready-to-wear, but still. Respect.”
“Hey, you’ve got your drug. I’ve got mine.” I made sure the trunk was closed, and opened up the door for her as I flipped the driver’s seat forward. She got in with care. I was glad, because I really didn’t want to see any tabloid flashing. Kevin piled in next to her, and I smirked a little as I slammed the passenger seat back into place. With those long legs, he was not going to be overly comfortable . . . but then again, he wouldn’t have been comfortable in much except a stretch limo.
David and I slid into the front seats, and I turned the key. The vibration of the engine came straight up my spine, doing interesting things in all kinds of key pleasure points, and I hit the clutch and shifted into first gear.
The Boss scratched right out of the box, leaving a thin mist of smoke behind us as it roared off. Zero to thirty, way too fast, and I had to back off dramatically on the fuel mix. He was temperamental, this beast. I liked that. It took a few experimental shifts to find the sweet spot in the clutch and get the feel of the pedals, but not more than a minute. The rental company had added a plug-in GPS, which showed me the route to the nearest freeway, and by the time I hit the on-ramp me and the Boss were good friends.
Oh God , it felt good to be behind the wheel again, in control, heading somewhere with a purpose. No more Bad Bob. No more old ghosts haunting me. Just me, the car, my lover, and . . . okay, Cherise and Kevin. And a trunkload of couture. But still. I felt . . . light.
And oh Lord , the Boss had power. I had to watch to keep it hovering at reasonable speed, and it was still blowing the doors off Italian sports cars in the other lanes. I was glad it wasn’t a convertible. We might have died of the wind buffeting.
“Storm coming in,” Cherise said, after we’d put about twenty miles under the fast-turning wheels. I glanced in the rearview. She was facing west, out the window, with an odd expression on her face. I looked, and saw a smear of clouds on the horizon. I automatically tried to reach out and grab information from the aetheric, but I had that phantom limb syndrome that amputees sometimes have. Nothing there. Just a sensation that there had once been.
“Doesn’t look like much,” I said.
“It’s bad,” she said. “I think it’s bad.”
I gave her a sharper look. “What?”
She shook her head and slipped her sunglasses on, leaning her head back. “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me if we pass a hot male strip bar.”
Kevin growled, and she smiled and tucked her small hand in his. “Could we at least have some tunes?” he said. “Or is this car too sacred for a radio?”
“No car is too sacred for a radio,” I said. Sure enough, there was one—not factory original, apparently an upgrade from
Surprisingly, that phrase did not inspire confidence. We waited through ID checks, credit checks, whispered conversations, and finally a massive set of paperwork, including a clause that I was fairly sure included forced organ harvesting in the event of nonpayment.
I just signed it, scribbling as fast as I could anywhere her well-manicured finger pointed. She wished us a pleasant stay in Miami. I didn’t correct her, just stood tapping my foot impatiently until the uniformed valet had brought the Boss around to the front.
Cherise opened the trunk and looked inside. “You’re kidding, right? My luggage will never—”
“Downsize,” I said. “You’re not packing for a photo shoot, you know.”
“How do you know? There’s always time to book a good gig before the end of the world. . . . Okay, fine.” She crammed two of the suitcases in, and rolled two more back inside. She came out empty-handed, and I raised my eyes. She scooted her big round sunglasses down to roll hers. “They’re shipping them to Warden HQ,” she said. “What, you really thought I’d just leave them? Girlfriend. There is Elie Saab in there. Ready-to-wear, but still. Respect.”
“Hey, you’ve got your drug. I’ve got mine.” I made sure the trunk was closed, and opened up the door for her as I flipped the driver’s seat forward. She got in with care. I was glad, because I really didn’t want to see any tabloid flashing. Kevin piled in next to her, and I smirked a little as I slammed the passenger seat back into place. With those long legs, he was not going to be overly comfortable . . . but then again, he wouldn’t have been comfortable in much except a stretch limo.
David and I slid into the front seats, and I turned the key. The vibration of the engine came straight up my spine, doing interesting things in all kinds of key pleasure points, and I hit the clutch and shifted into first gear.
The Boss scratched right out of the box, leaving a thin mist of smoke behind us as it roared off. Zero to thirty, way too fast, and I had to back off dramatically on the fuel mix. He was temperamental, this beast. I liked that. It took a few experimental shifts to find the sweet spot in the clutch and get the feel of the pedals, but not more than a minute. The rental company had added a plug-in GPS, which showed me the route to the nearest freeway, and by the time I hit the on-ramp me and the Boss were good friends.
Oh God , it felt good to be behind the wheel again, in control, heading somewhere with a purpose. No more Bad Bob. No more old ghosts haunting me. Just me, the car, my lover, and . . . okay, Cherise and Kevin. And a trunkload of couture. But still. I felt . . . light.
And oh Lord , the Boss had power. I had to watch to keep it hovering at reasonable speed, and it was still blowing the doors off Italian sports cars in the other lanes. I was glad it wasn’t a convertible. We might have died of the wind buffeting.
“Storm coming in,” Cherise said, after we’d put about twenty miles under the fast-turning wheels. I glanced in the rearview. She was facing west, out the window, with an odd expression on her face. I looked, and saw a smear of clouds on the horizon. I automatically tried to reach out and grab information from the aetheric, but I had that phantom limb syndrome that amputees sometimes have. Nothing there. Just a sensation that there had once been.
“Doesn’t look like much,” I said.
“It’s bad,” she said. “I think it’s bad.”
I gave her a sharper look. “What?”
She shook her head and slipped her sunglasses on, leaning her head back. “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me if we pass a hot male strip bar.”
Kevin growled, and she smiled and tucked her small hand in his. “Could we at least have some tunes?” he said. “Or is this car too sacred for a radio?”
“No car is too sacred for a radio,” I said. Sure enough, there was one—not factory original, apparently an upgrade from
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