I leaned back and sipped my juice. Luther Vandross crooned, “So Amazing,” over speakers that made it sound like he was in the limo with me. No matter what happened today, next Saturday morning I'd be on the first Caribbean-bound flight to meet Terrence for five whole weeks, the most vacation I’d ever taken at one time. As much vacation as I had banked I could have taken off five months.
No phone. No television. The brush of tropical breezes against our skin. The sound of waves crashing on the shore. The smell of—what was that smell? I knocked on the partition separating us.
Jeeves slid it open. “Don’t panic.”
My decision to panic or not rested solely on his answer to my next question. “What’s burning?”
“The engine.” He exited the highway and parked. Well, he got within shouting distance of the curb before the limo died.
Now seemed the perfect time to panic. Thornwood’s warehouse district, with its umpteen blocks of abandoned buildings and weed-choked fields, wasn’t a limo part of town.
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