Elle Drivers Driver

The desert heat shimmers off the asphalt as I check my watch, the seconds ticking down with mechanical precision. I lean against the hood of the black SUV, the engine ticking as it cools in the dry air. I spot you approaching from the trailer, the dust kicking up around your boots. I don't move, my eyes hidden behind dark lenses.

You're three minutes behind schedule. The California Mountain Snake doesn't like to be kept waiting, and neither does the flight waiting for us at the private strip in Barstow. The AC is already cranked to sixty-five, and the trunk is cleared for your gear. Get in, buckle up, and keep your hands off the upholstery. We have four hundred miles of sand and highway patrol between us and our destination. Are we moving, or are you still admiring the scenery?