No one had ever called me indecisive before, though I didn’t recall ever acting spontaneously before either.
“Blackwells don’t give up,”my family mantra rang through my ears.
“Fine.” I nodded. “We have a deal.”
Chapter 3
Maren
“Are you seriously expecting me to get into this thing?” I squinted at the white, windowless van that Leslo had parked in the lot.
Leslo shrugged. “What does it matter? It’ll get you there. Or would you rather walk all the way to Teterboro?”
Charters usually took off from Teterboro Airport, which was on the other side of Manhattan. Not an overly long drive, but...a windowless van was not the vehicle I was going to climb into without at least asking some questions first.
I spread my arms, shaking my head. “Why does your company think this is acceptable transportation for charter passengers?”
If anything, the van looked far more suitable for a psycho serial killer. The last thing I needed was to end up on some true-crime documentary.
Leslo flinched, staring at his van as if trying to assess it from my perspective. “Listen, things got a little messy this morning. The storm, the flight delays, you know...”
“How does the storm affect limo service?” I squinted at him, crossing my arms over my chest.
“They call it a ‘domino effect,’ ma’am. Ever heard of that?” Leslo was getting defensive, his I-don’t-give-a-fuck mask slipping a little. “I wasn’t even supposed to be at the terminaltoday. I was just bringing some cargo to the charter when they called me to pick up this doctor lady at the arrivals. Then I saw you, all stranded and lost...” He spat on the pavement. “Serves me right for trying to help someone out.”
I felt a pang of guilt. It was nice of him to offer me the vacant seat. He could’ve just left me there, then I’d be inside the terminal, frantically searching for a solution that didn’t exist.
“Alright. You’re right. I’m sorry,” I said sincerely. “And thank you for the offer.”
He shrugged and opened the back of the van. It was loaded with crates and rolls of red and yellow canvas.
“Is that the cargo you’re delivering to the plane?” I asked, peeking into the van around his bicep.
Nothing inside looked valuable enough to me to warrant the charter transport cost, but maybe there was something unique or personal in those crates that someone treasured enough to pay for the delivery? At least there weren’t any chains or cages in there, as far as I could see. No bloodstains either. The space looked worn and scuffed, but clean. Leslo grabbed my suitcase and situated it between a crate and a blue cooler.
“Do you want this in here too?” he asked, pointing at my oversized purse that I had slung over my shoulder.
Everything of any importance in my life was in that purse, including my laptop.
“No. I’ll keep it with me.” I gripped the handles of the purse.
“Suit yourself.” He opened the cooler and took out a bottle of shimmering, multicolored liquid.
“Do you want a drink?” He offered it to me.
I stared at the pearlesque swirls of pink and blue inside the bottle. It was pretty, but I’d never seen anything like that before.
“What kind of drink is this?” I asked.
“It’s bubblegum-flavored. My favorite.”
“No thanks. I’m good.” I declined.
He tossed the bottle back into the cooler, then closed the back doors and opened the passenger’s door for me.
I paused, clutching the handles of my purse.
What did I really know about this man? He showed me his driver’s license and a cardboard sign. Was it enough to potentially gamble with my life by trusting him?
