“Yes,” I replied. “I’ll be right there. I just need to finish with this gentleman.”
“Very good, Ma’am. Hopefully not too long. It’s Friday night.”
I smiled at him and nodded. Then I turned my attention to Trace.
“Where were we?” I asked.
“Mr. Baxter would like to discuss resuming his appointments with you in private.”
“No, the part before that.”
“He would like you to come with me?” Trace asked, obviously unsure of what I was referring to.
“No. The part where he was sorry for missing his last two appointments. How sorry?”
“Very sorry, Ma’am.” Realization dawned on his face and a big smile crossed his face for a few seconds. “If you come with me, you’ll see how very sorry he is.”
I attempted to pierce Trace’s gaze with my own eyes, drilling into him to see if he would flinch. He didn’t. I guess if you drive for a rich man, you’re not easily intimidated. Or had Trace always been like that?
“Very well, Mr. Adams. Let me take care of the Uber driver and you can take me to see Mr. Baxter.” I started for the Kia.
“That won’t be necessary, Miss Davenport. I’ll take care of the driver. Please, get in the vehicle.” He opened the back door and motioned for me to enter.
I stepped up to the door, examined the interior once again, and then slid in to the back seat. Trace shut the door, disappeared behind me, and then slid into the front seat about a minute later. I saw the Kia pull out and drive past.
“I hope you didn’t just scare him off. I was going to give him some money for his troubles,” I said.
“I compensated him well, Ma’am.”
Trace looked in the rear-view mirror and I could see his dark eyes smiling back at me. He pulled out and wound his way through the streets of LA. The back of the Navigator was luxurious and even had a small bar built in to the back of the front seat console. It had much more legroom than I expected. Much more than the Kia.
“Is this custom-built?” I asked casually as Trace pulled onto 110, heading south.
“Yes, Ma’am. Good eye. Longer body by two feet. Reinforced chassis. Military grade bullet proof glass. This is the boss’s flagship.” He rattled off the information like a proud father. “Help yourself to a drink, if you’d like. There is also some wine in the cooler.”
I opened the built-in cooler behind the driver’s seat. It was big enough for a six-pack and a little taller. Three half-bottles of wine were in there, packed in some ice. A red, a white, and a rose rested in the cool interior. I passed on the wine. I had no intentions of giving any advantage to the man I was being taken to.
We passed the Staples Center and soon after, Trace exited Highway 110 and merged onto Highway 10.
“You’re not taking me to some dark corner of LA to eliminate me, are you, Mr. Adams?”
“No, Ma’am. I think that would be a waste. We’re headed to Santa Monica. We should be there in about thirty minutes.” He cracked a smile as he answered me. In the highway's light and the general glow of the city, I could tell he had a handsome face.
“So, how long have you been driving for Mr. Baxter?”
“About fifteen years, Ma’am.”
“Mr. Adams, I’d prefer Reggie or Miss Davenport, if you don’t mind.”
“Very well, Miss Davenport.”
“Where did you meet Mr. Baxter?”
“Iraq in 2003 during the war. I drove for him there too.”
“What was he, a consultant or a diplomat?” I asked.
I hadn’t really done a lot of research on Dirk since our first meeting. The first week I was anxious and stressing over revealing who I was to him. When he didn’t show up for his appointment on the following Monday, I thought I had blown it and lost a patient. The next week, after he missed the next scheduled appointment, I tried to put that aside and focus on work.
