The jet taxis right up to a black Lincoln with heavily tinted windows. We jar slightly, coming to a full stop, and Zander wastes no time getting us off the plane and into the waiting car that is obviously for us.
A beefy man opens the back door then stows our bags in the trunk. Zander’s hand on my lower back ushers me forward into the leather bench seat. I smooth my dress and take a deep breath. I’m startled to see the back of another man’s head sitting in the front passenger seat of the Lincoln.
“Hey, Trav,” Zander mumbles.
“Zander. How you been, man?” The man he called Trav turns around in his seat to face us.
“Travis, this is Sadie Parker. Sadie, this is Travis Casin. He works for dear old Dad,” Zander explains, buckling his seatbelt.
I turn my attention to the middle-aged white man in the passenger seat. He’s handsome. Well-dressed, from what I can see. Unassuming. Salt and pepper hair that’s more pepper than salt. I smile courteously and lean forward to take the hand that he offered.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s all mine, ma’am.”
“So what’s the plan for tonight and in the days after, Trav?” Zander asks, all business.
“Well, we didn’t have much notice, so we’ve been doing some damage control as far as social media and public knowledge. There’s nothing much to cover, though, so it’s been pretty to the point. We’ll just feed them the information and nothing else. It’s important that she not give them any reason to take photos or chase her. Low profile. You know the drill.” The man in the front seat rambles on at a rapid pace, his head facing forward.
“Travis,” Zander growls with a clenched jaw.
“I’m sitting right here. You can talk to me, you know,” I interject, sparing no insolence.
Travis holds his hands up in mock surrender but doesn’t look back at either one of us. Nor does he apologize. “Ma’am—” he begins.
“Sadie. Call me Sadie.”
“Okay. Sadie, is there anything damaging that the media could dig up on you?”
“Fuckin’ bullshit,” Zander mutters rubbing the bridge of his nose with his eyes squeezed shut.
“Define damaging? Like am I a crack whore? High school dropout? Do I fib on my taxes? What are you getting at?”
“Anything. Drugs, illegal or otherwise. Peculiar hobbies. Known associates that may be of questionable background. Anything like that.”
“Wow. Uh, no. None of that. My life is boring.” I decide to skip on telling him anything about the anxiety meds. It’s none of his or anyone else’s goddamn business anyway.
“Let’s just go home. Fuck ‘em. Let ‘em write what they want. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll handle all of it,” Zander urges tersely, his Georgia drawl more prevalent now that he’s anxious and pissed. My mouth hangs open just a little thinking about his choice of words.
Let’s go home. Home. Is Tybee home? Could it be? Would it be if I’d let it?
“Zander, don’t be melodramatic,” Travis cuts in. “I’m only trying to do my job. I’m trying to avoid trouble. We’ve gone around in this same circle more than we should have, right?”
“You’re being a fucking dick!” Zander snaps. “Don’t talk that way in front of her and for damn sure not to her. Get me?”
Travis lifts his hands again and I subliminally re-label “Travis Casin” as “asshole.” It’s no wonder Zander wants nothing to do with all of this crap. I’ve only been involved for all of ten minutes and I’m ready to tell Travis and the rest of them to kiss my scrawny ass on their way to hell.
Who are they to pick apart and scrutinize Zander, or me, or anyone else, for that matter?
Zander laces his fingers with mine, but his eyes focus on everything zipping by outside his window. He’s tense. I can feel it. My guard has gone up and I don’t like what all of this has done to Zander. He doesn’t deserve this.
***
Thirty minutes later, we slowly approach a set of gates. I crane my neck enough to look beyond the driver and out the windshield. The beefy driver flicks his fingers in a little salute to a man in a small red brick security booth at the gate. The wrought iron gates part and slide open sluggishly to retreat behind a huge brick wall that appears to encircle the property. The driver takes us further down the smoothly paved driveway. Huge trees drip with Spanish moss, giving the place the old Georgia charm that is so unique to this part of the country.
A multilevel red brick house that looks more like a stately building comes into view. Windows with navy blue shutters ornament the front. Huge white pillars line the front of the house, creating a porch as wide at the house itself. The white pillars contrast against the red brick, creating a look that keeps my eyes locked on in admiration.