“Oh,” I say, sitting back.
A wave of uneasiness slinks through my gut.
The driver gestures to his Waze app that he has running on his iPad mounted to the dash, but I can’t make heads or tails of it.
The music seems to keep repeating over and over again from the stereo, making me feel like I’m in a hypnotic time loop. I start nodding off.
Stay awake, a voice says in my head. Stay alert.
I open my eyes, focusing on the scene. I’m still in the back of the Uber, still climbing up the road, from the glances down below it looks like civilization is dropping away behind us.
I glance up at the rearview mirror and catch the eyes of the driver.
He’s looking right at me.
Eyes so dark they’re almost black.
I quickly look away, pull out my phone, going to text Elle.
I have zero bars. No reception.
Fuck.
You’re being paranoid again, I tell myself. He’s taking you to the highway. You can loop into the city that way.
Still, I have to be sure. “You’re taking me to the city, right?”
He keeps staring at me. No expression on his face. Eventually he says, “San Francisco? I have you at 280 Lily Street.”
I nod. “Yeah, that’s it.”
He watches me for a moment, face impassive, then looks back to the road. His hand goes to the radio and switches the channel. Over and over again. Snippets of music coming out and then changing ad nauseum.
Honestly, it’s driving me crazy, but I don’t want to tell him to stop. I’m scared. I probably shouldn’t be, but I am. It’s disorienting to say the least.
I pull up the Uber app, even though I know I don’t have reception, wanting to make a note of whose car I’m in.
But when I see the picture, my heart sinks.
This isn’t fifty-year old Daniel Lee with his silver Ford Focus and five-star rating.
I’m in the wrong car.
My heart sinks, panic starting to spark along my limbs like Roman candles, my hand going to my mouth.
He knew my name. This man knew my name.
Think, Lenore, think, I tell myself. What do you do? What do you do?
I need to play it cool. He’s not my Uber, but there’s still a small chance that he’ll drop me off where I need to be. Maybe there’s a glitch in the system, maybe Daniel cancelled the ride and then this guy picked it up and the lack of reception is showing the lag. I mean, how else did he know my address?
And that’s when it hits me.
I know who this is.
I look back into the rearview mirror and his eyes are right there.
Watching me.
Yet this guy is different from my stalker. I’ve only seen him from this angle, but he’s not as tall, not as broad shouldered. His vibe is different too…though not any less dangerous.
What the fuck is going on?
And then the road opens up a bit. The rugged terrain and wilderness dissipate for a moment. The lights of Highway 24 sparkling gloriously to my left, cars whizzing underneath us going into the tunnel that will pop them out into north Oakland.
I hold my breath, waiting, praying, for him to take the car to the left, to do a U-turn, to do anything to connect us onto that highway that will take us over the Bay Bridge and into San Francisco.
Please, please, please.
I’m almost in tears, my heart clenched in my chest.
But when he should turn left, he turns right.
Onto Old Tunnel Road.
A narrow one-lane that disappears into the foggy oak trees.
Into the narrow ridges of the hills.
Away from…everything.
Chapter Four
I suck in my breath, trying not to panic but it’s too late. I’m panicking.
What do I do, what do I do?
Oh my god! Fuck, someone please help me.
I can’t pretend anymore that I haven’t noticed, can’t pretend I don’t know what’s happening. I have to say something, I have to do something.
“Excuse me,” I tell him, my voice sounding so terribly scared and small. “The highway was right there. We need to turn around.”
The man doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at me in the mirror, his dark eyes seeming to take over my vision.
“Shortcut,” he says roughly.
“No,” I say, surprised by my bravery. “This isn’t a shortcut. This is the wrong way. You need to turn around now. Please.”
Please. Please listen to me, please, please.
He cocks his brow.
Looks back to the road.
Keeps driving down the deserted road.
I’m fucked. I’m so fucked.
I’m this close to crying, to screaming, to losing it.
My phone still has no reception, but it doesn’t stop me from dialing 911, holding it up to my ear, hoping someone will hear me.
“Yeah, hi, Elle,” I say into the phone, my voice shaking, even though there’s no sound coming from it at all. “That Uber I’m in, he’s refusing to take me the right way. That’s right. Oh, you’re not far? Yeah, we went up Grizzly Peak Road. We’re on Old Tunnel Road.”