Black Sunshine (Dark Eyes 1)

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.