Free The Dark Ones by Anthony Izzo Page A

in the car, keeping her travel bag on her lap. The car smelled of new leather and perfume.
    Joanne climbed in and started up the car. They pulled out of the rest area parking lot and merged onto I-90. Joanne kept her foot steady on the gas and Sara watched the speedometer creep to seventy-five.
    “Nervous?”
    “Just that you’re driving like Dale Earnhardt Jr.”
    Joanne gave a throaty laugh. “Speed limit’s sixty-five. And I’ve never been stopped below eighty.”
    The car cruised along and when they reached the next exit, Joanne flipped on the blinker. They took the off-ramp, made a right and a left at the next exit, down a road called Cherry View Lane.
    “So where were you headed?” Joanne asked.
    “Buffalo.”
    “Any reason?”
    “None that I want to discuss.”
    “Fair enough.”
    They reached a pair of green mailboxes and a driveway and Joanne turned up it. The drive wound up into the hills and there were lights planted in the ground about every twenty feet. They turned right around a bend and Sara saw the house, a huge colonial, all brick. A three-car garage jutted out from one side, and it looked as if they had built living space over the garage.
    Joanne reached over and pressed the garage door remote, which was clipped to the visor on Sara’s side. The door opened with a squeak and Joanne pulled the BMW into the garage. She killed the headlights and got out. Sara followed, clutching her bag so as not to scrape it against the car. God knew what a machine like this cost.
    They entered the house through the garage and stepped into a large kitchen with an island and a Viking range against the wall. The countertops were done in black ceramic and the appliances were stainless steel. It was, to Sara, sterile but nice.
    Joanne set her keys on the counter and removed her coat. “You can set your bag down. I’ll get your luggage out of the trunk.”
    She disappeared into the garage and returned with Sara’s suitcase.
    There were stools around the island and Sara pulled one out and sat down. Joanne opened the fridge and said, “Would you like a Coke, or lemonade? If you’re hungry I have some Lean Cuisine in the freezer.”
    “No, thanks.” A chill passed through her and she shivered.
    “Would you like to go upstairs and take a hot bath? You look chilled.”
    “Actually, could I use your phone?”
    “Sure can. But I bet you’d feel better if you warmed up first. I’ve got plenty of extra towels.”
    She felt strange taking a bath in a complete stranger’s house, but it did sound good. Being out in the fall night had given her a good chill.
    “I think I’ll take you up on that,” Sara said.
    “I’ll show you where it is and get you a towel.”
     
     
    The bathtub was a claw-foot and Sara took advantage, filling it with piping hot water to the brim. Joanne had told her to help herself to any of the bath beads or lotions in the medicine cabinet. Before she got in the tub, she locked the bathroom door. Her host seemed kind enough, but she felt the extra caution couldn’t hurt.
    She soaked for half an hour, and after toweling off and getting dressed, she went back downstairs. The warmth had crept back into her body and she was glad for taking Joanne up on the offer of a bath. Despite her physical comfort, she began to worry again. She was at a stranger’s house in the middle of Pennsylvania and still had no way to get to Buffalo. David had no idea where she was, and what if this woman turned out to be a psycho?
    She found Joanne in the kitchen hunched over a stack of papers, pen in hand. A briefcase rested on the floor next to her chair. She took a sip of red wine from the glass on the table and offered Sara a seat.
    “What do you do?” Sara asked.
    “I’m vice president of sales for Markson Industries. We make gears mostly.”
    “Sounds glamorous, gears and all.”
    Joanne laughed. “Not so much. The hours are long, my boss is a pit bull, but the pay’s damn nice.”
    “I can tell by the