At nearly nine o’clock that night, Garrett guided the big black truck down a small private lane that cut off from a two-lane road outside Spearfish. Sloane couldn’t tell much more than that, since it was pitch-black out there, with zero street lights and only those little reflector things by the roadway to guide them in. She had an impression of tall trees almost meeting overhead, hiding their progress.
Not that there were probably any nearby onlookers, not out in the boonies like that. Eventually, the lane they traversed curved around and came to a stop in front of a large detached garage with what appeared to be six bays.
Garrett didn’t pull into any of them, however. Instead, he shut off the truck’s engine and got out, and Sloane wearily followed suit. Before she could reach for her s
