Page 131 of Over Her Dead Body

She reaches for a panel beside the door.

Outside, the gates begin to separate.

I am through the front door before they finish.

The driveway is longer than I remember. Still, it is outside, and nothing about it involves a third floor.

I run.

My lungs are still burning from the pepper spray. My eyes water. My knee has abandoned any pretense of supporting this plan.

I keep going.

Behind me, someone comes out of the house.

I hear the shout.

I do not look back.

The gates are still opening when I reach them. I turn sideways and squeeze through the gap.

By the time I reach the road, one shoe is trying to come off anyway. I kick it free, lose the other one three steps later, and keep going barefoot.

I follow the road downhill.

The first car passes without slowing.

So does the second.

By the third, I have had enough.

I step into the road.

The driver hits the brakes.

His horn stays down for several seconds.

I lift the gun.

The horn stops.

He stares through the windshield at me.

I open the passenger door and give him the name of my hotel.

He stares at me, then says something in Portuguese that sounds very much like no.

“I need a ride.”

He points at himself, then the car. “Not taxi.”

“I’m not going to rob you.”

His eyes drop to the gun.

Then the dress.

“No sex.”