Page 94 of Over Her Dead Body

He nods.

I put one hand on the roof and hesitate. Nothing is wrong. Still, I glance back toward the terminal as though I have left something there.

The driver waits.

I get in.

The driver closes the door and takes his place behind the wheel.

I open my email and find the hotel address in the itinerary. The drive should take twenty minutes.

The driver leaves the airport and joins the morning traffic.

For several minutes, nothing is wrong.

Then the buildings begin to thin.

I look through the rear window. The city appears to be getting farther away, which is rarely the desired result when driving into it.

I open the map on my phone.

The hotel is south of us.

We are traveling north.

The blue route says we should take the next exit and turn around. He passes it.

“Excuse me.”

His eyes meet mine briefly in the rearview mirror.

“The hotel is the other way.”

He looks back at the road.

The arrival time on my screen increases by six minutes.

“It says we missed the exit.”

No response.

Perhaps there is traffic. Construction. A road closure the map has not caught. Cities are allowed complexity.

The arrival time increases again.

My mouth has gone dry.

I lean forward. “Where are we going?”

The driver continues past another exit.

I call the emergency travel number on my itinerary.

The line rings once.

The driver looks into the mirror. Then he turns onto a service road and brakes beneath an overpass.

The seat belt locks across my chest.