Page 97 of Over Her Dead Body

He jerks away.

I grip it tighter and stab again.

This time, the point punches through the white of his eye. There is a moment of soft resistance, then the pen sinks farther than anything should.

His scream fills the car.

Something warm spills across my fingers.

His fist opens.

I wrench free and reach into his jacket for my phone.

His free arm swings backward and catches the side of my face. Light bursts behind my eyes, but my fingers close around the phone. It catches in the lining. I pull until the pocket tears.

I drag myself over the console and into the passenger seat.

I open the door and fall onto the road.

My palms hit first. Then my knee. The pavement removes skin from both.

Someone shouts.

A construction worker runs toward us carrying a stop sign. Another man steps out of the truck.

I push myself upright.

Behind me, the sedan lurches forward with the passenger door still open. It strikes another barrier, veers around the truck, and accelerates down the road.

My purse is still looped over my arm. My wallet and passport are still inside.

My suitcase is still in the trunk.

My phone remains clenched in my hand. The screen is cracked across the middle.

The construction worker reaches me and begins speaking rapidly in Portuguese.

I look toward the road where the car disappeared.

My phone rings.

The travel service’s number flashes across the broken screen.

I answer.

“Emma?” a woman asks. “The car service just called. Your driver is waiting at arrivals. What should I tell them?”

CHAPTER 37

ANONYMOUS

The third report arrives while Daniel is on hold.

I let him wait.

Airport arrivals operate on a charming premise: anyone capable of spelling your surname may be trusted with your life and luggage.

Emma Calloway found hers printed on a white card.