Her mind raced. She knew she had to get away before he took her out of the center of town. There must be some people still awake she thought desperately. She told him she was going to be sick again and he carefully pulled over. Given the way she felt, it was hardly a lie. Fortunately, the door wasn’t locked then and she opened it and bent over as if to throw up. But instead, she rolled head over heels the way she used to in high-school gym and was momentarily blocked from his view by the wing. She desperately scrambled on all fours around a parked car and began to run, her spine tensed for the impact of a bullet. She ran wildly, terrified that she might slip because of her high heels. When she rounded the corner into the shadows of the rue de Seine, she briefly thought she might make it. But she never really had a chance, she realized dully.

They turned off the autoroute near Fontainebleau and drove down a country road overhung with dark and ancient trees. It felt as if they were entering a primordial forest. Every so often Gerard glanced over at her, his eyes dark and calculating. Mercifully, her hands had gone numb, but she felt a terrible urge to urinate. She squeezed her legs together to hold it in, like a child. Then he pulled into a dark driveway and left the car to open an old metal gate. She briefly thought of running again, but how and where? She was helpless.

He drove the car past the gate, then went and locked it. She felt a warm flush between her thighs and wondered if she had wet herself. Then he drove up to a dark house, with a single light in one of the windows. He hauled her out of the Mercedes and unlocked the front door. There was a murmur of voices coming from what appeared to be the living room. Then a small dark-skinned man peered from the doorway. Kelly was about to beg him to help her, when she realized that he didn’t seem in the least surprised to see her.

“Tout va bien?” the man said to Gerard, in a harsh voice that grated like fingernails on metal.

“Pas des problems,” Gerard replied. No, no problems. She had been easy as pie, she thought miserably. Gerard led her down a dimly lit stairway to a tiny room lit by the harsh glare of a naked bulb and walled with whitewashed stone. Except for a narrow bed and a dirty sink, the room was bare as a nun’s cell. Gerard clicked open a long stiletto blade. It glittered like ice.

“Please … don’t kill me … oh, please,” she gasped.

“Kill you,” Gerard frowned. “Pas de tout. You’re worth more to me than that, ma petite.”