"Prado, get down," Guimarães ordered. And then it all happened very quickly; he shifted gears and sped the car down a narrow street I hadn't even noticed. The side mirror broke against the wall of the street, and some shots hit the front windshield, shattering it over me. He made a few more turns before stopping the car. I stayed down, trying not to think about what was happening. "Are you okay? Did you get cut?"
He removed the glass shards from on top of me, and I lifted my head.
"Are they gone?" I asked.
"Damn it, Prado. How did you cut your face?"
I looked in the rearview mirror and saw a small cut on my forehead that was bleeding, but it was very small and insignificant.
"I'm hungry," I complained.
He started the car again and began to drive.
"I need to take us to a safe place."
We drove for a few kilometers before finally stopping at a house. Guimarães grabbed all the stuff from the car, and we entered through the front door after he entered the code. The house was large, beautiful, and empty.
"This bandage needs to be redone," I commented, taking the briefcase from his hand.
Not that I was concerned about him, but if he died, I would be lost in the middle of nowhere, alone, with some psychopath chasing me.
He sighed and sat on the living room rug. I sat down beside him, removed the tape and some gauze, but I was careful not to remove all of it. I placed clean gauze on top and tightly wrapped the tape around it again.
"This isn't the first time I've been shot," he commented, breaking the silence.
"Well, it's the first time I've seen someone get shot."
"You shot me," he corrected me.
I nodded and finished the dressing.
"Fair enough. It's the first time I've shot someone."
Guimarães looked at me strangely. Then he got up and started packing things back into the briefcase.
"You're still under my custody, don't forget. The house is secure, and you won't be able to leave."
I found his tone rude, as if I were confusing things. I could have let him bleed to death in that inn. It would have been my perfect chance to escape. But I didn't. He could at least show some gratitude. After all, why was I expecting gratitude from a guy who tried to kill me twice?
I huffed and got up. He simply ignored me and went upstairs. But he forgot a very important detail. I ran to his bag and grabbed my cell phone. Several missed calls from Mari and Heitor. The battery was running out. I made sure to close the bag and leave it exactly where he had left it. I ran to the bathroom downstairs and locked the door. I needed to know if Mari was alive.
I called back several times, and just when I thought about giving up, Mari answered.
"Friend," I cried in relief.
The call crackled a bit, but when Marina spoke on the other end, I could hear her clearly.
"Where are you?"
"I don't know. I'm with Guimarães, and there are some guys after us. I don't know what's going on anymore."
"We're with Pierre."
"Pierre? So he's real?" I released the breath I didn't even know I was holding. That guy lied to me. But he was clearly involved in the story because he knew my name and Cassandra's.
"Eliz, he's from..." The call crackled again, louder this time.
"What?"
More static until the call dropped.
"From the Mafia, he's from the Mafia."
The message came through, and my phone turned off immediately after.
I needed to talk to someone, I really needed to talk to someone. But I only had Guimarães, and he wasn't a trustworthy person.
I left the bathroom and put the dead phone back in the bag. I went upstairs and entered a room that seemed to belong to some woman. I opened the wardrobe and took a look. There were only designer clothes.
"Wow!" I exclaimed without realizing.
"But how nosy you are," Guimarães complained, appearing in the doorway.
I rolled my eyes at him and ran my hand over one of the dresses.
"This must cost a fortune."
He entered the room and sat on the bed.
"And it does. Try it on."
I looked at him with my eyes shining.
"Seriously?"
"You don't have any clothes, right? Put yours to wash."
It was the first time he was nice to me, and that was very suspicious. But considering I saved his life. After shooting him, I know. But still, I saved him.
I went into the bathroom and was amazed by its size. I took off my clothes and filled the immense bathtub. I looked at myself in the mirror; the cut on my forehead had been deeper than I thought, but it was still a small cut. If it left any scar, it would be almost imperceptible if you didn't stop to notice. I was worn out; I needed a refreshing bath.
I had never seen so many beauty products in one place. I applied some foam to my body and didn't even know what it was for. I used exfoliant, body lotion, and hair conditioner; I think I spent about two hours in the bath. When I got out wrapped in a towel, Guimarães was still there.
"Let me see what I'm going to choose," I looked at the wardrobe and saw a short dress that seemed to be made of silk, it was kind of cream-colored. I took it off and went back to the bathroom. The dress slid over my body like a caress. I looked at myself in the mirror, and it was perfect. I took the opportunity to put my hair up in a bun, leaving two strands loose on the sides. I wrapped the strands around the curling iron and looked at myself in the mirror again.
When I left the bathroom, Guimarães was still there. He looked me up and down. He didn't say anything; his expression became serious. Was the dress his deceased wife's?
"It's. Not bad," he said distantly. "I'll prepare something for us to eat."
He left through the bedroom door, leaving me alone. I looked in the mirror again. I was extremely hot; how could he say "not bad"?
I took off my clothes and put them in the washing machine. When I passed by the kitchen, I noticed that he had improvised a quick dinner. When he saw me, he nodded towards the table, still finishing frying something on the stove.
I sat down on one of the chairs and served myself. Guimarães came soon after and sat across from me. He poured a glass of grape juice for me and another for him.
"Grape juice?" I asked.
"I can't drink on duty," he replied curtly.
His bipolarity was already getting on my nerves. One moment he seemed like a normal person, the next he treated me coldly and pushed me away.
"Whose clothes are these?"
He shrugged.
"Nobody's, it's a house from the Brazilian government for employees on duty in France."
I put my fork down and took a sip of grape juice. The whole situation was so unusual. It was all so strange, but at the same time, exciting. I couldn't predict what would happen next.
"They could have left some panties too, so I wouldn't run out," I said casually.
Guimarães stopped halfway through his bite and stared at me, mouth literally hanging open. He gave me the same serious look he gave me when I came out of the bathroom.
"I think I can arrange some for you," he said after clearing his throat.
I don't know what came over me, but I found the whole situation very funny. Guimarães was always so serious and controlled.
I got up and walked over to his side. He looked at me confused, unsure of what I was going to do. I stopped next to him and smiled.
"I don't think it's urgent. It's actually quite comfortable, look." I took his hand and ran it over the fabric of the dress around my butt.
Guimarães swallowed hard, but I felt his hand slide lightly. He stood up, and we faced each other, except that he was a few good inches taller than me.
"Your games won't work with me, Prado," he said, a mixture of irritation and curiosity in his eyes.
"Who's playing?" I said provocatively.
His breath was fast, and despite his words, I knew I had him right where I wanted him now. His eyes gave away his excitement.
Guimarães pulled me closer, and his hands slid again over my dress, this time without me controlling it. Then he lifted the fabric, leaving me exposed, and ran his hand directly over my skin, confirming that there was nothing there. My breath caught, and I bit my lower lip. His eyes held me in place.
"I'll tell you this, so there are no future attempts," he said, his voice tightly controlled. "Don't try to manipulate me; I'm not an idiot."
And then he stepped away, breaking the spell of the moment.