[ Dorothy just barely holds back a scoff-- no, she supposes, she can't really blame him for underestimating her as a driver when he has absolutely no idea who she is.

While still handing her his whole identity, which means he's either extremely confident or an idiot. Or lying, but when she thinks about it, she's fairly certain she's heard murmurs of some man calling himself a gentleman thief, hailing from France. She hadn't really thought they'd encounter him, giving their respective roles, but.

Here he is. And here, too, come the sirens which means Ange is just going to have to fend for herself tonight because Dorothy's evening just got a little more annoying. ]

For someone so worried about car accidents, you're the one more at risk right now, aren't you? I'd buckle up if I were you, Monsieur.

[ That's really all the warning he gets, unless he's observant enough to catch the twinkle in her eye. She'll at least lower the gun-- which is really that she'll tuck it into her cleavage for easy access, and then she's stepping on the gas pedal and taking a very sharp left.

It's fine, although given the speed, probably not the most pleasant. ]