"Or they startle us into doing something impulsive," she finishes for him as somebody, presumably the mysterious caller, knocks on the door. Presumably they'd be watching the room, including the bathroom window, for exits, and she'd be too vulnerable in the moments of pulling herself out of the small space and dropping to the ground.

Her eye is drawn to the single chair in the room. It's plain and utilitarian, but sturdy. Heavy enough to stand up to years of being used by less-than-gentle patrons. "Take the car keys. You've got a better shot of making it out to the car than I do."