Blue-Eyed Devil (Travises 2)

"People don't drown in elevators," I said aloud.

The water had reached my knees, and it was biting cold. It also smelled bad, like oil and chemicals and sewage. I pulled my computer from my briefcase, opened it, and tried in vain to get any kind of Internet signal. At least with the glowing screen open, it wasn't completely dark in the elevator. I looked at the ceiling, which was covered in wood paneling and tiny recessed lights, all out. Wasn't there supposed to be an escape hatch? Maybe it was concealed. I couldn't think of any way to get up there and search for it.

I waded to the side of the door and tried the phone panel again, as well as all the buttons, and nothing happened. Taking off one of my pumps, I used the heel to bang on the walls and shout for help for a few minutes.

By the time I got tired of pounding, I was submerged up to my hips. I was so cold that my teeth were chattering and the bones in my legs were aching. Except for the water pouring in, everything was quiet. It was calm everywhere except inside my head.

I realized I was in a coffin. I was actually going to die in this metal box.

I'd heard it wasn't supposed to be a bad way to die, drowning. There were worse ways to go. But it was so unfair — I had never done anything with my life that was worth putting in an obituary. I hadn't accomplished any of the goals I'd had at college. I'd never made peace with my father, not in a real sense. I'd never helped people who were less fortunate. I'd never even had decent sex.

I was certain that people facing death should be occupied with noble thoughts, but instead I found myself thinking about those moments in the stairwell with Hardy. If I'd gone through with it, at least I would have had good sex for once in my life. But I'd blown even that. I wanted him. I wanted so much. Nothing was finished in my life. I stood there, waiting for my eventual drowning not with resignation but milling fury.

When the water had reached the bottom edge of my bra, I was tired of holding the computer up, and I let it sink. It submerged and floated to the elevator floor in water so polluted you could barely see the glowing screen before it shorted out and went dark. It was disorienting, the cold blackness all around me. Huddling in the corner, I leaned my head against the wall and breathed, and waited. I wondered what it would feel like when there was no more air left and I had to pull water into my lungs.

The sound of a sharp bang on 1the ceiling caused a start that went through me like a bullet. I turned my head from one side to the other, sightless and scared. Bang. Scraping, sliding noises, tools against metal. The ceiling creaked, and the entire elevator rocked as if it were a rowboat.

"Is someone there?" I called out, my pulse thundering.

I heard the muffled, distant sound of a human voice.

Galvanized, I pounded the elevator wall with my fist. "Help! I'm trapped down here!"

There was a reply I couldn't hear. Whoever it was kept working on the top of the elevator, wrenching and prying until a raw shriek of metal filled the air. A portion of the wood paneling was ripped back. I flattened myself against the wall as I heard cracking and splintering, debris splashing. And then the beam of a flashlight shot into the dark elevator cab, bouncing off the water.

"I'm here," I said with a sob, sloshing forward. "I'm down here. Is there any way you can get me out?"

A man leaned into the elevator cab until I could see his face and shoulders illuminated by the reflected light.

"You should probably know up front," Hardy said, widening the opening with a grunt of effort, "I charge a lot for elevator rescues."

CHAPTER TWELVE

"Hardy! Hardy — " He had come for me. I nearly lost it then. In the wild torrent of relief and gratitude, there were at least a dozen things I wanted to tell him at once. But the first thing that came out was a fervent, "I'm so sorry I didn't have sex with you."I heard his low laugh. "I am too. But honey, there are a couple of maintenance guys with me who can hear every word we're saying."

"I don't care," I said desperately. "Get me out of here and I swear I'll sleep with you."

I heard one of the maintenance guys volunteer in a Spanish accent, "I'll pull her out."

"This one's mine, amigo," Hardy said affably, and he leaned farther into the elevator cab, one long arm extended. "Can you reach my hand, Haven?"

Standing on my toes, I strained upward. Our palms met, and his fingers moved downward to close around my wrist. But I was coated with slippery stuff, and my hand slid right through Hardy's grip. I fell back against the wall. "I can't." I tried to sound calm, but my voice was shredded. I had to stifle a sob. "The water's oily."

"Okay," he said quickly. "That's okay. No, don't cry, honey, I'm coming down. Stay on the side and hold on to the rail."

"Wait, you'll get stuck down here too — " I began, but Hardy was already lowering his feet and legs. He gripped part of the ceiling frame, eased himself down and hung for a moment. As he came into the cab with a controlled drop, the floor shifted and the level of water came up. I sloshed through the heavy water, leaping on him, climbing halfway up his body before he could even move.

Hardy caught me in a firm grip, one arm sliding beneath my bottom, the other strong and solid around my back. "I've got you," he said. "My brave girl."

"Not brave." My arms were locked in a death grip around his neck. I buried my face against him, trying to comprehend that he was really there with me.

"Yes you are. Most women would be in hysterics by now."

"I was w-working up to that," I said into his shirt collar. "You just c-caught me early in the process."

He gripped me closer. "You're safe, sweetheart. It's all right now."

I tried to set my teeth against the chattering. "I can't believe you're here."

"'Course I'm here. Anytime you need me." He squinted up at the hole in the ceiling, where one of the maintenance men was angling a flashlight to help us see. "Manuel," he said, "you guys got a sump pump at the bottom of the shaft?"

"Nah," came the regretful reply. "It's an old building. Only the new ones got pumps."

Hardy's hand stroked up and down my shivering back. "Probably wouldn't make a difference anyway. Can someone shut off the main disconnect switch? I don't warn this thing to start moving while we're getting her out."

"Don't need to, it's off."

"How do you know?"

"There's an automatic shunt trip."

Hardy shook his head. "I want someone to go to the machine room and make sure the fucker's really off."

"You got it, jefe." Manuel used a two-way radio to get in touch with the supervisor running the security office. The supervisor said he would send their only available guard to the machine room to shut off the mainline switch for all the elevators, and call back when it was done. "He says he can't get the cops," Manuel reported to us. "Nine-one-one is broke. Too many calls. But the elevator company is sending a guy."

"The water's getting higher," I told Hardy, my arms linked tightly around his neck, my legs clamped on his waist. "Let's get out now."

Hardy smiled and pushed my straggling hair back from my face. "It'll only take a minute for them to find the disconnect switch. Just pretend we're in a hot tub."

"My imagination's not that good," I told him.

"You've obviously never lived on a drilling rig." His hand rubbed over my shoulders. "Are you hurt anywhere? Any bumps or bruises?"

"No, I was just scared for a little while."

He made a sympathetic sound, gripping me closer. "You're not scared now, are you?"

"No." It was true. It seemed impossible that anything bad could happen while I was holding on to those solid shoulders. "I'm just c-cold. I don't understand where the water's coming from."

"Manuel says a wall between the garage and a drainage tunnel collapsed. We're getting runoff from some pretty big waterways."

"How did you find me so fast?"

"I was just heading home when you called. I hightailed it over here and got a hold of Manuel and his buddy. We took the service elevator to the level just above this one, and I popped the doors open with a bent screwdriver." He kept smoothing my hair as he talked. "The escape hatch on the elevator was a little harder — I had to knock a couple of bolts out with a hammer."

We heard some static and a garbled voice from the two-way radio overhead, and Manuel called to us. "Okay, jefe. Switch is off."

"Great." Hardy squinted at Manuel. "I'm going to hand her up to you. Don't let her fall into the hoistway — she's slippery." He pulled my head back until I was looking into his eyes. "Haven, I'm going to push you up, and then you get on my shoulders and let them pull you out. Got it?" I nodded reluctantly, not wanting to leave him. "Once you're on top of the elevator," Hardy continued, "don't touch any of the cables or drive sheaves or any of that shit. There's a ladder attached to the wall of the elevator shaft. Be careful while you're climbing — you're as slick as a greased hog on ice."

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine. Put your foot in my hand."

"But h-how are you — "

"Haven, quit talking and give me your foot."

I was amazed by the ease with which he lifted me, one big hand fitting under my bottom to boost me up to the two maintenance men. They gripped me beneath the arms and pulled me onto the top of the elevator, holding me as if they feared I might skid over the side. And I probably would have, I was so covered in slime.

Normally I could have clambered up the ladder with ease, but my feet and hands kept slipping on the metal. It required concentration and effort to make it to the landing, where Hardy had pried open the hoist doors. There were more people to help me, a couple of office workers, the security supervisor and guard, the newly arrived elevator technician, and even Kelly Reinhart, who couldn't stop exclaiming in horror, saying over and over, "I just saw her a half hour ago . . . I can't believe this . . . I just saw her . . . "

I ignored them all, not out of rudeness but single-minded fear. I waited beside the open doors and refused to budge, calling out Hardy's name anxiously. I heard a lot of splashing and some grunting, and a few of the foulest curses I'd ever heard in my life.

Manuel was the first to emerge, and his companion came next. Finally Hardy crawled out of the hoistway, dripping and covered with the same dark slime I was, his business clothes plastered to his body. I was certain he didn't smell any better than I did. His hair was standing up in places. He was the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen in my life.

I launched myself at him, wrapped my arms around his waist, and drove my head against his chest. His heart thudded strongly under my ear. "How did you get out?" I asked.

"I got a foothold on the handrail, did a pull-up on the top frame, and swung a leg up. I almost slipped back down again, but Manuel and Juan grabbed me."

"El mono," Manuel said as if to explain, and I heard a rumble of laughter in Hardy's chest.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"He called me a monkey." Reaching into his back pocket, Hardy extracted a wallet and fished out some dripping cash, apologizing for the condition it was in. They chuckled and assured him the money was still good, and they all shook hands.

I stood with my arms clutched around Hardy as he spoke with the elevator technician and security office supervisor for a couple of minutes. Even though I was safe, I couldn't make myself let go of him. And he didn't seem to mind that I had attached myself to him, only ran his hand over my back now and then. A fire truck pulled up outside the building, lights flashing.

"Listen," Hardy said to the security supervisor, handing him a soggy business card. "We're done talking for now — she's been through enough. I've got to take care of her and get us both cleaned up. If anyone wants to know something, they can reach me tomorrow."

"Right," the supervisor said. "I understand. You let me know if I can help you in any way. Take care, y'all."

"He was nice," I said as Hardy guided me out of the building, right past the fire truck and a van with a camera crew emerging.

"He's hoping you don't sue his ass," Hardy replied, leading me to his car, which had been double-parked. It was a gleaming silver Mercedes sedan, and the inside beige upholstery was buttery and perfect.

"No," I said helplessly. "I can't get into that car when I'm all disgusting and dirty."

Hardy opened the door and manhandled me inside. "Get in, darlin'. We're not walking home."

I cringed every second of the short drive to 1800 Main, knowing we were ruining the interior of his car.

And there was worse to come. After Hardy parked in the garage beneath our building, we approached the elevator that went to the lobby. I stopped like I'd been shot, and looked from the elevator to the stairs. Hardy stopped with me.

The absolute last thing I wanted to do was in get back on another elevator. It was too much. I felt every muscle tense in rejection of the idea.

Hardy was silent, letting me struggle through it. "Shit," I choked out. "I can't avoid elevators for the rest of my life, can I?"

"Not in Houston." Hardy's expression was kind. Soon, I thought, the kindness would turn to pity. That was enough to spur me forward.

"Cowboy up, Haven," I muttered to myself, and pushed the up button. My hand was shaking. While the elevator cab descended to the garage, I waited as if I were at the gates of hell.

"I'm not sure I actually thanked you for what you did," I said gruffly. "So . . . thank you. And I want you to know, I'm not usually . . . troublesome. I mean, I'm not one of those women who needs to be rescued all the time."

"You can rescue me next time."

That actually pulled a smile from me despite my anxiety. It was exactly the right thing to say.

The doors opened, and I just did it, made myself walk into the metal box, and I hunched into the corner as Hardy followed. Before the doors had closed, Hardy had pulled me into a tight-bodied clinch, length to length, and our mouths came together, and it seemed as if everything I had felt that day, anguish, anger, desperation, and relief, all surged to a flash point of pure white heat.