by Beverly Long
“Got it.”
Blaine pulled up in front of her school. Before she got out, she turned to look at Josh. This morning he’d seemed very much like the old Josh—the Josh who would never run away, never make her stay awake all night, waiting to hear.
“You’re okay with going back to school, right?” she had to ask. She would not tell him that she’d come this close to calling Isaac and asking him to watch Josh, to make sure he was okay. Josh would want to strangle her if he knew that.
“I’m fine,” he said. “The guys that were saying stuff are jerks. Always have been. Probably always will be. I’m just going to ignore them.”
“Good plan,” she said. She turned to Blaine. “Thanks for the ride.”
“No problem.” He reached out a hand, put it on her arm. It was light, impersonal. But she could feel the heat cutting through layers of fabric. “Same goes for you, you know. Be sharp,” he added, in case she didn’t get it.
“Of course.” Tilda got out of the car. He cared. He definitely cared. She felt energy zipping through her and resisted the urge to skip up the steps.
But by two o’clock that afternoon, she was dragging, and the idea of even walking up steps was challenging. Her final class was filing in the door, taking seats. When the bell rang, she took attendance.
Toby Turner wasn’t there. Missed class time meant more missed assignments. Tilda wished she knew what the hell was going on at the Turner home. She’d responded to the text that she’d received, saying that she was unable to come to their house but would be happy to meet in a public place of their choosing. Then she went on to say that if transportation was a problem, she was happy to pay for a ride service to pick them up. She had gotten no response.
Once she dismissed class, she sat at her desk, looking over her notes. She looked up when she heard the door open. Expecting Raeann, she was surprised to see Stacey Grand, the secretary from the office. The woman had a message slip in her hand.
“This call came in about fifteen minutes ago. The gentleman said that he didn’t want to interrupt you during class time, but he needed to get a message to you.” She handed Tilda the white slip.
Need to see you. Can you come to The Lodge after school? I’m working on the third floor, east wing. Blaine.
She immediately thought of Davis James. Had the man shown up again? Was that why Blaine needed to see her?
She stood up fast, noting that the secretary was still standing there. She didn’t know the woman well. She was still the temporary who was filling in for their regular secretary.
“Thank you,” Tilda said.
“You probably don’t remember this, but the two of you were seniors when I was a freshman.”
“I didn’t realize that, Stacey. Is Grand your married name?”
“Yeah. I was Stacey Bender. I thought that Blaine Colton was the cutest boy in the senior class.”
Tilda smiled. “I thought he was pretty cute, too,” she admitted.
“I’m glad you two got back together.”
Was there anywhere in this town that she and Blaine weren’t a topic of conversation? “Oh, we’re...” She started to say that they weren’t together, to put an end to the speculation. But she remembered that Blaine had told both her and Josh to be sharp. And that included talking about her personal life with somebody who was a virtual stranger. Stacey was saying innocuous things, but perhaps she lurked in the Colton-hater camp. “Thank you,” Tilda said. “Well, I should be going.”
Stacey left her classroom, and Tilda quickly put on her coat and boots. The streets were sloppy with melting snow. She found her car easily enough in the almost-empty teachers’ parking lot, and once inside, she looked again at the message slip. There was no callback number on it. Either Blaine hadn’t left one or Stacey hadn’t written it down.
No matter. She had Blaine’s cell number. She started to reach for her phone but stopped. He hadn’t wanted to bother her when she was working. She could do the same, given the fact that he was probably really busy covering for the employees who’d quit their jobs the day before.
She also resisted the urge to call Josh and verify that he was at band practice. That was not their usual pattern, and she needed to demonstrate trust. Instead, she sent a text.
Going to The Lodge to see Blaine about something. I’ll be home by five.
She didn’t get a response, but she didn’t expect one. The band teacher made them put their phones away during practice.
After putting on some music, she started the car and drove up the windy mountain road. She parked in one of the main lots, closest to the east wing. Then it was in and up the elevator. When she got out, she realized that most of the floor was under construction. Walls had been removed, and she could see electrical wiring. In some areas, heavy plastic hung, maybe to block off space or perhaps to trap in dust. She didn’t know for sure. The floor had been ripped out, down to the cement. It was eerily quiet. She didn’t see anyone.
She took a few steps. “Blaine,” she called out. The space was so empty that her words echoed back to her.
Maybe he’d finished his work and returned to his office. She would go there. Turning, she retreated the distance she’d ventured and pressed the elevator button. The minute she took her finger away from the button, the light went out. Was it just the light, or was the elevator not working?
But it had been just minutes ago.
A chill ran up her arm. She reached into her purse and fumbled for her phone. Dialed Blaine’s number.
“Hey, Tilda,” he answered. “What’s up?”
“I’m here, on the third floor. In the east wing.”
“What?”
“I got the message you left at school. I’m here on the third floor, but I don’t see anyone.”
“Tilda, I didn’t leave you a message.”
“But—”
“Stay where you’re at,” he said, his voice sounding calm, yet very directive. “I’m coming to you. I’ll be there in five minutes. Okay?”
“Yes. Of course.” She hung up before she could beg him to hurry.
There was no reason to be scared. Daylight was still coming in through the big windows. There had to be security personnel in the building and, knowing Decker Colton, they were well trained. She just needed to wait.
Five minutes wasn’t very long.
And then she heard a door open at the end of the hallway.
* * *
Blaine moved fast, but his office was in the far-west area of the building, and there was a lot of real estate to navigate. When he got to the east wing, he saw a maintenance sign on the doors of the elevator that indicated it was shut down for service. That was odd. He didn’t know they had anybody in, working on elevators.
Screw it. He took the stairs...two at a time. When he got to the third floor, he realized the door was locked. Not unexpected. He fumbled with the keys on the ring attached to his belt before he found a master that worked. Once open, he ran, almost skidding around the corner.
There was Tilda, her arms wrapped around herself. She looked scared.
“Hey,” he said. And he pulled her in tight to his chest. “You’re okay,” he said, his voice close to her ear. She was shaking, and he wanted to kill whoever had played this little joke on her.
“I’m sorry that I’m such a baby,” she murmured, her voice muffled by his shirt. “But right after I got done talking with you, I heard a door open, and then it sounded like something was being pushed across the floor. Every horror movie I’ve ever seen flashed through my head.” She pulled back and looked him in the eye.
“Only family dramas on this channel,” he said.
That made her smile. Like he’d hoped.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. What time did I supposedly call you?”
“You left a messa
ge at the school office, about two forty-five,” she told him. “The secretary walked it down to my room after school. It never dawned on me that it wasn’t legitimate.”
“Of course not,” he said. He’d been covering for the missing maintenance workers until about one o’clock. Then he’d gone back to his own office because he had to prepare for a three o’clock meeting that had unexpectedly gotten cancelled. “Did the sounds you heard come from that direction or that one?” he asked, pointing to opposite sides.
“That way.” She gestured to her left. “But I never saw anyone. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do if I did. I’d already tried the elevator, and it didn’t seem to be working. Although I’d come up in it just minutes before.”
“Let’s go take a quick look,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leading her to the left. Near the door at the end of the hall was a work cart, loaded with tools, almost in their path. “Could that have been what you heard?”
“Maybe,” she said. They walked around it, and he dropped his arm from around her shoulder. There was a push bar on the door. He put the heel of his hand against it.
It didn’t budge. It was locked.
Exit doors were never locked from the inside. Basic safety. People needed to be able to leave via the stairs in the event the elevator wasn’t working or not safe to use.
But the area was under construction. Maybe that made a difference. He simply wasn’t familiar enough with The Lodge to know.
“Are we stuck up here?” she asked worriedly.
He shook his head. “I came up the other stairs. Let’s go try that door.” They backtracked but found that it also wouldn’t budge. “Must have locked behind me.”
She glanced at his keys. “Nothing to unlock on this side.”
“Nope,” he said.
She held up her phone. “I’m calling 9-1-1.”
“No need. There’s a freight elevator down that hallway. We can use it.”
That seemed to make her feel better. “Josh is going to think this is hilarious, when we tell him that we were locked in,” she said.
“Yeah. Maybe we keep this one between us.” While he was happy that she seemed more relaxed, he couldn’t say the same for himself. Tilda had said that she’d heard something being pushed across the floor and a door closing. Somebody had been up here. He didn’t see anybody now, thank goodness, but that meant that they’d somehow gotten off the floor. Had they jammed the door behind them somehow?
He didn’t think he was being melodramatic. Somebody had lured Tilda to this isolated space on a pretense of meeting him.
That somebody was up to no good.
The sooner he got Tilda off this floor and off the property the better. “Right there,” he said, pointing at the freight elevator. “It’s not pretty like the other elevators.” He pressed the button, and the door opened.
She stepped forward. “I don’t—”
She felt herself pitch forward before she suddenly was roughly pulled back and shoved aside. She landed hard on her rear end and was about to protest when she realized that she very much had gotten the better end of the deal.
“Blaine!” she gasped.
His body was stretched over the open shaft. The tips of his work boots were braced against the near edge of the elevator shaft, and his forearms were perched against the metal frame on the far side.
He’d somehow managed to save her and catch himself.
But he couldn’t possibly maintain that position. Still on her rear, she edged forward to get a better look. It was a dark and seemingly bottomless pit. At least three stories, she reasoned.
A sure death.
Chapter 16
“What can I do?” she said, her mouth dry. She was afraid to touch him, afraid to disturb his tenuous balance.
“Well, don’t tickle me.”
Her heart flipped in her chest.
“Calling 9-1-1 is back on the table,” he said.
She reached for her phone, so very grateful that she hadn’t dropped it down the open shaft. Her fingers were shaking as she punched in the three numbers. She put it on speaker.
“This is 9-1-1. What is your emergency?”
“I’m on the third floor of the east wing of the Colton Lodge. A man is...suspended over an open elevator shaft. The freight elevator.”
There was the slightest of pauses before the operator replied. “We’ve got a team responding. Are there any other injuries?”
Not yet. “No. Just hurry.”
“Please stay on the line,” the operator said.
“Put it on hold,” Blaine told her. “Try Decker’s office.” He rattled off the number, and she dialed. How the hell could he be in such control?
The phone rang three times before it was answered. “Decker Colton’s office. Penny speaking.”
“I need Decker,” Tilda blurted.
“Mr. Colton is in a meeting.”
“Get him!” Tilda said. “It’s an emergency. Third floor. East wing. Hurry.” She hung up. Blaine was moving. Well, part of him was. One hand at a time, he was edging his body to the left.
He was attempting to walk himself around the corner. It meant that he had to pick up a hand, move it four or five inches, and repeat the process with his other hand.
The muscles in his arms, shoulders and back were taut and defined. He showed no fear. It was amazing to watch.
And terribly frightening.
“Wait,” she said. “Help is coming.”
“Never been one to count on somebody else,” he gritted out. His voice was showing the strain of his physical effort.
He’d gotten as far as the corner. Now his feet were moving. He wasn’t lifting them up. No, just twisting and turning his ankles, sliding them to the left.
Now his body was in the shape of a backward C.
“Tilda, with your fanny on the floor and your feet braced against the wall, take hold of the back of my belt,” he said.
She did what he instructed.
“Good girl. We’re doing fine here. Now, on the count of three, I want you to pull back, with everything you’ve got. Don’t take your feet off the wall.”
She wasn’t strong enough. He outweighed her by at least seventy-five pounds, and she’d have little leverage. “Okay,” she said. If he could be brave, then so could she.
“One. Two. Three.”
She pulled. Just as he swung his body up and back, a flip of sorts.
It was awkward but good enough.
He tumbled over her legs, one shoulder hitting the floor. Momentum sent him into a somersault, and he rolled and, finally, came to a squat. He grinned at her and opened his arms wide. “Good job, darling.”
With a sob of relief, she threw herself into his arms. And they just sat there, on the dirty floor a foot away from the open shaft, and held each other.
His effort had been superhuman. A lesser man would never have been able to pull it off. “Oh my God. How did you do that?”
“I didn’t,” he said. “We did. Thank you, Tilda Deeds.” And then he pulled back enough to bend his head, and he kissed her. There was nothing light or comforting about this second kiss. It was hard, intense. Filled with the raw, unbridled emotion of having cheated death.
She could have kissed him forever. But when the door to their right sprang open, so hard that it almost hit the wall behind it, and Decker Colton rushed forward, Blaine lifted his head. But he didn’t release his hold on her.
“This was the emergency?” Decker said.
Blaine smiled. “No. That was the emergency.” He pointed toward the elevator shaft. “Doesn’t look quite as scary now, but when I was hanging over it, facedown, seeing nothing but blackness below, it looked pretty damn bad.”
Decker walked over to the still-open shaft. “What the....”
As his
voice trailed off, Tilda heard the sounds of feet trampling up the same staircase that Decker had emerged from. In came firemen and paramedics. Then the police. She saw Liam Kastor and gave him a little wave.
She figured a representative from the Roaring Springs newspaper wouldn’t be far behind. If there was a person in the town who had not yet heard the saga of Tilda Deeds and Blaine Colton, that would be short-lived.
Decker was already on his phone, demanding answers from his maintenance staff. An EMT had slapped a blood-pressure cuff on Blaine and was shining a light in his eyes.
Questions were flying. Blaine’s explanations were concise, with absolutely no embellishment, but the emergency personnel were clearly astonished.
All she knew was that Blaine no longer had his arms around her, and his lips were long removed.
And, in a room full of people, she felt very alone.
* * *
The maintenance supervisor had been adamant. The passenger elevator had not been scheduled for maintenance. Which meant no one was working on it. Once Decker had quietly communicated that to Blaine, the two of them had quickly agreed to keep the need-to-know circle small. It did not include EMTs, firefighters or the additional lodge employees who’d responded to the scene.
It had taken a while to clear the area. They hoped that everybody had gone away thinking that, as usual, the Coltons were a lucky bunch. That it was a workplace incident that had gone better than it probably had a right to.
Liam and Officer McDonald, who’d taken the report on her tires getting slashed, had stayed behind. The two of them, Decker, Tilda and Blaine were still on the third floor.
“Walk me through it,” Liam said.
“The school received a call from somebody claiming to be Blaine, asking me to meet him here,” Tilda said. She glanced around. “When I got here and the place was deserted, I called him.”
“I knew I hadn’t called her,” Blaine jumped in. “And I have to admit, while I was walking here, I figured it might be somebody trying to mess with us. But, even when I saw the sign on the elevator that it was down for maintenance, I didn’t get worried. However, when I realized the doors off the floor were all locked, I knew something was amiss. That’s probably what heightened my awareness that there wasn’t something quite right with the freight elevator.”
