Blue-Eyed Devil

by Lisa Kleypas

  “No, no . . .” I smiled and picked up my briefcase. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Great. Okay. Call up here or go to the security office off the lobby if you have any problems.” Kelly made a face. “The way this old building leaks, your car may be underwater by now.”

  I laughed. “Just my luck. It’s new.”

  With most of the daytime occupants gone, the building was quiet and a little eerie, doors locked and windows darkened. Thunder was rumbling outside, making me shiver in my business suit. I was glad to be going home. One of my shoes was pinching, and the clasp of my side-zip pants was digging into my skin, and I was hungry. Most of all, I was anxious to reach Hardy and tell him how sorry I was for the previous night. And I was going to explain . . . something.

  I entered the elevator and pressed the button for the lowest garage level. The doors closed, and the cab descended smoothly. But as I reached the bottom, the floor beneath me gave a strange lurch, and I heard pops and snaps, and then everything went dead. The lights, the hydraulics, everything stopped. I let out a startled yelp as I was left in complete blackness. Worse, I heard the continuous splash of water, like someone had turned a faucet on inside the elevator.

  Concerned but not panicked, I felt for the panel beside the door, pushing a few buttons. Nothing happened.

  “Phone,” I said aloud, trying to reassure myself with the sound of my own voice. “There’s always a phone in these things.” My groping fingers found an elevator speaker phone with a push button, all of it embedded in the wall. I pushed the button, held it, but there was no response.

  I counted myself lucky that I wasn’t one of those people with elevator phobias. I was remaining calm. Methodically I went through my briefcase to find my cell phone. Something icy swept over my foot. At first I thought it was a draft, but a second later I felt the wet chill in my pumps, and I realized there were a couple of inches of water inside the elevator cab.

  Carefully I pulled out the cell phone and flipped it open. I used it as a makeshift flashlight, shining the tiny glowing screen at my surroundings to see where the water was coming in.

  Oily-looking water was spurting through the seam of the closed elevator doors. That was bad enough. But as I moved the glow of the cell phone upward, I saw that it wasn’t just coming in through the bottom of the doors. It was coming through the top.

  As if the entire elevator car were submerged.

  But that wasn’t possible. There was no way the shaft could be filled with eight or nine feet of water . . . wouldn’t that mean most of the lower garage was flooded? That couldn’t have happened in the time since I’d arrived at the building. But shit . . . an elevator shaft full of water would explain why all the electrical systems seemed to have short-circuited.

  “This is crazy,” I muttered, my heartbeat picking up anxious speed as I dialed the building’s main number. It rang twice, and then a recorded message began to list extension numbers from the main directory. As soon as I heard the three digits for the security office, I punched them in. Another two rings . . . and then a busy signal.

  Swearing, I redialed the main number and tried Kelly’s extension. An answering machine picked up. “Hi, this is Kelly Reinhart. I’m away from my desk, but if you’ll leave a message at the tone, I’ll return your call as soon as possible.”

  I left a message, trying to sound professional but urgent. “Kelly, it’s Haven. I’m stuck in one of the elevators on the garage level, and water’s coming in. Do me a favor and let security know that I’m down here.”

  Water kept pouring in, swirling around my ankles.

  As I ended the call, I saw that the low battery signal on my phone was flashing. With hardly any juice left, I wasn’t going to take any chances. I dialed 911, watching my finger as if it belonged to someone else. And I listened, incredulous, as the line was picked up and directed to a recorded message. “We are currently experiencing a high volume of calls. All circuits are busy. Please remain on the line until a dispatcher is available.” I held, waited for a minute that seemed to last a lifetime, and ended the call when it was clear nothing was going to happen. I dialed it again with excruciating care . . . 9-1-1 . . . and this time I got nothing but a busy signal.

  My phone beeped to let me know the battery was almost dead.

  With the water now midway up my calves and pouring in continuously, I stopped pretending that I was anything close to calm. Somehow I managed to bring the list of recently received calls to the phone screen. I pressed the return on Hardy’s last call.

  It rang. Once . . . twice . . . I gasped with relief as I heard his voice.

  “Cates.”

  “Hardy,” I choked, unable to get the words out fast enough. “It’s me. I need you. I need help.”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “Where are you?”

  “Buffalo Tower. Elevator. I’m in an elevator stuck in the garage and there’s water coming in, lots of water—” The phone beeped again. “Hardy, can you hear me?”

  “Say it again.”

  “An elevator at Buffalo Tower—I’m stuck in the garage, in an elevator, and it’s flooding, and I need—” The phone beeped and went dead. I was left in darkness once more. “No,” I half screamed in frustration. “Damn it. Hardy? Hardy?”

  Nothing but silence. And gushing, splashing water.

  I felt hysteria welling up, and I actually considered whether or not to give in to it. But since there was nothing to be gained by it, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to make me feel any better, I shoved it back down and took deep breaths.

  “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 the 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 want 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 ahold 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.