The Elevator. Angela Hunt
that this man could be called to testify at her trial. “I should have stopped to grab a bite of breakfast.”
The guard’s brow wrinkles with concern. “Should I call a doctor? Get you something to eat?”
“I’m fine now, thanks.” She broadens her smile. “My husband is tending to some last-minute details in his office. I thought I’d help him out—you know, speed things along so he can come home.”
The man’s look of unease deepens. “I’m not supposed to let any visitors go up. We’ve been experiencing blackouts and I wouldn’t want to be responsible—”
“Don’t worry.” She flattens her hands against the countertop and softens her smile. “I’m sure I can talk him into leaving the building eventually. But I need an access card.”
The man crosses his arms and folds his hands into his armpits. “No can do, ma’am. Why don’t you call him? There’s a phone around the corner—”
The ding of the elevator interrupts. Gina pivots, half expecting to see Sonny, but the man who steps into the lobby is a stranger. He comes forward, drops a sealed envelope onto the security desk, then returns to the elevator. An instant later he reappears, pushing a cart loaded with cardboard file boxes.
Gina transfers her gaze from the stranger to the wealth of silver hair on the guard’s forearms. “You let that man go up.”
The tip of the guard’s nose goes pink as he shoves the envelope into a drawer. “I—I can’t stop anybody with a pass key. They come straight from the garage and go up, nothing I can do about that. But I’ve been told to clear the building by ten o’clock, so that’s what I aim to do.”
“The thing is,” Gina says, lowering her voice, “I haven’t been able to reach my husband by phone. I’m worried and I need to see him.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you a card.” Despite his concerned expression, the guard is proving to be about as flexible as a brick wall. “I didn’t even program any visitor’s cards this morning, on account of the evacuation order. So you can sit and wait or you can call your husband, but I can’t give you an access card.”
Maybe she can sweet talk him into going upstairs with her. Once she’s on the thirty-sixth floor, he ought to let her walk to Sonny’s office alone.
“I’m worried,” she repeats, meeting the man’s gaze. “Sonny doesn’t answer his phone. Could you—could we go up together and see if he’s okay?”
The man frowns, glances at the elevators, then shakes his buzz-cut head. “Can’t leave my post. The other guards didn’t come in today, on account of the hurricane. I’m supposed to leave in a couple of hours. The entire building’s gotta be evacuated.”
Sonny used to say she could charm the sting out of a bee, but she must be losing her touch.
Sighing, Gina scans the desk behind the counter. No access cards in sight, but they’re probably in a drawer. She has no idea how to program one, but if Deputy Dawg can do it, surely she can figure it out.
She smiles, then lowers her arms and slips her right hand into her pocket. Reluctantly, she grips the gun. “I suppose you’ve left me with only one choice.”
CHAPTER 6
After dodging traffic cops, gyrating stoplights and barricades, Michelle pulls onto North Tampa and squints through the blurred arc made by her windshield wipers. Is that a perfect line of empty parking spaces on the street? She’s been renting office space in the Lark Tower for two years, but until now she’s never been able to park on the curb.
She whips her car into a prime spot, then pushes the car door into the steady rain. Flurries of paper and leaves fly past her in a pirouetting whirlwind that tugs at the canopies of the neatly trimmed live oaks. The radio weathercaster has been predicting intermittent rain for the next several hours, with increasing wind speeds until well after sunset.
Michelle grabs an empty Applebee’s take-out bag and holds it over her head as she dashes toward the lobby entrance, her raincoat rippling and snapping in the wind.
Maybe she’s crazy for coming here. Lauren would certainly think so, but Lauren has a ring on her finger and a date on the caterer’s books. More to the point, Lauren’s biological clock is running at least five years behind Michelle’s.
Though she’s almost positive Parker is preparing to propose, she can’t let this opportunity for action slip away. The threat of an imminent hurricane ought to make it easy for him to get serious about drawing his loved ones close, but the man might need a nudge toward matrimony. If this wild weather isn’t enough to make him think about his responsibility to her as well as his children, her ultimatum should be.
The rising wind whooshes past her, clawing at the Applebee’s bag and whipping her raincoat around her frame. She nearly falls on the rain-slicked pavement near the building entrance, but catches the brass bar on a lobby door. The door seems heavier today, and she struggles against it until the wind pries the Applebee’s bag from her fingers and whips it across the street, then releases it like a free-floating parachute. With both hands she pushes against the door until it moves, but a gust of wind follows her into the building, rattling the leaves of two potted ficus trees standing guard at the perimeter of the lobby.
Flustered, she shakes water from her hair and looks around. The sandwich shop, florist, bank and office center are all locked and closed, their interiors dark. No one sits in the lounge chairs scattered among the massive bowls of bromeliads, but she glimpses movement at the security station beyond the reception area.
Good to know she’s not alone in the building.
After wiping raindrops from her face, she settles her wet purse on her shoulder and strides toward the security guard, who is talking to a woman in a tan trench coat. She calls out a greeting as she heads toward the elevator landing. “Surprised to see you this morning, Gus.”
“Miss Tilson, wait.” Stepping away from the woman in the trench coat, the guard lifts his arm to hold her attention. “We’re urging all tenants to evacuate immediately. Haven’t you seen the news?”
She gestures toward the elevators. “I’ll only be a few minutes. I need to run upstairs and pick up a file.”
“Come on, now.” Gus hikes up his belt and gives her a look of paternal disapproval. “You shouldn’t even be downtown in this weather. We’re locking the building at ten and I’m not supposed to let any visitors into the office areas.”
Her mouth twists in an expression that’s not quite a smile. When will he realize she doesn’t need his protection? “I’m not a visitor, Gus, I’m a paying tenant and I need to go to my office.”
“But, Miss Tilson—”
“That storm is hours away and I’ll only be a few minutes. Thanks for your concern, but I’m going upstairs.”
Gus’s features crumple with frustration, but he retreats to his stool.
Michelle walks to the express elevators and presses the call button, then crosses her arms. According to the lit panels above the doors, one car is on the second level of the parking garage; the others are scattered among floors twenty-five through thirty-six.
The woman in the trench coat steps onto the carpet at the landing and catches Michelle’s eye. “Tilson?” she asks. “Tilson Corporate Careers?”
Michelle gives her a perfunctory smile. “Yes.”
“Ah.” The woman nods and looks away. “I’ve seen your name on the registry.”
Michelle frowns, wondering if she should know this woman, but then the light above the middle car shifts from thirty-six to thirty-five.
Could Parker be on his way down?
After pressing the button that will take her to