Three
Asia
“Not today,” I grumbled as I smacked the Down button and prayed the elevator would finally move.
It didn’t, and it took everything I had to hold back my growl of impatience.
Instead, I settled for a deep sigh and pushed the button again.
I made sure to keep my movements deliberate, not wanting to betray my rising irritation.
After all, I’d only put in an eighty-hour week defending the rights of the county’s citizens. Why should I expect the courthouse elevator to work?
Suddenly annoyed at my own increasingly dour mood, I glanced back at the other occupant of the elevator.
I’d seen him earlier, in the hallway outside of the courtroom.
At first glance, I almost coughed as hard as Bridget, my friend and a court reporter. She had an excuse—her allergies were going haywire, and I had tried to reassure her that it wasn’t the mysterious virus that was all over the news.
I had no such excuse.
And a man, no matter how he drew my eye, should not have caused that kind of reaction.
Yet, as I looked at him now, I had the same response.
That low, hot twist in forgotten places.
A unnameable pull, twinged with something like fear, a feeling that was intense as it was confusing. He commanded my attention effortlessly, and while I was no weakling, something told me this man might be more than I could handle.
He was tall, several inches taller than my own almost six feet, and every inch of him looked carved out of granite. He had dark brown hair, and green eyes that were both alert and calm. His features were harsh, almost cruel, and only softened by surprisingly plush-looking lips.
He wasn’t what I would call classically handsome, but he possessed a masculinity that was undeniable.
Almost overwhelming.
But one thing he assuredly was not was friendly.
He wasn’t exactly scowling at me, but he wasn’t not scowling, either.
I didn’t hold it against him.
I’d been accused of having resting bitch face a time or two myself, not that I gave a shit.
Still, I couldn’t help the tiny grin that curved my lips at the thought of someone telling him he should smile more.
That would be worth the price of admission.
Of that I had no doubt.
But neither of us would do anything until we got out of this courthouse.
So, brief moment of amusement behind me, I pushed the Down button again.
An instant later, the elevator car plunged into darkness .
When the lights went out, a stab of panic pierced my gut.
It was silly, really, a grown woman, a respected professional, being afraid of the dark.
But silly as it might be, that didn’t change the truth of it.
I was fucking terrified.
And in those first seconds of darkness, a panic so intense I couldn’t even take a breath gripped me.
But, like I always did whenever confronted with something that scared me, I gritted my teeth and fought the panic back.
Panic had never won before.
I wouldn’t let it win now, especially not when I had an audience.
I refused to lose my shit in front of this man.
Maybe the ego I always fought so hard to suppress would finally be my saving grace.
I squeezed my phone like it was a lifeline but forced myself to relax my stiff fingers and turn on the phone’s flashlight. I used my free hand to adjust my suit jacket and then patted my hair to ensure my braids were still in place.
Neither should have been a primary concern, but I needed a few seconds to ground myself.
Seconds it seemed I wouldn’t get.
Because the man was watching.
His gaze was rough but moved over my body like a caress.
I was embarrassed to admit that I cared what he saw when he looked at me.
And annoyed that his expression gave nothing away.
Out of habit, I gave him the smile I’d mastered during my career as a public defender. Friendly, but not too friendly, designed to convey both competence and approachability.
It bounced off him like a gnat, his rugged expression completely unmoved.
“Oh-kay,” I muttered with a lift of my brow.
Given the close quarters, I may as well have screamed, but my companion gave no reaction.
I turned my attention back to the problem at hand and pressed the CALL button and waited for the dial tone and expected gruff bark calling out, “Security.”
I didn’t get either .
My only response was silence, so I called again and got the same result.
“Ugh,” I grumbled, then risked glancing over my shoulder.
My brown eyes collided with his, and while his gaze was unreadable, he watched me, seemingly cataloging my every move.
“There’s probably no one manning the desk,” I said. “I’ll just push the bell, and maybe one of the guards will hear it on their rounds.”
Again, he said nothing, and I fought the urge to frown. He probably wasn’t thrilled to be stuck in the elevator, either.
Now determined to get us both out, I pushed the bell again.
The sound was loud yet hollow, and I could visualize the tiny clapper striking the metal and making it vibrate to create the almost shrill sound.
I held the button far longer than I should have, and I realized that, for some reason, I was afraid to let it go.
I couldn’t put my finger on what was happening, but some instinct kept my finger on the button, some irrational fear telling me that my finger on that bell was the only thing keeping me from something awful.
The sheer madness of the thought finally made me lift my finger, and the ring faded into darkness and silence.
That silence was terrifying.
I realized why instantly.
I’d probably spent more time in this courthouse than I had at my condo, and in the earliest morning or in the dead of night, there was always noise—inmates yelling as they were transported, arguments over traffic tickets, joyous outbursts at a wedding, or adoption, the overnight cleaning crew.
There was always something .
But now, there was only silence.
I shook off the unease and pushed the button again.
And again got the same result.
I let go of the button and looked back at my silent companion.
His gaze still followed my every move.
Most days, I’d hate that.
I kind of hated it now, too.
But for the wrong reasons .
This man was scary, but at least I wasn’t alone.
Wanting an escape from the sudden vulnerability, I smiled at him and said, “Cop?”
“No,” he barked, the single word clipped and rude as hell.
Asshole.
I kept my thoughts to myself, though.
Maybe being alone wasn’t the worst thing if he was my option.
I huffed, and then shook my head. “All righty then,” I said, taking a moment to regain my equilibrium.
Dealing with jerks was fifty percent of my job, and as soon as I got out of this elevator, I could put this one behind me.
Intent on doing just that, I turned my attention to my cell phone.
“No signal,” I said, not entirely sure why I still bothered to engage him. Realized it was attempt to calm my nerves, one that wasn’t working at all. But I wasn’t a quitter. So I spoke again. “But maybe someone will hear the bell.”
Then everything changed.
One moment I was pushing the bell .
The next, my arm was slammed against my side so tightly, I couldn’t lift it.
A second after, a strong, heavy hand clamped over my mouth, and I found myself caged in the man’s arms, trapped against his chest.
Knew instantly there was no way I could free myself.
The fear that I fought to keep at bay hit me like a sledgehammer, and I cursed myself for my miscalculation.
I tried to pretend he was harmless, ignoring the instinct that said he wasn’t safe. The arms restraining me with no effort at all proved how stupid I’d been.
“What are you?—”
The loud, angry words poured out of my throat but were silenced by his hand over my mouth.
Though he still seemed to be expending no effort, his huge, warm hand smothered my voice. The arm around my waist squeezed tighter, and he whispered in my ear.
“Shut up.”
The words were barely audible, so quiet that I was surprised I heard them over my pounding heart.
But hear I did, and the words vibrated down my spine, settling in my bones.
I heard something else in his voice, too.
This man, one whose very essence screamed calm and competence, was completely alert.
He sensed trouble.
That scared the shit out of me.
My heart pounded even harder, the jackhammering beats rattling my chest and making taking a deep breath impossible.
But I tried, sucking in a breath that was half sob, half moan and then exhaled, heavy and deep, a move that sent me deeper into the man’s hold.
His body was solid against mine, my plush curves molding against his hard muscles. But at that moment, his hand still tight against my mouth, his other arm pressing mine tight against my side, I felt something almost like safe.
Insane but undeniable.
Also fleeting.
The man was tense, his body coiled as if ready to spring.
That put me on even higher alert.
I felt myself tense, too, listening for whatever had him on edge.
Hoped it wasn’t me.
The seconds ticked by, intense, and then…
I heard it.
Faint at first but growing ever louder.
Footsteps.
They were muffled, not particularly hurried, but they were footsteps nonetheless.
For want of anything else to do, I reached up and wrapped my hand around the man’s strong forearm, trying—and failing—to get free.
“What—”
He cut off my words by tightening his hold on my mouth, his thick fingers smashing my lips against my teeth.
Escaping his hold was impossible, so I stayed still and bided my time. I’d be out of here soon enough, and I looked forward to punching this asshole in jaw.
From the looks of him, it would hurt me more than him, but it still gave me something to look forward to.
I chose not to think about how he’d respond when I did.
Those footsteps got closer, and for a split second, hope bloomed in my chest.
Then, I noticed it…
Something about the footsteps seemed…off.
It was a weird thing to think, and I wracked my brain trying to explain what bothered me.
I couldn’t count the number of times I’d heard footsteps coming down this very hall.
The lower-pitched thud of polished loafers, the click-clack of high heels.
The rhythmic pound of canes and walkers.
The smooth, barely audible roll of wheelchairs.
I’d heard them all.
But I’d never heard anything like this.
There was a rhythm to the steps, but instead of the crisp strides of a lawyer, the more casual stroll of one of the guards, or the vaguely confused-sounding, tentative steps of a visitor who had lost their way, these were different.
The approach was near silent.
The sound of feet hitting the floor was muffled, quiet in a way that was so disconcerting, I realized I was clenching my fists to try to stay calm. Or as calm as I could be trapped in this stranger’s arms.
It struck me then, that feeling I hadn’t been able to place, and as insane as it was, I knew it was true.
Because that feeling told me there was a predator outside.
Told me that I was prey.
I couldn’t deny that feeling any more than I could deny my next breath.
But I refused to let fear take over.
I realized I still held the man’s forearm in a tight grip. I let it go, and he relaxed his hold.
I shifted slightly, my body rubbing against his a welcome distraction from full-blown terror, and looked back at the man’s face, eerie in the weak glow of my cell phone.
He shook his head before I could speak, his eyes firm and his intention clear.
Shut up .
My heart pounded wildly now, and the sweat pouring down my back had nothing to do with heat.
The footsteps, which had gotten ever closer, stopped.
All of this was wrong .
Very, very wrong.
That was my last thought before a hard crash shook the elevator.
The same crash also shattered what was left of my self-control.
The scream came out involuntarily, feeling as urgent as my next breath.
But much like my next breath, it was muffled by the man’s hand.
He must have anticipated my response, because he clamped his hand down tight, holding me as the scream poured out of me.
The elevator car stopped rocking, but the lack of motion on the outside did nothing to calm the jangling nerves that made my breaths jagged and jerky.
But at least I didn’t scream.
I waited, my breath almost refusing to leave me, and without even realizing it, I lifted my hand to the man’s forearm again.
As afraid as I was, I held him tight, hoping that the next sound I heard was those same stalking steps leaving.
No such luck.
Another crash, this one more intense than the first, shook the car .
Strangely, this crash had the opposite effect of the first.
Rather than screaming, my response was a deep exhale.
And rather than sending my mind shifting, that crash left me with an intense clarity.
Whoever was out there wanted to be in here.
And that would be very, very bad for me.
To make no mention of the elevator, one that had been here since the seventies, maybe even earlier. It wasn’t built to withstand that kind of stress, so whatever was outside would find its way in or send the elevator crashing to the ground trying.
Fanfuckingtastic.
I shifted in the man’s arms again and turned on the light on my phone.
He pressed his finger against his lips, and I nodded my agreement.
Then he pointed up.
I let my gaze follow the length of his muscled arm and stopped at the ceiling.
Or rather, the tiles that probably hadn’t been dusted in decades.
More importantly, our way out .
The elevator shook again, but I didn’t pay attention to the crash.
Instead I focused on the man as he stretched up tall and shifted the ceiling tiles, ducking his face away to avoid the dust. Then he pushed down, testing, and apparently, deciding the roof was sturdy enough, pulled himself through the hole and disappeared in the yawning black space with one fluid motion.
I kept my attention on the man and tried to refocus my fear.
That was easy . If he can do it, I can, too!
I couldn’t stop the fleeting, humorless smile that lifted my lips.
That was a lie from the pits of hell.
But it didn’t matter.
Because the truth was clear, as undeniable as whatever pull I felt toward this man.
I could stay here or—I realized with a stunning clarity that had been missing before—I could die.
I wouldn’t die.