"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, J 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.