Her hands would be free, but that was no guarantee. If she jumped and missed, she would either land on top of the elevator car and likely send it careening to the ground, or she would fall into the gap, landing on the floor. If that happened, Jack knew she would reach out, and if she caught him, her momentum might be enough to pull him off.
So he kept himself as flat as he could and then looked up, waiting.
Cassandra tried not to think about anything but the space in front of her. It was hard, especially since she could see the elevator from the corner of her eye, and just as easily imagine trying to reach for the ladder, missing, and cracking her head open.
She could see the news stories now: Semi-prominent Atlanta Attorney Found Dead at the Bottom of an Elevator Shaft. Details at Eleven.
No, that wouldn’t be pretty. Which meant she couldn’t miss.
She had been impressed with herself when she’d made it out of the elevator with relative ease. Maybe it had been the adrenaline, or maybe those few yoga classes her best friend had dragged her to had paid off, but though her shoulders burned ever so slightly, she was okay.
But this was different.
She thought she could make it, but she was wearing her kid-sole boots, boots that had cost a pretty penny but were designed for fashion and not function. The soles were slick and would give her no traction at all. She worried they would slip right off the metal and send her down, probably taking the man with her.
Not that she should have been concerned with him.
He hadn’t even given her hand to help her out of the elevator car. She told herself it was because he didn’t want to risk upsetting the car, but she suspected that wasn’t it.
Still, Cassandra tried to live a clean life and not mess with karma, though if today was anything to go by, she might need to step up her game.
Either way, rude or not, she didn’t want to be responsible for the man’s death.
Or her own.
So, after she had studied the space and shaft, she tried to formulate a plan. The gap looked to be about four feet, not that she had any experience trying to measure such things.
Still, though it was a distance, she suspected it was just short enough that she would be able to reach out for it. She gave a silent thanks to her father for his gift of height, the only thing he had ever given her. Then, after she took a deep breath, she moved.
She tipped as close to the concrete beam as she could and then moved her hands across. She could feel her balance giving as her hands got farther and farther away from her body, but she tightened her muscles and tried to make her legs solid, unmovable anchors.
She held them so tightly she could feel the strain, the heavy pull at her knees. But she didn’t stop. Instead, once she was certain she wouldn’t move, she slowly inched her hands across the rough concrete barrier. The material was cool to the touch and just a touch damp, rough against her palms. She tried to focus on that, on the way the concrete felt against her hands. It reminded her of exfoliating lotion, the rough bits of sand always pleasant to feel against her skin.
Cassandra couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with herself right now, but the alternative was to think about losing her grip and falling, the question of whether her arms were strong enough to support her. None of those would be helpful, so she let herself think her stupid thoughts as she reached for the ladder.
When she had stretched as far she could, she took a deep breath and then launched.
She swallowed the little shriek that bubbled up and then breathed a sigh of relief.
She wasn’t hurdling toward her death, and she hadn’t even kicked the man in the head.
Pity that, but she held the ladder tight and breathed.
She looked down at the man and didn’t see anything but the dark hair on the top of his head and the consuming darkness that was below.
He seemed to be studying something, though she couldn’t imagine what or how in the darkness of this elevator shaft. But after a moment, when Cassandra assumed he was satisfied, he started to move.
Cassandra’s legs were tense and her arms still burned, but she followed suit.
She could climb down a ladder at least.
The man moved fast, and Cassandra tried to keep up with him. But for some reason, as they got closer and closer to the bottom, her worry began to rise.
She’d been so focused on getting out of the elevator car and then on to the ladder, she had momentarily forgotten the reason she had to do either of those in the first place.
Someone had wanted into that elevator, someone she knew did not have good intentions for her. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about it before, but now she did. It hadn’t been a guard, and she doubted it was a civilian.
Which left her with one conclusion—some of the prisoners who were housed in the jail right next to the courthouse had gotten lose.
It was as plausible as anything and not at all unheard of. The question was, how had they been allowed to roam for so long, and why had no one come to the elevator to help?
The answers to those questions were key, and Cassandra didn’t know if she was ready to hear them.
She’d have to at some point, and some point soon, but for now, she focused on what mattered. And that was the fact that the elevator wasn’t shaking anymore and she was getting ever closer to the ground.
She looked down, noticed that the man had started to move faster and refocused on what she was doing.
Down, down, moving faster than she would have thought safe but far slower than the anxious nerves that were coming over her now wanted her to.
The man stopped, looked up at her, and though Cassandra couldn’t see his face, she assumed that he was communicating with her.
She looked down, again seeing nothing but blackness but knowing that they were close to the ground.
This building had at least one basement and probably many more subfloors that Cassandra didn’t know anything about.
She saw what appeared to be a door, and when she looked at the wall, she saw the crisp L that had been painted with black paint.
They had arrived.
CHAPTER FOUR
The door in the concrete cutout was about half the size of a regular door, which meant Jack would have to crouch as he went through it. Something he didn’t want to do, but something that was unavoidable.
So, after he stayed still for yet another moment, he turned the knob and pushed the door out, moving slowly, millimeter by millimeter. Fast would normally be his approach, but without knowing what was on the other side, silence seemed more important than speed.
When the door was finally open, he cautiously made his way through and breathed a sigh of relief when nothing immediately attacked him.
That sigh of relief was short-lived.
Almost instantly, Jack’s eyes landed on a figure.
He’d seen enough corpses to know he was looking at one.
But the presence of a body, one that, from what little Jack could see in the dim room, had experienced a massive amount of trauma, didn’t bode well for what he would find outside.
Jack listened as the woman followed and heard her sharp intake of breath.
He turned to look at her, ready to silence her if she again cried out.
She was quiet, still, but her eyes were wide as she took in the body.
Jack looked at her, and when he was certain she wouldn’t make any noise, he quietly closed the half door.
He let his gaze pass over the corpse and took in the disarray in the room.
This appeared to be a storage closet of some sort and had all manner of supplies.
There were countless rolls of toilet paper stacked against one wall and a variety of cleaning implements and cleansers. Jack spotted something in one corner and walked toward it slowly.