Page 85 of Crash and Burn

No service.

Seline wanted to laugh—the hysterical kind of laughter, not the happy kind.

She’d been pissed at the way her day was goingbeforeshe stepped into the elevator. Having it drop suddenly, then screech to a grinding halt had been the icing on top.

She was huffing out a breath when she felt her heart lurch again. She noticed her body jerk in response before she even realized the floor was missing and she was falling again.

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her fists clenched, one around the handrail and another on the phone this time as the floor slammed back up at her, the horrifying squeal signaling that the brakes had once again done their job.

But damn if she wasn’t going to pass out from being startled to death.

This could not be happening. Notnow!

Once again, the man made a gesture toward her. He was wearing firefighting flame-retardant pants, his red suspenders hanging loose, his broad capable hands at the ready to help her. He was probably used to people needing his help. But she didn’t.

With a deep breath that surely came out more as an irritated sigh, Seline tried to relax her hands, to not make fists and howl at the unfairness. She checked the phone again, hoping to catch a signal and call her department chair and let the woman know that she would likely be late to the first meeting of the semester—for the first meeting Seline was supposed to attend as a tenure-track professor.Pouah!

She was mad enough to spit nails and trying not to let the hunky firefighter next to her know it. The signal was still dead. Though she couldn’t call out, she could still clearly read the warnings her friend Maggie had texted right before the elevator doors closed.

—I’m still on for our sleepover tonight, but I wanted to warn you. Just got word that the Blue River Killer struck again.

— Clearly, FBI was wrong. Seline, this victim was blond haired and blue eyed! Like you. Please, be careful.

At least she was safe from the killer in here. As long as the hunky firefighter wasn’t the killer. She’d only been in Nebraska for five years, but that was long enough to know that, despite being blond-haired and blue-eyed, she didn’t really fit the Blue River Killer’s profile. He took people from clubs and bars and parties, not universities or chem labs … and certainly not elevators.

“Are you okay?” The strapping firefighter was reaching out a hand as though to steady her again, but she waved him off as politely as she could. Once the hideously old contraption had ground to a halt, she’d been fine.

She felt her jaw clench, and she wanted to pop off, “No, I’m Seline.” But instead, she replied, “Yes, I’m fine. I was just startled. What are the chances—”

His radio crackled to life and it figured she’d finally try to be nice and she’d get interrupted. Maybe she’d hear something useful, though.

None of her irritation was from the elevator itself, just the being late part. Elevators she understood. Angry department heads would be harder to fix.

“I’m stuck in shaft number four, East tower, between twelve and thirteen. I have a citizen with me.” He said into the black, handheld device. At least he had communication.

“Are they afraid of the elevator falling?” whoever he was talking to answered back.

Seline got even more irritated, though she knew she shouldn’t. But why did this have to happen today?

Her tone bore the heavy French accent that seeped back in when she was sad, drinking, or irritated. “Elevators are designed with brake pads made out of materials with high coefficients of dynamic friction. This means that, as the elevator drops faster, the coefficient of friction increases. So, the faster the elevator goes the stickier the brake pads get.” She watched as his eyebrows climbed higher and higher, but she was irritated enough to not know when to shut up. “It is virtually impossible for any elevator constructed after 1950 to fall wildly out of control.”

He was holding the radio out so the person on the other end of the line could hear her. And he was smiling. “Very good.”

“I’m a physical chemist.” She shrugged. Even as she said it, she could hear clapping on the other end of his radio. It was more than one person listening in. She should have been embarrassed by her little outburst, but at least they were clapping.

Holding the radio back to his own mouth, he said, “No, she’s not afraid of the elevator falling …”

“I am upset,” she added, “because my citizenship is contingent on this professorship. The first meeting of the term with the entire staff of the Chemistry department starts at the Uni in…” She looked at her phone again.Damn. “Ten minutes ago.”

He had the grace to not point out that she’d been running late well before the elevator ground to a halt.

He winced as though he understood her dilemma but tucked the radio back onto his waistband and said, “Well, I'm glad I'm not stuck in an elevator with someone who's irrationally afraid that they're falling to their death.”

She laughed finally, grateful that he'd managed to make her smile. This poor firefighter had managed to get stuck with her when she was at her worst. She decided she could do better.

So she stuck out her hand. “I'm Seline Marchand.”

“Kalan Smith. Redemption FD.” His hand was larger than hers, his grip warm and reassuring. If she hadn't been such a bitch to him already, she could have liked this guy.

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