PRAISE FOR ANGELA HUNT
“Prolific novelist Hunt knows how to hold the reader’s interest, and her latest yarn is no exception…. Hunt packs the maximum amount of drama into her story, and the pages turn quickly. The present-tense narration lends urgency as the perspective switches among various characters. Readers may decide to take the stairs after finishing this thriller.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Elevator
“Christy Award and Holt Medallion winner Hunt skillfully builds tension and keeps the plot well paced and not overly melodramatic.”
—Library Journal on The Elevator
“Hunt’s writing is filled with exciting twists that could have been pulled straight from the headlines. The prose is packed with biblical truths that readers will be able to relate to their own lives. The three women caught in an elevator reflect emotions and dilemmas that we all face.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on The Elevator
“In The Elevator, Ms. Hunt creates the perfect setup to keep you turning pages long after the rest of the house has fallen asleep. The Elevator also serves as a cautionary tale to those who would remain trapped in their old lives and opinions rather than reaching up for freedom and life. Loved it.”
—Lisa Samson, award-winning author of Quaker Summer and Embrace Me
the elevator
Angela Hunt
Deception is not as creative as truth.
We do best in life if we look at it with clear eyes, And I think that applies to coming up to death as well.
—Cicely Saunders
We can believe what we choose.
We are answerable for what we choose to believe.
—John Henry Newman
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
No novelist writes alone, and I had lots of help with this book.
First, thank you to my blog readers, who helped me fill Michelle’s purse.
I owe a huge debt to my agent, Danielle Egan-Miller, and to Steeple Hill editors Joan Marlow Golan and Krista Stroever for their great enthusiasm for a one-paragraph synopsis.
A deep and abiding “thank you” to the two elevator technicians I met at the Imperial Swan Hotel in Lakeland. When I asked for their names, they said I could simply thank the “two handsome gentlemen” who gave me a guided tour of the inner (and outer) workings of an elevator and let me peer into the shaft. Gentlemen, my hat’s off to you.
Thank you to fellow novelist Randy Singer, who introduced me to Michael Garnier, who not only answered dozens of e-mailed questions, but seemed to enjoy doing so despite the story’s high estrogen level. Thanks also to Michael’s friend P.J., otherwise known as Paul G. McGrath, who answered queries from Michael, who then passed the answers along to me. Gentlemen, this book would not be complete without you.
Hugs and muchas gracias to Vasthi Acosta and Veronica Beard, who helped me with Isabel’s Spanish. Any lingering errors are mine alone.
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 15
7:00 a.m.
CHAPTER 1
Wrapped in the remnants of a dream, Michelle Tilson opens her eyes and smiles at the ceiling until she remembers the monster looming in the Gulf. She reaches for Parker, but the spot where he should be lying is empty and cold. She pushes herself up, the satin sheets puddling at her waist, and looks into the bathroom, which is empty.
But a single red rose lies on Parker’s pillow.
Of course—he’s gone to the office. He said he might not be here when she woke.
Groaning, Michelle falls onto his pillow and breathes in the sweet scent of the flower. Typical Parker, the disappearing man. Here for a night, gone for a week. Most women would resent his inconsistency, but she’s become accustomed to his vanishing act.
She props her pillow against the headboard and leans back, surprised she can feel so relaxed on a Saturday morning. Weekends usually depress her, but despite the hurricane warning she floats in a curious contentment, as though the previous night’s love and laughter have splashed over a levee and flooded the normally arid weekend.
Parker is good for her. The man knows when it’s time to work and when it’s time to play, a lesson she’s been struggling to learn.
She reaches for the remote on the nightstand and powers on the television, still tuned to the Weather Channel. A somber-faced young man appears before a map on which a swirling bull’s-eye is moving straight toward Florida’s west coast. Hurricane Felix, already a category four, has left Mexico and is churning toward Tampa Bay.
Michelle squints as her mind stamps the map with an icon representing her condo at Century Towers. Nothing
