He whispered the two words over and over in a scatological litany all the way down. He was scared. Not that he’d ever admit it to anyone, not even Gia—no way he’d even tell Gia about this—but he freely admitted to himself that at this moment, in this place, he was flat-out, all-but-screaming terrified.

Not the height that bothered him, because he couldn’t see the bottom; and being enclosed in a sealed concrete shaft wasn’t all that bad, because the light atop the car let him see where he was.

It was the whole deal: Here he was dressed in a business suit and hanging onto a briefcase while riding an elevator on the wrong side of its ceiling. Sure, there had to be a first time for everything, but Jack swore this first time would also be the last time.

Because he liked to be in control of his gigs, and at the moment he was anything but in control.

And he didn’t see any quick way out of here.

Plus he couldn’t help worrying about what awaited him at his ultimate destination: the top of the shaft.

Finally, a faint ding! and the car slowed to a stop. He heard the doors open onto the main floor, then overheard Milkdud explaining to someone how the emergency stop was his fault, how the car had started to go down when he’d wanted to go up so he’d pressed the stop button by accident. Sorry. No harm done, right? Don’t worry, he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Jack used the stop time to pocket the hook and cord, then unbuckle and rebuckle his pants belt around the handle of his briefcase. He heard bodies piling into the cab, heard the doors close, and then the car started up.

If the descent had been an oh-shit moment, the ascent was ten, twenty, a hundred times worse.

Sure, Milkdud had explained it all and drawn diagrams about how much space was around and above the main support beam up at the top of the shaft, but Jack kept seeing himself squashed like a bug against the inside of the roof up there.

The middle elevator zoomed past on its way down, and his own car’s counterweight flashed past the rear of the car between one of the seven stops on the way up. If he’d had his hand out, he might have lost it. Taking the local usually drove Jack crazy when he was inside; but here on the outside, he didn’t mind.

“Take your time,” he whispered. “Take all the time you want.”

But after the sixteenth floor—Jack had seen the number stenciled above the door—the car resumed its ascent and kept going.