The elevator transformed him into a sex fiend. He put his hands on her thigh, sliding them deep into private territory on both sides of her body. She could feel his hot breath on her neck, as he licked the small of her neck and whispered something about putting his cock somewhere she'd considered permanently off limits. She fought every instinct in her body to keep from tensing, responding with a subtle, sensuous exhale, but nothing more than that. She didn't want to encourage him to the point where he might try to stop the elevator. His hand slid deeper along her inner thigh, and all she could think about was the serrated blade in her purse. Mercifully, the elevator doors opened on the eighteenth floor, putting his disgusting behavior on hold. She couldn't imagine how bad it would get when he closed the door to Suite 1812.
Benjamin Young sported all of the prerequisites that would identify him as a wealthy, well-heeled gentleman: Armani suit with pocket square, $350 haircut, custom leather shoes, Clive Christian cologne, Rolex, diamond cuff links. But beyond this ungodly expensive, thin veneer, he was no different than the body-odor-soaked, soulless murderers and rapists she'd lived among in Belgrade. He might smell better, but ultimately, he behaved like the rest of them. Countless women and children suffered because of men like Benjamin Young. She hated his type and looked forward to getting him behind closed doors. His reign of terror permanently ended tonight.
They arrived at his door, and she stole a glance at the peephole on the door directly across from the suite. Munoz and Melendez were waiting patiently for Young's admirers, which should give her some time alone with Young. He slid the key card in the door and opened it, inviting her in.
As she entered, he spoke quietly but urgently. "I couldn't tell from our elevator conversation whether you were into anal play or not. Money isn't a problem, in case that's your hang up."
She almost started laughing at the absolute desperation of his comment. This appeared to be all he was worried about. His previous "date" had apparently cleared him for rear entry, and this was his sole point of focus. She couldn't wait to disappoint him. Instead of answering his question, she walked deeper into the suite, placing her handbag on a marble-topped counter. He closed the door and rushed to catch up with her. She felt his hand grip her upper left arm tightly and try to pull her back to face him. He was really concerned about his menu options tonight. She shirked his hand and turned to face him, keeping the matte black, serrated blade concealed along the side of her right wrist.
"I'm not paying you to ignore me," he said.
She just stared at him with a smile, until he stepped forward and reached out to grab her wrist, committing a rookie mistake. She lifted her wrist slightly, just far enough to make it easier for him. Once his hand tightened around her wrist, missing the concealed knife blade by less than a centimeter, she flexed her hand upward and broke his grip. Before he could react, she stepped forward and rapidly slid her hand over his extended arm toward his throat. As he tried to wrap his arm around her, she pivoted on her right foot, which brought her body flush against Young's back. Her left forearm braced his chin backward as she eased the tip of the five-inch blade against his throat.
"This ass isn't for sale," she hissed in his ear.
"Everything is for sale. Whatever your game is, I'm into it…but without the knife at my throat. This is definitely something new, but it makes me a little nervous."
"Move into the bedroom. Now!" she said, manhandling him toward the bedroom door.
"Look. This is a little rougher than I expected. Maybe I should pay you for your time and we'll call it good. Sorry about the misunderstanding," he said. Jessica could detect fear in his voice.
"There hasn't been a misunderstanding, Mr. Young, and no amount of money is going to buy your way out of this one," she stated, moving him through the door into the bedroom.
"I never told you my last name. Who are you?"
"Time to shut the fuck up. If you say another word without my permission, I'll take a big slice out of that pretty face."
"What is going—"
His comment was interrupted by her left forearm, which exerted incredible pressure on his larynx and prevented him from either speaking or breathing. She shifted the knife and gently placed it near the outside corner of his right eye socket.
"I'll give you one more chance. If you say another word, I'll start cutting. Do you understand me? Nod if you understand me," she said, and he nodded quickly.
The quick movement of his head caused the knife to penetrate the skin on his forehead, a consequence that Jessica had foreseen. Young winced, but held steady, not making a single noise when she released the grip on his neck.
"You need to think carefully about everything you do. Every thought. Every movement. From this point forward, every action has a consequence. Take a seat on the edge of the bed, and don't fall off. This knife stays right here until my friends arrive."
She felt his jaw start to move, as he fought the urge to ask about her friends.
"Very good. A quick learner. You just might survive the night, Ben. Personally, I hope you don't, but if you keep following directions, I think you'll see your family again."
Benjamin Young didn't move a millimeter in response to her comment, which made Jessica smile. Fully compliant in less than a minute. Maybe Sanderson wasn't full of shit for once. They might even be able to fly back to the coast tonight if Young behaved. If not, they could still enjoy a late dinner and some nightlife in Buckhead. She could think of worse places to be trapped on a Friday night.
Enrique Melendez sat forward in his chair and watched Jessica Petrovich and Benjamin Young approach the door to Suite 1812 on his monitor. The small, flat-screen monitor was mounted to the edge of the desk in the living area of their two-room suite. Jeffrey Munoz stood next to the door, holding the second monitor, ready to intervene in the hallway if the situation deteriorated. Melendez seriously doubted that Jessica would require their assistance with Young. He'd seen her in action at the high-rise apartment in Buenos Aires and taken part in her knife training drills. Even with an injured hand, Young would be absolutely no match for her skills. Their job was to take care of the two True America operatives, who were most likely a minute or two away from breaking into Suite 1812.
They had drilled through the glass peephole and replaced the lens with a fiber optic camera capable of providing a high resolution, wide-angle view of the hallway, vastly improving upon the image afforded by the peephole. The fiber optic cable fed into a small digital recorder on the desk, which split the signal to the two monitors and allowed them to rewind and review the feed.
Just as importantly, it permitted them to closely monitor traffic in the hallway, without standing with their heads pressed to the door for hours on end. Each monitor was attached to fifty feet of video cable, giving them full range of the suite. This had come in handy for Munoz, who had been trapped in Suite 1811 most of the day, making certain that nobody besides Benjamin Young entered Suite 1812. He'd alternated that duty with babysitting the original occupants of Suite 1811, who lay unconscious on the floor of the bedroom, zip-tied and neatly arranged next to each other with pillows under their heads.
Mr. and Mrs. Hines, a young black couple from Birmingham, Alabama, had checked into the hotel around 4 PM, with 8 PM dinner reservations at Restaurant Eugene. Unfortunately, the exclusive Friday night reservation at this chic gastro destination had already expired, and the rest of their weekend getaway would be ruined by a lingering headache, coupled with a hotel-wide police investigation. Mr. and Mrs. Hines had been hit with a powerful, yet relatively harmless neurotoxin, which would leave them disabled for a few hours. A smaller dose of the neurotoxin would be administered every few hours until the mission was completed.