The elevator stopped on the thirty-fifth floor. The bell dinged, the door slid open, and the guards kept their ironfisted holds on Becca"s arms as they dragged her out.
"I told you to let me go!” she cried.
She bent her knees and her boots squeaked across the marble floor as they pulled her.
“Let me go!” she cried, hoping someone would hear her.
She was in some sort of hotel. One of those older, historic hotels that you often found downtown. The walls were plastered with candy-striped pink and white wallpaper, and the air was musty. Brass-plated sconces cast a glow that reminded her of candlelight. A subtle buzz from a nearby ice machine blanketed the hallway.
Every door they passed had brass numbers. She tracked the door numbers as she passed, keeping a mental note in case she got an
