Jeff-the-doorman did what he could to delay the FBI agents, but it wasn't much.

Still, he hoped the lovely, doe-eyed lady occupying the penthouse would learn of his efforts and appreciate them. Thoughts of the rewards such a creature could bestow, if truly grateful, gave him a distracted air, slowing his movements and ability to grasp the situation.

"Back to the penthouse!" The older agent had barked at him, knowing they needed Jeff's master key to operate the private elevator as well as open the ornately carved door to the luxury unit.

"Eh?" was the doorman's pithy response.

"The penthouse! We're going back there. Hurry!" Rossi actually had the temerity to grab Jeff's arm and push him along.

The doorman dug in his heels. "You've already been there! Twice! Nothing's changed since the last time you looked."

Reid added his efforts to Rossi's, herding the recalcitrant man toward the elevator. "There's another room! A hidden one. They might be in there!"

That yanked Jeff completely back to the present, putting enjoyable, carnal fantasies on hold for the time being. " 'They?' Wha'd'y'all mean 'they?'"

Rossi pulled up short, his Italian temper escalating from simmer to boil. With the ease of experience in all sorts of physical altercations, he slammed the doorman against the hallway wall, a forearm across the man's throat doing the dual duty of holding him in place as well as making his eyes bug at the unexpected brute force.

"I thought we understood each other, but I guess I was wrong. So let me explain this one last time, friend." Rossi's voice went dangerously soft, like a velvet noose that would be so comfortable to wear even as it choked the life and breath out of you. "You don't need to know what we're looking for or why, but if it'll help you put your ass in gear, here's the story. Three of our agents are missing. If I get even a hint of a whiff of an echo of a possibility that you're obstructing a federal investigation, your life as a human doorstop will end. And I doubt very much that your employers or your tenants will lift a finger to…how did you put it?... 'take care' of you? In fact, they might be more comfortable, once the whole story comes out, to stand by and see you shuttled off somewhere where no one will ever hear from you again….Capice?"

Rossi felt the man's Adam's apple bob against the pressure of his arm. He might have enjoyed taking some of his frustration and worry out by pressing a little harder, but Reid's strident demand overrode such simple pleasures.

"Rossi! Come on! If they're there, they might need help. If they're not…we have to start over." His voice cracked on the last words.

If this lead didn't pan out, the chances that their teammates would be found alive were slim to none.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chafing circulation back into her abused extremities, Prentiss lurched toward the door.

Visions of water and a bathroom and a phone danced in her weary head. In the background she could hear Morgan crooning comfort to their boss. It spurred her on. Of primary importance was a 9-1-1 call to procure help for Hotch. Brain processing and prioritizing, Emily stumbled into the door, grasped the knob, turned…and almost sobbed.

It was locked. She recalled hearing Megan turn a key or throw a bolt when she'd left. There had been so much else on her mind, Prentiss had forgotten until her hand closed on the heavy, brass doorknob.

The impulse to sob was transitory.

In its wake was red-hot fury. With an animal scream of rage, Emily threw herself at the door, battering her shoulders and hips against what felt like solid steel. She savaged the knob, only stopping short of rending it with her nails and bared teeth. And only then because some modicum of sanity prevailed. She wouldn't be an asset to their efforts if she were burdened with bloody fingertips and broken incisors.

Morgan was alerted to the predicament at the door by the sounds of Prentiss's frenzied attack.

Realizing they were still captives, his head hung for a moment. He wanted to rail against the unfairness, the injustice of being no closer to freedom despite all the endurance and tenacity and superhuman effort they'd expended.

But both agents were pros. Prentiss's anger and Morgan's despondence were thrust down in favor of seeking an alternative route out.

"Emily, come hold Hotch. Let me try." Derek managed a wry, dry half-grin. "After all, it's my job to kick down doors, remember?"

Nodding, too overwrought for words, Prentiss switched places with her teammate, taking the Unit Chief's upper body into her lap, running her hands along muscles still twitching from the aftereffects of whatever he'd been dosed with. As Morgan had, she found it instinctual to rock and murmur soft comfort. "It's alright, Hotch. Everything'll be okay. I've got you. Not gonna let you go. It's alright…"

As much as she hoped that Hotch could hear and understand her, she prayed he didn't hear Morgan's verdict from where he was testing his diminishing strength against the door.

"It's no use." He staggered back from having thrown all he had left into the attempt. "No use. We're still trapped."

Coming back to Prentiss's side, Morgan slid to the ground and wrapped his arms around both of his teammates.

There really wasn't anything else to do.