Annihilate Them Read online

  “Why?”

  “Because the risks are greater. The dew, as they say, has long since fallen from my lily.”

  “You’re one of the most vibrant people I know. Marcus has responded to that.”

  “I don’t know what he sees in me. I truly don’t—and I’m not fishing for compliments here, so don’t start flattering me now.”

  “Then here’s what I’ll say—don’t shut the door on him. Try to leave behind the baggage Charles left you. When you let go of it and start to live in the moment, that’s when you are going to know in your gut whether Marcus is worth pursuing or not. When will you see him again?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “What does he have in mind?”

  “He’s going to cook for me at his apartment. We’re going to have cocktails, canapés, and something French for dinner.”

  “Which also means that you’re going to have sex!”

  “And now you’re just conjuring up images of me in all sorts of sordid positions...”

  “I am not.”

  “Then perhaps I am...”

  “If you are, I’m all for it. Forget about Charles, and focus on Marcus. I know you. There’s something about Marcus that has stopped you from dropping him. Because if there was something there, you would have ended this months ago.”

  “Look, he’s very kind. And smart. And handsome. And witty. I especially respond to his wit. He makes me laugh.”

  “Is he a good lover?”

  For a moment, I wasn’t sure whether she was going to answer me—but she did. “In fact, he is.”

  “Then enjoy it again.”

  “All right,” she said. “That’s enough about Marcus and me. Let’s get back to tonight’s party. You and Alex generally are on the hunt for some sort of deal when you go out to one of these big events. I’m assuming tonight won’t be any different?”

  “You’re correct.”

  “Who is in your sights this time?”

  “Rudman Cross.”

  “Of Cross Communications?”

  “That’s right. And if we had time, I’d tell you more about it, but I need to get to my meeting. For now, just wish us luck when it comes to tonight.”

  “Then, good luck, my adventurous one. Now, listen to me before you leave for your meeting. Be here at six-thirty sharp, because Bernie’s time is precious, and we can’t leave him waiting.”

  “When am I ever late without good reason? Especially when it comes to the kind of party Bernie and you throw for me?”

  “Never,” she said, waving her hand toward the door. “Now—shoo. And Jennifer?”

  “Yes?”

  “Think long and hard about what we’ve discussed this morning, because I meant all of it. I think that if you take a step back from Wenn and focus on yourself, a child will come.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE NEWS CAME AS SUCH a surprise to Gia that she had to read the email twice on her untraceable TracFone before she believed any of it.

  “He can’t be serious.” she said.

  “Who can’t be serious?”

  With a questioning look on his face, Carlo entered the living room from the kitchen with a cup of coffee for each of them. It was morning—just past ten. Both had already showered and dressed for the long and difficult day that lay ahead of them. Soon, they’d need to leave to stake out a parking spot outside the Witherhouses’ mansion.

  “Rowe,” she said. “Look at the email I just received from him.”

  She watched him as he moved toward her. To most women, her brother was the sort of man they either wanted to run away with—or fuck. Carlo was that charming, that good looking, that sexy and witty—and that smooth. With his dark stubble, hard body, curly black hair, light blue eyes, and thick lashes, he was a lady’s man to his core. But there was much more to him than people realized—he also was a terrific strategist, a gifted sniper, and a master with computers.

  As he put her coffee down on the table in front of her and then sat next to her, she showed the email to him. He read it once, paused, and then read it aloud in disbelief.

  “‘This morning, it came to my attention that Alex and Jennifer Wenn also will be at the Witherhouses’ party tonight. Given what you have in mind for the end of the evening, when the guests start leaving the building, I want you to forget what I said before about saving the Wenns for last. Tonight, I want you to kill them along with Diana Crane and Mike Fine. When that’s done, I want you to immediately turn your focus to Janice Jones, and finish her off in a way that will leave people talking about the manner of her death for years to come. Any questions? You know how to reach me. —S’”

  When Gia lowered her phone, Carlo just shook his head at her. “We didn’t agree to any of this,” he said. “There’s a contract. We signed it. He was specific in his requests. He can’t just change things at will without our consent.”

  “What are we going to do if he breaks our contract, Carlo? Sue him? Bring him in front of a court of law because he didn’t honor the contract? Please. He’s got us by the balls and he knows it as well as you and I do. We knew it the moment we signed that ridiculous and meaningless ‘contract’ of his.” In anger, she leaned forward and sipped her coffee. “If we deny him of what he wants, he will get rid of us and go elsewhere, and in the process, we’ll lose out on earning millions.”

  “So, at the very least, we need to reason with him. Our whole plan for tonight has always been about timing and luck, the latter of which neither of us believes in. Will Diana and Mike leave the building together? We’ve already told Rowe that that’s doubtful, which is why we said we’d only guarantee that we could get one of them. As for the Wenns, obviously they will exit the building together, which will make killing them easier for us. If Rowe is going to change the game, then this is our opportunity to also change his expectations. I think what we need to sell to him right now is that since the Wenns will be there tonight, our attention should be on them—not on Diana or Mike. When the Wenns emerge from the building, we nail them. If Diana or Mike happens to be near them, great—we’ll take them out as well. But I believe that we have to reinforce the fact that it’s doubtful that we’ll get all of them tonight. We have to make him see that.”

  Gia stood. “I agree. Let’s go and talk with him.”

  WHEN THEY ENTERED THE media room, Carlo sat next to Gia in front of the computer and she nodded at him to call Rowe, whose face filled the screen within moments. It was as if he’d been expecting their call.

  “What a surprise,” he said as he looked at them. “How did I know that I’d be hearing from each of you now...?”

  “Good morning, Stephen,” Gia said.

  “It isn’t morning where I am, Gia, but good morning to you, nevertheless.”

  “Stephen,” Carlo said.

  “Hello, Carlo.”

  Choose your words carefully, Gia thought.

  “I just received your email,” she said. “I shared it with Carlo, and we’d like to discuss it with you.”

  “I had a feeling that you might.” He leaned back in his chair and shrugged at them. “What’s on your mind?”

  “We have a choice when it comes to tonight,” Gia said. “Now that we know that the Wenns will be there, things have shifted.”

  “How have they shifted?”

  “I think you’ll agree with us that we can’t expect the Wenns, Diana Crane, and Mike Fine to all exit the building at the same moment. It’s unreasonable to think that they will, especially since you told us that hundreds of people have been invited to that party. Given what we’ve planned, we all know that we have only one chance to be successful tonight. From the start, when you told us that only Fine and Crane would be there tonight, I warned you that we might only be able to get one of them. But now, with the Wenns attending, everything has changed.”

  “How so?”

  “Unlike Fine and Crane, the Wenns will leave the building together since they’re man and wife. So, my question to you is this—s
hould we take this opportunity to target them instead? I can assure you that when they leave the building, we can get both of them, especially because of the way we’re treating tonight.”

  “As a terrorist attack,” Rowe said.

  “Exactly. With Meredith having died just yesterday, all of us agreed that when we take down Fine and/or Crane only a day later, that we should also kill as many random people as possible so that it doesn’t look as if they were targeted. The same holds true for Alex and Jennifer Wenn. If they are going to be there tonight, my suggestion to you is that we focus on them first and take them out along with whomever happens to be around them at the time. Because if we accomplish that, the only conclusion one can make in the wake of so many deaths is that the Wenns were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It will look random, not intentional. As such, you will recede as a potential suspect behind their deaths. As you noted a moment ago, people will think that it was just a terrorist attack. So,” Gia said while she looked at Rowe. “How do we proceed?”

  “Crane and Fine are less important to me—but I still want them dead for what they did to me, Gia. So, in this case, I agree with you. Tonight is an opportunity. Focus on the Wenns—leave Crane and Fine for later in the week if you have to. Then, after they’re dead, what I want you to hand me is that cunt Janice Jones on a bloody platter. What we’ve just agreed upon is a new order of events. Don’t disappoint me. Don’t screw this up. If you do, I’ll go elsewhere. Am I understood?”

  Before Gia could answer, Stephen Rowe leaned forward with a frustrated sigh and severed their connection.

  THE WITHERHOUSES’ MANSION was just off Park on Sixty-Seventh Street. Gia knew from her research that their home was built in 1899 in the French Renaissance style for Ian Fletcher, a successful banker and railroad investor. The mansion was magnificent, complete with a clutch of gargoyles screaming into the night along the rooftop.

  Gia thought that the gargoyles were particularly appropriate given what was to come by evening’s end, when so many would be screaming into the night themselves.

  Yesterday afternoon, in Jersey, before they’d killed Meredith Rowe, she and Carlo had stolen the car that Carlo was driving now. It was an old, unremarkable, beige Toyota Camry whose engine could easily be wired to start without a key. The idea was to ditch the car by night’s end. And because the car was so bland and boring in its styling, each knew that few cops in this city would have it on their radar as a car in question. After all, it wasn’t as if they’d ripped off a high-end Mercedes.

  But the car was serviceable...

  “What about there?” Gia said to Carlo when they stopped in traffic just outside the Witherhouses’ mansion. “That car. Right there. Whatever it is—I don’t even recognize it.”

  “It’s a Ford Taurus,” Carlo said.

  “Fine—a Ford Taurus. It’s right across the street from the entrance to their house. And our car would fit perfectly there. Do you agree?”

  “I do.”

  “Then let’s get rid of it,” she said as she reached into her handbag for her cell. One of the great benefits Gia had as the niece of Niccolo Bassi was his wealth of devoted contacts, many of whom Niccolo had introduced her to personally—and whom she now considered as part of her family. She went through her contacts list, found his number, and dialed him up as traffic started moving forward toward Fifth.

  “Mario?” she said when he answered. “It’s Gia. How are you, love? Good? I’ve missed you, too. Listen, I don’t have much time to talk, and I’m sorry for that. But I need a favor. I need you to tow a car for me. It’s just off Park and Sixty-Seventh Street. I know, I know—it’s a swanky neighborhood. Nothing like where we grew up. But the car is a piece of shit. It’s a black Ford Taurus.” She gave him the license number. “Can you reach out to one of your contacts and have it towed away for me? The sooner, the better. Tonight, Carlo and I have to have that spot. If we don’t, we’re screwed.”

  She glanced over at Carlo while Mario—one of her uncle’s closest friends since childhood—asked her why.

  “I think you already know why, Mario—and this car is in our way. I’ll pay you ten grand if you can make it disappear so that Carlo and I can take its place. Is that amount fair? Good. Call me when your man is near. We’ll get behind his truck, and when he removes the car, we’ll take the spot for ourselves.” She paused for a moment as she listened to him. “Please don’t worry about us, Mario. You always worry, and I hate it that you do. You know how much I learned from Uncle Niccolo. With your help, tonight will go off like a song. I promise.”

  AN HOUR LATER, THE tow truck Mario had summoned to remove the Taurus was in the vicinity. Carlo found him on Park Avenue, drove up behind him in traffic, and honked once. He then followed him to the Taurus. When the car was gone, Carlo took the spot.

  “It’s perfect,” he said.

  “It’s beyond perfect,” Gia said. “Money well spent, I’d say.”

  “Agreed.”

  She reached behind her for the two baseball caps on the back seat, and gave one to Carlo, who put it on while Gia swept up her hair and tucked it beneath her own cap. Each knew that, on this street, security cameras were everywhere and they would be caught on those cameras when they exited the car. Then, at some point in the aftermath of all that was to come after tonight, those videos would be scrutinized by police, which is one of the reasons they had dressed in such baggy, unremarkable clothing.

  “Tonight we kill Alex and Jennifer Wenn,” Gia said. “If we get lucky—which I doubt because I just can’t see it happening—we might even take out Mike Fine or Diana Crane in the process. Whatever the case, our focus is on the Wenns.”

  She pointed across the street.

  “The moment they emerge through that door, our guns will be in our laps and we’ll be ready act, and when I give the word, we get out of the car and start shooting. If this is going to be considered a terrorist attack, we need to hit the Wenns first and then start spraying the rest of the crowd from left to right. Take down as many people as possible. Then, on my word, get back in the car and get the fuck out of here. Are you with me?” she asked.

  “I’m always with you, Gia.”

  “And I’m grateful for that,” she said. “More than you know.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AFTER A LONG DAY OF work and meetings, Alex and I only had time to have sandwiches in his office at six. There, we talked about our day and about how to deal with Rudman Cross—whom we essentially were going to ambush at the party—before having to part ways to get ready for the night.

  We were sitting next to each other at Alex’s desk, with his hand resting on my knee. Occasionally he squeezed it as we ate and talked.

  We were mid-conversation when he stopped to look at me.

  “Are you OK?” he asked. “You seem distracted.”

  I was distracted—and had been ever since opening up to Blackwell that morning. Since Alex knew me so well at this point, he’d easily picked up on it. But what was I to do—saddle him with my fears about not being able to conceive just as we were about to try and strike a deal with Cross? I couldn’t sideline him like that, especially since I planned on coming clean with him in the morning about my concerns. For now, I felt it was best to just deflect so it wouldn’t derail the evening.

  Still, since I’d never lie to him or betray him, I told him the truth.

  “I’m a bit distracted,” I admitted. “But there’s no time to talk about why just now, so let’s just talk about it tomorrow morning at breakfast.”

  He furrowed his brow at me. “Is it anything serious?”

  I don’t know, Alex. It could be.

  “Here’s what’s serious,” I said. “We have only a few minutes left to eat. If I don’t get some food into my stomach, there is no way that I’ll be able to drink even one martini tonight. That said, if I finish this sandwich, I can handle two drinks, which I’d rather like.”

  “You are a martini girl,” he said.

  “Gu
ilty,” I said. “But let’s eat, because I have Blackwell and Bernie to consider, and they won’t have me being late. We’ll talk about what’s distracting me in the morning.”

  “Why don’t I like the sound of that?”

  “Because it’s your natural go-to place to be worried when it comes to me. And I love you for that. But now isn’t the time. We need to finish our sandwiches, because I need to be out of here in five minutes.”

  “All right,” he said reluctantly.

  I would never lie to Alex, and I hadn’t. There were things to discuss, and we’d face them together in the morning. My conscience was clear.

  “I have something for you,” he said.

  “Tell me it’s a kiss...”

  “You can have that anytime.”

  “I’ll take one now, please.”

  He took me into his arms and kissed me fully on the lips. And when he did, I felt the same electricity rush through my body that I felt the first time he’d kissed me. And why was that? Was it because I felt there would be so much on the line between us when I talked to him tomorrow? Would Alex ever leave me if I couldn’t conceive his child? No—I knew that he’d support me no matter what. What troubled me was how our relationship might change if I couldn’t bear his child. That’s what kept me up at night. Because if I couldn’t? I knew that he’d naturally be disappointed.

  Even though he’d never say it to me...

  “Well,” I said when we parted. “That was hot.”

  “It was the jalapeños,” he said with a wink. “You know—the ones on my sandwich.”

  “The hell it was. But I will say this—it was especially nice.”

  “Actually, it was just the start, Mrs. Wenn.”

  I furrowed my brow at him. “What does that mean?”

  “You’re about to find out.”

  “What do you have up your sleeve?”

  “It’s more about what I have in my desk drawer.”