Annihilate Me 2: Omnibus (Complete Vols. 1-3, Annihilate Me 2)

by Christina Ross

  “Thank you,” I said to her.

  “No problem, the Yennifer. Look, Epifania not exactly walking away from this with nada. Because you know why? Epifania just got a new skill—she now una sabuesa!”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  She winked at us. “Epifania about to become a sleuth!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  Before Epifania called the next morning, Alex and I were already up, already showered and caffeinated, and already dressed and packed so that we’d be ready in the event we needed to get on a plane as soon as possible.

  Instead of choosing a jet from Wenn Air’s fleet, Blackwell had secured a private plane with a different company to take us to Las Vegas—just in case Rowe somehow learned that we’d left the city, and tried to find out where we were going.

  Because we weren’t using one of Wenn’s jets, nobody would be able to tell him where we were because only Blackwell and Tank would know. Blackwell would just blink her eyes at him and say nothing in typical Blackwell form, which would infuriate Rowe to his core. And since Tank was coming with us and no longer worked for Wenn, he was out of Rowe’s sights completely. With a careful hand, we’d forged a plan that appeared as foolproof as possible to us. There was no reason to be concerned that Rowe would somehow find out that we were planning to visit his mistress in person.

  Unless Epifania doesn’t come through, I thought. And as well-intentioned as she was last night, that’s still a big if…

  When she did call at six, Alex and I gave a start, we looked at each other over the kitchen island, and then he grabbed the cell next to him and put it on ‘speaker’ so I could listen to the conversation.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “Alex, it Epifaaaaniaaah,” she said in a cheerful voice.

  “Epifania,” he said. “Thanks for calling. I hope you have good news for us.”

  “Oh, Epifania about to bring on the great news. Here what I found out last night, the cookie. Yanis for sure now living in the city of the sin, which makes the perfect sense to the me. Apparently, Rowe and his hoitsy-toitsy wife, Meredith, own some super fancy penthouse at the Donald Trump’s Turnberry Towers there, which Yanis said was just off the Streep. She tol’ me that no one is supposed to know anything about it. It all supposed to be hush-hush. ‘Just like our relationship,’ is what she said. And believe me, when she said that, it was with an edge.”

  She lowered her voice to a whisper. “And then Yanis went there. Then everything get to the personal.”

  Alex shot me a concerned look. “What did she say?” he asked.

  “She spill the beans, that’s what Yanis did.”

  “What kind of beans did she spill?”

  “Let’s just say that those beans were fried and refried to the point that they smelled like the sheet.”

  “Can you elaborate?”

  “What that mean? I don’ know what that mean.”

  “Can you tell me more?”

  “Cookie, I’m here to tell you everything. Look, Yanis tell me that she been out there alone for two weeks—give or take. I can’t remember. Doesn’t matter. Something like that. What matters is that Yanis is peesed off because she feel that Stephen abandon her. He barely call her anymore. He say he busy. He say she need to understand. But according to Yanis, what he need to understand is that she has no friends out there. No one to talk to. No one to hang out with. He also put her on an allowance, which she feels is beneath her since he never put her on one before. Even though she in Vegas—with all the sparkly lights, the nice shopping, the good food at the great restaurants—she a New York City girl at heart, and she bored out of her mind living in that desert. She angry as hell about the situation.”

  “Is there more to the situation?”

  “Oh, sure. About year ago—two years into their relationship, I guess—Rowe tol’ Yanis that he was going to leave Meredith for her. Yanis was super excited! Yanis tol’ me that she in love with Stephen. But who we kidding—Yanis also want to become reech, and Rowe paves the way straight to the money! But now whole year has passed, and nothing has happened. Stephen still with Meredith. And Yanis is starting to feel like she just being jerked around by this guy. She doesn’t know what to do, so I tell her what to do.”

  “What does that mean?” Alex asked.

  “Look, I know you tol’ me to say nothing to Yanis about your situation or that you wanted to see her, but Epifania see opportunity in Yanis’ rage! So, I tol’ her everything—the whole mess—and that you wanted to meet with her.”

  At that, I just closed my eyes and feared what was to come. Epifania had blown it for us—I was certain about it. And by the look on Alex’s face, he felt the same.

  “She ask me the why. I tol’ her the why. And guess what? Yanis intrigued! She know that Stephen took your job, Alex. She get it. And like I said, she peesed off at him. We talked and we talked, and by the time it was over, she say she willing to meet you!”

  “You’re joking?” I said.

  “Yennifer? You on the line, too?”

  “I am, Epifania.”

  “You look so pretty the last night. That blinged-out sling of yours made the Page Six this morning. Have you seen it yet?”

  We’d been so busy getting ready, we hadn’t even looked at the morning papers. Bernie and Blackwell had said it would happen, but my stomach still sank at the thought of it. “I haven’t,” I said. “But now I’m dreading it.”

  “Don’t! It all good! They said great things about you and Alex. They say that the prince and princess of New York are alive, well, and back! Because it nearly Gay Pride, they probably waiting to say the word ‘queen’ later on, so don’t take offense! You the city’s prince and princess!”

  “Epifania,” Alex said. “When does Janice want to meet us?”

  “She expects you today,” she said. “I tol’ her I be calling you at six. She said if you got on a plane by nine, with the five-and-a-half hour flight and the time difference, you’d be in Las Vegas around noon. So, she looking forward to seeing you later tonight. Five sharp her time. You’re to go to the, what is it? Let me check my notes again. The Donald Trump Turnberry Towers. She is in one of the penthouse Dream condos there. Top floor, where I guess she find the dreams. Or the nightmares. Who knows? Ask for her when you enter the lobby, and she call for you. And my cookies, if I know my Yanis, which I do, and if you want information out of her, which I know you do, here’s a big teep—bring your checkbooks just to be safe. Yanis gonna have time to think. Yanis might decide to go all quiet on you—you never know. I think she does want to be with Stephen, and because of that, she might work herself into a white hot frenzy of self doubt about the whole thing. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen. Because if it does, if some part of her still believe that she and Stephen will marry one day, I gotta say it to you—I think you’re going to be the screwed.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

  Because of the time difference, it was noon when we arrived at Vegas’ McCarran International Airport. Tank had called ahead for a car for us, and we were taken to The Four Seasons Hotel at Mandalay Bay, where Blackwell had reserved two adjoining rooms for us—each Presidential Suites.

  When Tank went into his room to shower and change after the trip, Alex and I went into ours, and I have to say that what I saw as we entered the suite was nothing if not disarming. It was bright and sunny and beyond elegant and the Art-Deco vibe was almost palpable.

  “Apparently, this is where the whales roll,” Alex said as we moved through the foyer and into the living room with his arm around my waist.

  “It’s stunning,” I said. “And the air is so cool. My God, it was hot when we got off that plane. It reminded me of the kind of heat we experienced on the island, but without the humidity.”

  “Let’s not even think about the island,” he said.

  “Done.”

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “Maybe just half a glass of wine? We both need to be sharp when we see Jones
. Otherwise, I would ask for a martini.”

  “You got it,” he said.

  He stepped over to the bar to see what they had in stock while I moved toward the wraparound, floor-to-ceiling windows that encompassed us. We were on the highest floor—the thirty-ninth—and the panoramic views of the Strip and the mountains beyond it were something to remember. “It’s gorgeous,” I said.

  “For your first time here, I wish it were under better circumstances,” Alex said. “Vegas can be fun.”

  “Another time—you know, maybe after you’ve taken down Stephen Rowe.”

  “We’ll touch glasses to that in a moment.”

  He removed a bottle of wine from the wine cooler tucked beneath the bar and raised his eyebrows when he checked the label. “This place doesn’t mess around,” he said, holding up the bottle for me. “Screaming Eagle sauvignon blanc. They want a grand for it—and I say that we deserve it.”

  “Don’t they have a box of wine?” I asked. “That kind of money sounds ridiculous for a bottle of wine.”

  “You’ve actually had better.”

  “Maybe I have—not that I know about it. But never forget that I’ll always be the girl who values you more than I do any of this. We could live in a shack and I’d be happy.” I looked around the suite while he popped open the bottle. “I mean, look at this place. Talk about over the top.”

  He poured two glasses of wine, and came over to hand me one. “To us,” he said as we touched glasses. “And to finishing this.”

  “To finishing it.”

  We sipped, and I found the wine cool, crisp, fruity, and light.

  “So, where’s the bedroom?” Alex asked.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Maybe I have something in mind…”

  “Alex, I’d love nothing more than to be with you right now, but if you have your way with me, I’ll just be one hot mess when we meet—”

  He stopped me by putting his hand on my ass. “Later, Mrs. Wenn. I’m thinking about later. Let’s go and have a look.”

  The master bedroom was off to the left, past a small office area that had a glass desk with three chairs—two on one side of it, one on the other. When we stepped into the bedroom, it certainly didn’t disappoint.

  On the gray textured walls were modern works of art, a Lalique Bacchantes vase glinted in the sun on one of the side tables, and the king-size, four-poster bed sitting across from us looked downright luxurious. It was placed along the wall that faced another display of windows. I could only imagine the Strip views when the sun set behind the mountains, and Vegas was allowed to fully ignite to glittering life.

  “So,” Alex said with a grin. “You know—for later.”

  “For later,” I agreed. “Now, we need to focus. Why don’t we relax for a bit, talk strategy with Tank, and then shower and change before we go to see Janice? Sound like a deal?”

  “Actually,” Alex said, “if luck is on our side, this might be just the first deal we’ll make today.”

  * * *

  “It’s like a massive gold brick,” I said to Alex and Tank as we neared Trump’s Turnberry Towers. We were in a limousine driving south on the Strip, and the building, which was to our left, gleamed in the afternoon sun as if it were a beacon of golden light for the privileged, which naturally is what the Trump brand wanted. “Look at it—it’s almost the color of Trump’s hair, only—uh—more well kept.”

  “There’s an observation,” Alex said.

  “Well, somebody had to make it.”

  “At this point, I’m surprised he hasn’t plated his teeth in gold,” Tank said, and when he said it, I just turned to look at him. Once again, Tank had showed us his sense of humor, and as always, it surprised and delighted me.

  “Aren’t you cheeky?” I said.

  “Just an observation,” Tank said dryly, but I caught the amusement in his eyes for a moment before it vanished from them and he became serious. “So, I’ll escort you to her condo on the Dream level—whatever that is—and will wait outside her condo while you talk with her.”

  “That’s right,” Alex said. “But let’s just hope that the Dream level doesn’t turn into a horror show.”

  Tank nodded at that. “Good luck,” he said.

  * * *

  When we entered the building, it was five o’clock sharp, and I was terrified that Jones might have reconsidered seeing us.

  But I was wrong.

  When we entered the private lobby that was reserved specifically for the Dream level, we spoke to a gentleman behind a desk, and he picked up a phone and punched a few numbers. After a moment, he said, “Mr. and Mrs. Wenn to see you, ma’am. They also have a guest, who is part of their security detail. No, he will be standing outside your door until they leave. Shall I send them up?” He paused for a moment. “I’m sorry? You do want to see them? All right. Thank you, Ms. Jones. I’ll send them up now.”

  The man hung up the phone and looked at us. He was an older man—mid-fifties, I’d say—and everything about him exuded confidence, poise, and professionalism. “The elevators are just over there,” he said, pointing behind us. “Ms. Jones is on the forty-fifth floor. Suite 45D. She’ll see you now.”

  * * *

  “Did you catch what he said?” I said to Alex and Tank as the elevator soared toward Jones’ floor. “He said, ‘I’m sorry. You do want to see them?’ Did you hear that?”

  “I heard it,” Alex said.

  “So did I,” Tank said.

  “That sounds to me as if she might have spoken to him earlier and had a change of heart about seeing us, which makes me want to hurl. There is so much riding on this meeting, my heart won’t be able to take it if she turns us away. And she still could do it, you know? She could open that door and say that whatever we’ve come for no longer interests her. Pray that isn’t the case.”

  Luckily, it wasn’t.

  When we reached Jones’ condo, Alex rang the buzzer, and we waited for what seemed to me like an eternity before the door swung wide, revealing a beautiful, polished young woman who was dressed to the nines and who was perhaps a few years older than me.

  Janice Jones obviously knew the power of clothes, and she had brought that power straight to the forefront in an effort to make a serious first impression.

  She’d won.

  She was wearing a sleeveless, embellished-front black silk blouse with a dramatic halter neckline that emphasized her breasts—which, unlike Epifania’s, were in proportion to the rest of her body.

  Her ivory-colored pants sat at the navel and had voluminous wide legs that moved in the way that only silk could. Other than a pair of large diamond studs that glimmered at her ears, Janice Jones had made the decision to wear no other jewelry. Her blonde hair had been pulled away from her face in a chic ponytail, which revealed the angular, delicate features of a face that also possessed perfect skin. On her feet were a pair of black Louboutins that I owned myself.

  She looked flawless—and I had to admit that because of her background as a stripper, she was not at all what I had been expecting. If Stephen Rowe was going to cheat on Meredith, no wonder he’d chosen this woman.

  “Hello,” she said with a smile and an extended hand. “I’m Janice Jones, but I gather you already know that.”

  Alex and I shook her hand and exchanged greetings while Tank hung back and remained on the sidelines. Not that Janice Jones was having that. She came forward and also shook Tank’s hand.

  “I’m assuming by the sheer size of you that you are Alex and Jennifer’s security guard?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m Janice.”

  “Tank.”

  “Tank?”

  “My real name is Mitch, ma’am.”

  “I like Tank—it suits you. And I have to say, Tank, that you look as if you could get the job done. But it seems silly for you to have to stand out here, though I understand that it’s probably safest that way due to privacy concerns. Can I at least offer you something
to drink? I just made some iced tea.”

  “I’m fine, but thank you.”

  “You men are always fine,” Janice said. “But it’s hot in the desert, so I insist. Let me show Alex and Jennifer inside, and I’ll be back with some iced tea for you.” She looked at us, and on her face I saw nothing but a polite woman moving aside so Alex and I could step past her. “Please,” she said. “The great room is just down the hallway. I’ll dip into the kitchen, grab a glass of tea for Tank, and then I’ll join you. Give me two seconds.”

  When she moved left into the kitchen, Alex and I stepped silently into the great room, which was indeed great. It had to be at least twenty-feet wide, it was bright with sunlight, and the walls were painted pure white. Straight ahead of us was a sheet of windows interrupted only by two large glass doors that opened onto an expansive-looking terrace that overlooked the north end of the Strip.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said to Alex.

  “No arguments here. We should buy one of these.”

  “Not happening. It would just remind me of Rowe.”

  “Point taken.”

  We heard a door open, there was an exchange of words, Janice laughed, and then she closed the door, locked it, and clicked down the hallway toward us.

  “Well,” she said as she entered the room. “Here you are—in my go-away home. Pretty, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” I said.

  “Personally, I can’t stand it, but then you know that from Epifania. I’d rather be back in New York with the man I love, but you two managed to chase him away from me when he became CEO and chairman of the board of Wenn Enterprises, and Alex decided he didn’t like it.” A darkness came over her face as she stopped before us and clapped her hands together once. “So, here is how this is going to go. I’ve asked Stephen to call me at six. In fact, I ordered him to. I told him that if he didn’t, I’d be calling Meredith, which put him in a terrible mood—but who cares? I certainly don’t. The way I see your little visit going is like this—you two motherfuckers have one hour to tell me why you came here, why you want to destroy my chances of being with the love of my life, and why in hell I should listen to whatever it is you have up your sleeves. If you fail to convince me on any level that I should go forward with your plans, I will tell Stephen myself that you were in his house and the reasons why you came. I may be wrong, but I believe that you came here for blackmail.”