Annihilate Me (Vol. 3) (The Annihilate Me Series) (16 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

But then the red light was back.
 
It flickered on the screen before it started to pulse again
and move farther east.
 

“He’s alive.”

“We do this on foot,” Tank said.
 

The driver pulled to the curb.

“Stay here, Jennifer.
 
I need you to listen to me.
 
I need to keep you safe.”

“Like hell I’m staying here.”

“You won’t be able to keep up with us.”

I kicked off my shoes as we fled the car.
 
“Watch me.”

We ran, but Tank was right.
 
I was no match for the speed at which they ran.
 
But I was damned if I wasn’t going to
be there for Alex.
 
They weren’t in
love with him—I was.
 

I saw Tank look over his shoulder at me and order one of the
men to fall back so he was running alongside me.
 
Protecting me.
 
The other three men ran ahead of us.
 
I busted my bare feet along the pavement and gave it my
all.
 
And my all wasn’t so bad
because I was in shape.
 

I ran as hard as I could.
 
I dodged oncoming cars, leaped and slid over the hood of one car before
it creamed me, and wended my way through the rest.
 
My only thought was Alex.
 
I knew I could be running toward my own death, but I didn’t
care.
 
If he died, what was left
for me without him?
 
Even if we
arrived at the explosion after the others, which we would, who’s to say what I
could offer?
 
If I had to, I’d
offer up my life for Alex’s.
 
I was
prepared to do that.
 
He’d given me
so much that he deserved that.

And so we ran straight down Forty-First Street until we came
upon an unimaginable horror.

*
 
*
 
*
 

In the middle of Second and First Avenues, the car Alex has
been hustled into was burning to the point that it was beyond recognition.
 
Two men were roasting inside, the fire
already so deeply entrenched in their bodies that it flicked out of their
gaping mouths like serpents’ tongues.
 

How had this happened?
 
Had Alex tried something?
 
He must have.
 
But
what?
 
Did he wrest a gun out of
someone’s hand and shoot them?
 
Did
he shoot the engine and thus cause the explosion?
 
I might never know.

Tank was well beyond the smoke, which smelled almost sweet
given the burning bodies.
 
I could
see that he and the two other men had their guns drawn.
 
Not far beyond them was the East
River.
 
There was shouting as we
drew closer to them, and then gunfire was exchanged.
 
Chaos unfolded as the man at my left took me by the arm and
pulled me onto the sidewalk and restrained me.

I struggled against him.
 
“Let me go!”

“No.”

“I’ve got to get to him.
 
What’s the matter with you?”

“You’ll only get in their way.
 
I’m sorry, Ms. Kent, but this ends here for you.
 
Let them do their jobs.”
 
More gunfire, this time in rapid
succession.
 
“Do you seriously want
to be in the middle of that?”

I fought him, but he was too strong for me.
 
“You don’t know what the hell I
want.
 
You have no idea what he
means to me.”
 
When I spat in his
face, it shocked him enough that I was able to free my arm, slam my fist hard
into his groin, and watch him fall to the ground.
 
I couldn’t believe I’d gotten him there.
 
He was cupping himself and
writhing.
 

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Then I took his gun and was off again.

*
 
*
 
*
 

Crossing First Avenue at Forty-First Street would have been a
nightmare during the day, but at night, it wasn’t as bad.
 
With the gun poised in front of me, I
ran across the street, darted between the cars that came my way, and went in
the general direction of the gunfire I’d heard a moment ago.

Once in the clear, I ran to the right side of the sidewalk and
looked everywhere for Tank and his men, but saw no one in the lights and
shadows.
 
I rushed toward FDR
Drive, looked up at the bridge that glimmered above me, turned left and right,
wondering where they were when I heard a single gunshot, just to my left,
quickly followed by five more.

With my finger on the trigger, I rounded the corner, and saw
two men lying face down in the street, and, nearby, what appeared to be Tank
skirmishing with another man.
 

All traffic had stopped.
 

Sirens wailed in the air.
 

People remained in their cars, but because they kept their
lights on, I could see well enough to rush to the bridge, jump over the cement
support on which it rested, and charge toward them.

Tank was fighting with the man with the blond hair and the
cleft in his chin.
 
There was no
sign of Alex.
 
I ran straight
toward them on ruined bare feet and pointed the gun at the blond man’s head.

“Step away from him,” I said.
 
“Do it now, or I swear to God—”

In a flash, the man pushed himself away from Tank and aimed his
gun at me.
 
Reflexively, I fired,
but so did he.
 

Two shots went off at once.
 

As I saw the blond man fall face-first into the street, I
realized before everything went black that I was falling as well.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ONE MONTH LATER

New York City

October

In the month that followed, I healed, I grieved, I felt an unimaginable
loss that refused to go away, and I planned for my future.
 
Now, the one day I’d been dreading most
had arrived—it was morning and I had to return to work.
 

The last thing I wanted to do was go back into that building,
where all the memories Alex and I made there together would strike me, but I
had to go through with it.
 
Wenn
was my future.
 
The night before,
I’d steeled myself for all that was to come.
 

What will it be like without Alex?

I had no answer.

Lisa stepped out of her bedroom and walked into the living
room.
 
She’d taken care of me since
the shooting, and she was doting on me now as if I’d leave and never
return.
 
As ridiculous as it
sounded, given the stress I’d been under, I think a part of her feared
that.
 

“Are you all right?” she asked.
 
“How is your arm?”

“It’s OK,” I said.
 
“He shot me, but he was the poorer shot.
 
I’m just glad the son of a bitch is dead.
 
Whoever he was.”
 
My shoulders dropped.
 
“I’m sorry—I don’t mean to sound
sharp.
 
I’m just tense.”

“I understand.
 
You
look pretty.”

I was dressed in a black business suit tailored by
Blackwell—it was a gift to me that she had sent yesterday along with a
note that said she was eager to see me and to welcome me back.
 
Naturally, the suit fit
beautifully.
 

“How are you going to handle today?”

Though Alex had been declared dead three weeks ago, I still
couldn’t fathom or absorb this reality, so I didn’t have an immediate
answer.
 
I was so focused on
getting through the day and all that came with it.
 
I just looked at her.
 
I had no words.

Alex had been shot.
 
When I woke in the hospital the morning after that night, Tank told me
that Alex had tripped back and fallen into the East River due to the bullet’s
blow.
 
Helicopters had circled with
piercing spotlights in an effort to find him.
 
Police had swarmed.
 
And scuba divers had plunged into the river to search for him.
 
But they all came up with nothing.
 
Tank said they tried their best, but
did that make it easier for me?
 
Of
course not.
 
Grief took its toll,
grief took me to my knees, grief punched me down further than my father ever
had.
  
After four days of
searching, Alex had been pronounced missing and dead
.

“Alexander Wenn, 30, Dead,” the
Times
had reported on
their front page.
 
And in typical
Post
fashion, their headline was beyond cruel and pure tabloid:
 
“Alexander Wenn Dead.
 
A Shark Offered to the Sharks?”
 

Obituaries followed, but none got to the core of the man I
loved.
 
Not one touched upon who
Alex was as a person.
 
Not one
revealed the loving, generous, wonderful man I knew and missed with a tightness
in my chest that kept a stranglehold on me.
 
They spoke about his personal accomplishments with brevity,
and they mentioned his celebrated parents and their sudden end, but never once
did they get to who Alex was as a person.
 
Did they even understand how he lifted Wenn over these past several
years?
 
No.
 
But that day would come.
 
I’d make certain of it.

To this day, no one had been brought to justice, which seemed
incredible to me even though Alex once warned that we might never know who was
behind the threats.
 

I remembered what Alex said to me when we first were
attacked:
 
Not every mystery has a solution, Jennifer.
 
You need to be prepared for the fact that we might never
know who did this.
 
This isn’t a
book and it isn’t a movie where everything is wrapped up in a neat bow at the
end.
 
Those stories are
illusions.
 
This is real life, and
real life often fails us.
 
Whoever
attacked us might be satisfied with me in a hospital bed.
 
That could have been all they needed to
feel vindicated for whatever it is they needed to feel vindicated about.
 
It could end with this, or it could
have just begun.
 
Until I speak
with my team, that’s all I know.
 
And that’s the truth.

And there was this exchange:
 
“Who would want to kill you?” I asked.

“Take your pick.
 
Wenn has taken over dozens of companies
and corporations.
 
We’ve driven
people out of business.
 
People have
lost their jobs because of us.
 
My
father was a frequent target of threats.
 
As I said, this is nothing new for me, with the exception of what just
happened.
 
No threat has ever risen
to that level.
 
Otherwise, I’m used
to it.”

“What kind of life is
that?”

“The life I inherited from
my father.”

What I knew now is that Gordon Kobus
wasn’t behind it.
 
Because of me, he’d
fully been investigated, interrogated and, in the end, he was released as a
suspect.
 
The same was true for
Immaculata.
 
I knew her involvement
was a long shot, but I couldn’t rule her out.
 
Now, I knew I could.
 
Turns out Immaculata wasn’t the murdering bitch I thought she was.
 
As for the server in the photograph
that was sent to me?
 
He turned out
clean, as did other men and women who’d been investigated.
 
When I was in the hospital, Blackwell
told me that the investigation was ongoing and could take months.

Months?
 
Really?
 
For someone as high
profile as Alex?
 
I rejected it.

Now, I glanced at my watch.
 
“I have to go,” I said to Lisa.
 
“Otherwise, I’ll be late.”

“Blackwell won’t have that.”

“At this point, I think she’d cut me some slack.”

“I’m glad that you have her.”

“And you.
 
I’ll
miss you today.
 
You’ve been by my
side for a month.
 
Thank you for
all that you’ve done for me, Lisa.”

“I’ll be with you forever, Jennifer.
 
Now go.
 
You can
do this.
 
We’ll talk.”

We gave each other a brisk, meaningful hug before I turned away
in tears and went to face my new life.

*
 
*
 
*
 

When I arrived via limousine with one guard sitting beside me
and one at the wheel, Blackwell was in the lobby to greet me.
 

Seeing her was a welcomed surprise.
 
I hadn’t seen her in two weeks, not since the day she
stopped by the apartment to help me plan out my new role at Wenn.
 
And it was a relief to see her.
 
I didn’t hide my emotion.
 
When I saw her waiting for me in the
lobby, near the elevators, I quickened my step and fell into her arms.

For a moment, we just stood together, held each other, and said
nothing.
 
I felt her warmth, and I
know that she felt mine.
 
What a
ride we’d had.
 
From loathing each
other to respecting each other to loving each other.
 
And I did love her.
 
I loved her more than my own mother.

After awhile, I said in her ear, “I’ve missed you so much.”

Any trace of the caustic humor I’d come to associate with her
was gone when she said, “You’re my third daughter, Jennifer.
 
Sometimes, because of the way I treated
my real daughters, I feel as if you’re my second chance.”
 

She pulled away from me and put a finger under my chin.
 

“You’re too pretty to cry.
 
Come on now—give me a smile.
 
And wipe your eyes.
 
That’s better.
 
I know you
have mixed feelings about today, but it’s a new start.
 
Scary, yes.
 
Sad in many ways.
 
But by letting go of all you know, and by knowing that Alex will always
be an essential part of your life, you will move forward with him firmly by
your side and at your back.
 
I have
no question that he will always be there with you.
 
Now, look.
 
The
board has given me some paperwork for you to sign, and there are other things
you should be briefed on.
 
So,
let’s go to my office and talk.”

“Before we do, I want to see his office,” I said.

*
 
*
 
*
 

We took the elevator to the forty-seventh floor, which was dim
as usual when we stepped out of the car.
 
It also smelled slightly stale, as if this space had been forgotten.
 

That offended me.
 
Were they not looking after this floor as they should?
 
Obviously.
 
I’d address that with Blackwell later.
 
Now, I looked around for Ann, Alex’s
executive assistant, but there was no sign of her.
 
When Blackwell and I came around to Ann’s desk, I saw that
it had been cleaned off.
 
She was
gone.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“Reassigned.”

“To where?”

“She has a fine position.
 
Don’t worry.
 
I took good
care of her.”

“She was very kind to me that first day I met her.
 
I remember her asking me if I’d like to
have a martini, and I thought, ‘Who the hell has a martini at noon?’
 
She said that she’d make it as smooth
as silk and as cold as January, and she did.
 
I wish I’d gotten to know her better.
 
She seemed special to me.”

“She is.
 
And
you’ll see her around.
 
That’s one
woman I would recommend you get to know.
 
She is an absolute professional.
 
Good marriage.
 
Lovely young
son.
 
Impeccable manners.
 
Exacting on the job.
 
And she’s knows how to dress.
 
You two could become friends.
 
I can see that happening.”
 
She motioned toward Alex’s office.
 
“Are you sure about this?”

Given all the memories that were about to strike me, I dreaded
going inside.
 
But in order to move
forward to the next stage in my life, I needed to see it a last time and be
done with it.
 
So, I said,
“Yes.
 
I’m sure.”

*
 
*
 
*
 

When we stepped into the room, I could
smell the faint scent of leather and the even fainter smell of cigar smoke,
neither of which was unpleasant.
 

Alex didn’t smoke cigars, but a fair
amount of the men he’d met with in this room over the years obviously had, and
the scent was entrenched.
 
Even now
it lingered and the effect was almost calming.
 

There were no windows here, just paneled
walls covered in paintings and a Tiffany lamp that, when Blackwell turned it
on, cast warm florid hues upon the table to my right.
 

Across from me was his desk, upon which
was a large silver picture frame I hadn’t remembered seeing before.
 
I went over to it, and saw that it was
a photograph taken of him and me at the first event we had attended, after I
had been hired to pose as his girlfriend but before I became his true
girlfriend.
 
We were smiling in the
photograph.
 
Blackwell came up
behind me and put her hand on my shoulder.