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“You look like someone headed to Belize to meet with a banker,” Anthony replies with a sneer. “I’m sending Romeo down to help piece things together on that end.”
“That’s good,” I tell him, fully agreeing with his decision. “If Carly really is involved as deeply as Tommy claims, I think she might have gotten in over her head.”
“Sometimes you don’t know for sure until the last stone is turned,” he replies, giving me a thought-filled stare.
“What happened to Jules?” I ask as we step into the elevator.
“She had to go home and get some rest. She fights in Atlantic City on Friday night.” Anthony punches the button for the lobby. “We should all go see her perform some time. I know she would appreciate a show of support.”
“That would be great,” Mandy replies enthusiastically. “I’ve always been amazed by how tough those girls are. I can’t imagine taking that kind of abuse.”
I place my hands on her hips and pull her backward toward me, my growing bulge nestling between her firm butt cheeks. “I’m going to give you some abuse a little later,” I whisper softly in her ear. She moans softly and leans back against me.
“You two should know, I have excellent hearing,” Anthony tells us after clearing his throat. He looks over at us, revealing a definite smirk. “Don’t worry, I’ll go to my room and put on my headphones when we get back to the hotel.” He laughs before turning back to the flashing lights that are tracking our descent to the lobby.
Mandy
An eerie feeling washes over me as we exit Trump Tower and are greeted by a brisk breeze. It smells like a storm is on its way. It reminds me of how we used to sit out on the porch at the farm and watch the lightning when storms were approaching. I still love the smell of rain, but the sound of the wind swirling between the buildings gives me the creeps.
I’m suddenly forced into a jog as we cross the street, trying to keep pace with Anthony. It’s interesting to watch how he moves in quick bursts, keeping close to the side of the building at all times. He holds out his arm, guiding us to follow suit. It feels as if we are in a war zone and he is guiding us through a minefield. We turn the corner onto East Fifty-Fifth Street and I’m relieved to see the awning of the St. Regis hotel protruding out above the sidewalk. Anthony takes another quick look over his right shoulder and then appears to relax his pace as we cross the street and head into the entrance.
“Did you see them?” he asks after we are safely inside.
“No,” both Trey and I reply simultaneously. “Where were they?” Trey asks, looking a bit surprised.
“Look straight down at the corner, in front of the church… the second car in,” he says pointing through the large plate glass window. “It’s a black sedan with the same license plate cover that we saw earlier.”
“Okay, I’m sorry for doubting the need for your protection,” Trey gasps. “I never would’ve never noticed their car since it’s parked in front of that yellow cab.” He gives Anthony a look of disbelief.
“That’s what six years of surviving two wars will do for you,” he replies giving Trey a slap on the back. “My gut is telling me that this isn’t The Ghost,” Anthony adds as we head across the lobby to the elevator.
“Why?” I ask, surprised that he is contradicting everything we have heard so far.
“He’s called The Ghost for a reason,” Anthony says, while greeting the bellman. “By the time you see him, you are dead. Bill and Dr. Potaturri would have seen him, but neither you nor Nolan would have. And if he set out to kill Tyler, he would not be breathing right now.” Anthony pauses as if he’s in deep thought.
“I don’t even want to know what you guys are talking about,” the bellman says as he punches the button for our floor.
“Maxim Sakarov is his real name and he was an FSB legend,” Anthony continues, completely ignoring the bellman’s comment. “The FSB is the modern day version of the KGB and he was hand picked by Putin to expand its role in 2003. In 2013, he decided to go out on his own.”
“Vladimir Putin?” Trey gasps, obviously not realizing the caliber of people we have been dealing with.
“Yes,” he replies before falling silent again.
“Have a good evening,” the bellman says sheepishly, holding the elevator doors open for us. I want to whisper a smartass comment to him on the way out, but refrain due to Anthony’s proximity. It’s probably for the best, as he already seems to be way outside of his comfort zone. Instead, Trey hands him a nice tip and we proceed in silence.
