Carnal Vengeance

by Marilyn Campbell

  If it had happened that way, though, she could see how Cheryl could instantly become a suspect on the basis of motivation. For her sake, she hoped someone could verify that she'd left the city and stayed away.

  As Holly got ready for the benefit dinner, she made up her mind to have nothing further to do with the three of them. Neither the uncomfortable meeting nor Ziegler's death changed her mind about going ahead with the Frampton matter, however. Thoughts of revenge had taken root in her mind and sprouted shoots of anticipation. She would simply limit her communication to April.

  Holly made one last check in the full-length mirror. Hair and makeup, perfect. Teeth, nice and white. The black silk Japanese-style sheath showed off her figure without being the least bit revealing. Only the right side slit from ankle to mid-thigh gave a teasing glimpse of black-stockinged flesh. Her lips and fingernails were a subdued shade of rose and the only jewelry she wore was the one carat diamond stud earrings Philip had given her for her birthday several years ago.

  Though she normally played down all her natural attributes, dressing up that night was a gift to Philip for his incredible patience. Everyone who was anyone would be at the benefit dinner and they would all see Philip walk in with a desirable woman on his arm. Even if she couldn't give him the real thing, no one but the two of them would know that.

  As she walked into the living room where he awaited her, his fawning reaction assured her she had achieved the proper balance of sensuality and remoteness.

  * * *

  David frowned at his image in the mirror. He hated having to wear a monkey suit, no matter how good he looked in it. Yet his instincts told him it would be worth it tonight. Somehow, before the evening was over, he would have made a connection with the aloof Ms. Kaufman.

  Tim Ziegler's hints at a deeper story had taken on monumental proportions the moment David heard about his death. His first thought was that he wouldn't be able to get the names, dates and other details Tim had promised. The second thought was that the senator may have died because of those details.

  If he went with that supposition, it meant Cheryl Wallace or Erica Donner could have been involved in his murder, which in turn brought up the possibility that the women who met with Donner could know something as well. Questions flitted around in his head like lightning bugs, but there were too many unknowns to guess at answers just yet.

  His original plan to openly question Donner or one of the other women to see how they might react was too blatant under the new situation. More subtlety was called for, and subtlety took time. The most efficient route seemed to be to establish a relationship with one of the women and work the story from the inside. After he reached this conclusion, it had taken him two seconds to decide that Holly was his best choice, particularly since he hadn't been able to get to Donner or Wallace, the FBI and IRS agents would be too suspicious of his motives, and he hadn't been able to come up with any identity for the other blonde.

  Aside from the obvious, however, he sensed a certain feminine vulnerability in Holly that he was rather good at homing in on. Following up on Ziegler's lead could prove to be quite pleasurable, in fact.

  He simply had to remember that the woman could be a murderess.

  * * *

  Holly and Philip's entrance into the hotel ballroom where the dinner was being held was noticed by more than a few people and their progress through the room was impeded by greetings and brief conversations. Keeping her arm linked with Philip's, Holly was more than satisfied with the looks of female jealousy and male envy they received.

  However, as they approached their assigned places at a round table for ten, her composure slipped. Sitting directly opposite them was the reporter, David Wells. She had only seen him the one time in the airport restaurant, but his crown of unkempt brown curls, too-blue eyes and cocky grin were extremely recognizable.

  He and the other gentlemen at the table rose as Philip held out a chair for her. Wells was appropriately dressed in a black tuxedo, though he struck her as more the jeans-and-t-shirt type. Somehow she knew it wouldn't matter what he was wearing or what setting he was in, he would be relaxed and in total control. She wondered if that control would be shaken if he knew she'd been checking on him and considering how to turn him into a tool.

  "Hello, again," David said, making certain that his greeting was heard across the wide table. They each gave him the same kind of noncommittal half-smile that one would give to any total stranger sharing one's dinner table for several hours. He reminded Philip of their previous encounter. "I mistook you for someone else at the airport the other night. I'm David Wells, Washington Herald reporter. You might be more familiar with my associate, Christine Crowley, D.C.'s loveliest busybody."

  The older woman with the spiked black hair and twinkling eyes smiled at them both, then the others at the table introduced themselves. When Philip identified himself and Holly, David managed to sound genuinely surprised.

  "You're Holly Kaufman? I wish I had known that the other day. I've been trying to get an appointment with you. You're one busy lady." Her answer was another meaningless smile. "I'm working on an article about the lack of success of various recycling plans, and I've been told it wouldn't be complete without your input."

  "Did you have a particular question?"

  He felt her silky voice reach beneath the table and stroke his sex, while her eyes boldly met his. "I hardly think garbage is an appropriate dinner topic for mixed company. What do you say we meet for lunch Monday?" There was no way she could refuse in front of all these people.

  "I'm sorry. The first opening I have is Tuesday at four. My office."

  She had offered no explanation for not returning his call, then sidestepped his invitation without being impolite. So be it. "Great. I'll be there."

  David had observed the way Sinkiewicz straightened in his seat at the mention of lunch. The man clearly suspected his real reason for wanting to meet with Holly, but this time, he could do nothing about it.

  His traditional seduction techniques were unavoidably constrained that evening. Conversation was impossible during the before-and after-dinner speeches, and the table was just large enough to prohibit any personal comments. He quietly accused Christine of arranging the seating to increase the odds against his getting to first base with the lady.

  On the few occasions her glance slid over his, he had the uncanny feeling it was he who was being seduced instead of the other way around. He threw her his best I-want-you-naked-beneath-me look. Nothing. Not even a blush of comprehension.

  He settled for watching her... and Philip. The man reminded David of a big puppy dog panting around his mistress's feet hoping for a pat on the head. But he didn't get one. In fact, Holly rarely looked at him and, other than having her hand on his arm when they walked up to the table, there was no further physical contact between them. At one point he saw Philip almost touch her hand to get her attention but at the last moment his fingers curled back into his palm. Interesting relationship. If it could be called that.

  It was inevitable that someone would bring up the Ziegler murder. David only had to wait and watch.

  "A friend of a friend, who knows someone at the FBI, said it was probably a woman," a congressman said.

  "Maybe Cheryl Wallace decided to make sure he couldn't enjoy his victory," his wife added.

  As the speculation continued, David noticed how Holly lowered her gaze, and the way she slowly lowered her fork onto her half-full plate. She was very cool. If he hadn't been watching so closely, he might not have picked up any change in her at all. Either something she had eaten or the topic of conversation had clearly upset her. When the subject changed a moment later and her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, he knew it had to be the latter. David's instincts told him she had a strong personal opinion on the matter of Timothy Ziegler, but had purposely squelched it. The way Sinkiewicz glanced at her with concern confirmed that impression.

  When the band began to play, David thought his chance had come.
She and Philip went out on the dance floor and he and Christine joined them. David smoothly managed to end the dance next to them, but when he suggested they exchange partners, they begged off and departed a few minutes later.

  Christine had her laugh, but he wasn't discouraged. He had an appointment to try again in four days.

  * * *

  "Please, Philip, don't be like this. After the other night, I thought you understood."

  "I understand why you can't enjoy sex. I understand why you have a fear of the dark. I even understand why you're turning down my proposal of marriage... again. But I do not understand why I can't stay the night. For Christ's sake, it isn't like it would be very often."

  When she didn't reply, he sighed. "I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to push. I just love you so much and you look so delicious in that dress." She let him embrace her, but still said nothing. "It was that reporter tonight. I hate the way men like that look at you. It's degrading. But then, I don't know why I get so jealous of them. You never look back, do you?"

  She smiled up at him and shook her head. "You have my undivided attention. If I could give you more, I would."

  He asked for one more kiss at the door then slowly walked away, suddenly looking as old as he was.

  Holly took a deep breath as she closed the door behind him. She had hoped her relationship with Philip would get easier now that she was dealing with her problem, but instead, the situation seemed to be growing more tense every day. It was a good thing she had followed April's advice and not confided everything to Philip. He would never understand what she was about to do with David Wells.

  Checking out Wells's credentials had been a relatively simple matter of making a few discreet phone calls. He was hungry, aggressive and scrupulous in his reporting. Personally, he had the morals of a tomcat, but with a decided preference for buxom blondes. When Holly had finished checking him out, she had no doubt he would be back for another try at her. All she had to do was wait for him to make his next move.

  She knew she had been right when he showed up at the benefit. Although it could have been another coincidence, attending with Christine Crowley and being seated at the same table with her and Philip had all the earmarks of an arranged meeting. Putting off an appointment with him for one more day had been a reflex on her part, but if her intuition was on target, the more inaccessible she was, the more intrigued he would be. She would let him think his persistence had won her attention.

  Assuming he would take the bait about Frampton, she had already determined that she wanted to stay close to him during his investigation. To do that, she would exercise every feminine wile she had ever heard of to keep him panting at her heels.

  Considering the fact that she had kept Philip dangling for years, she didn't think Wells could be that much more difficult. To her dismay, the way Philip had behaved tonight, it looked like she would have to start exercising a few wiles on him as well.

  * * *

  Tuesday afternoon at five minutes to four, David Wells presented himself before Earth Guard's first line of defense and flashed his most charming smile.

  "Oh yes. I'm Evelyn. I spoke to you on the phone. I'm afraid Miss Kaufman is running about an hour behind today. She asked me to make you another appointment."

  David raised one eyebrow at the woman who would have made an excellent sorority housemother and wondered if her job description included the ability to lie with a straight face. "No, thank you. I'll wait."

  Evelyn was momentarily thrown off by his answer. "It might be more than an hour." She gave up trying to discourage him as she watched him select several pamphlets from her desk, then stretch out in a chair in the small lobby. Holly had not given her instructions about what to do if he didn't go away.

  Now that she had gotten a good look at the man her boss had wanted to avoid, she decided not to send him away after all. He was adorable. From his bedroom eyes, past his mischievous little-boy smile, down his lean, casually clad frame, to his sockless feet shod in worn loafers, everything about the man made her want to wrap him up and take him home. And if she had been thirty years younger, she would have. Unfortunately, Holly probably wouldn't even appreciate the snug fit of his slacks.

  She knew she should warn Holly, but then her boss might choose to hide in her office all night to avoid the man. Holly really needed to spend more time with young men, and occasionally Evelyn had to consider Holly's personal needs over being a proper assistant. She decided to keep Mr. Wells' presence to herself.

  At 4:30, Holly emerged from her office. As soon as she entered the reception area, Wells rose to his feet and she halted in her tracks with her mouth agape. "Oh, Mr. Wells. I hadn't expected you to still be here." She glared at Evelyn and received an innocent look in response.

  With a deep breath, she reclaimed her composure. "Evelyn apparently misunderstood me. I meant for her to reschedule our appointment. I'm sorry you were kept waiting."

  David grinned. "Evelyn gave me your message. It was my choice to wait anyway."

  "Oh. I see. Well, I haven't had a chance to eat all day and I'm starving. If you'd like to join me, I suppose we could manage a brief interview." Rather than wait for his acceptance, she walked to the office door.

  It took him a few seconds to recover from this unexpected turn of events—long enough for her to leave and let the door close behind her. He had to hurry a bit to catch up to her at the elevator.

  "Where to?" he asked once they reached the ground floor.

  "The coffee shop around the corner. I only have time to grab a quick bite. I have another appointment."

  He moved quickly to hold open one of the double doors for her. She exited at the same moment through the other door. Again he found himself several steps behind. For a moment he considered letting her go without him, but he had the feeling that was exactly what she was hoping for. He reminded himself that this wasn't just another blonde, this was the blonde with a secret that could lead to a major story. He wasn't about to give up until he figured out what that secret was.

  In the coffee shop, he held out a chair for her. She sat down in another one. He asked what she was hungry for. She gave her choice directly to the waitress—a quick cottage cheese and fruit plate. He just asked for coffee.

  "I don't like to be patronized, Mr. Wells. I am perfectly capable of opening doors and seating myself, and any other male gestures of superiority you had in mind. You said you had some questions for me. I assure you I am also capable of making statements in between bites."

  "Why do I get the feeling some of those bites are going to be out of my hide?"

  "I'm certain I don't know. Perhaps you have a guilty conscience?"

  He offered her a deep-dimpled grin. "Okay, you got me. I confess. I'm guilty as sin. But it's your fault."

  Her stern expression barely altered. "I beg your pardon?"

  "I said it's your fault. From the moment I saw you, all I could think about was stealing you away to a private island in the Pacific where I would ravish your sexy body for several weeks without interruption."

  She stared at him. "That was probably the fastest, crudest and least original pass I have ever received. I gather I was right in assuming you aren't really doing an article on recycling."

  "Wrong. I am completely legitimate. But first you're going to tell me why you're so hell-bent on freezing my ass."

  "Because I know you. Or I should say your kind. When you speak of a woman, you describe her physical attributes or sexual talents, because you can't remember her name or what she told you she does for a living. You never have a doubt about how you and your date will end an evening, because, after all, what woman in her right mind would turn you down? Shall I go on?"

  "Unnecessary, since you're wrong again. On the first count, I would be a lousy reporter if I didn't have an excellent memory for detail, every detail, including the names of my lady friends. As to your second accusation, I'll have you know there have been one or two occasions when I haven't been absolutely certain.
"

  "How exciting for you."

  "This evening, on the other hand, holds no surprises whatsoever." The waitress arrived with their order and he waited for Holly to spoon some cottage cheese and melon into her mouth before explaining. "While you're eating, I'm going to interview you. Then I'm going to walk you to your car or your appointment—if indeed you have one, which I doubt." He was pleased to see a hint of pink color her cheekbones. Apparently a reaction could be forced out of her if he worked at it. Or was it being caught in a lie that fractured her cool? "And before I leave you alone, you're going to let me kiss you, just to prove you haven't the slightest interest in me as a man."

  Her eyebrows raised a notch. "You are truly unbelievable."

  "I've been told that once or twice before," he automatically replied with a teasing smile.

  For the next half hour David conducted a serious, efficient interview, and Holly was suitably impressed with both his questions and his knowledge about the recycling bills already in effect and those currently on the House floor. At least he had done his homework.

  "Now that I've convinced you of my sincerity, will you permit me to accompany you wherever you're headed without fear of ravagement?"

  "I'm not afraid of you."

  "Liar." He grasped her hand and turned it palm up in his. When she made a fist and tried to pull away, he held tighter. "Public scenes don't bother me, lady, but I'm betting you don't care for them. Open your hand." She frowned, but did as he asked. He ran a finger over her palm. "Damp."

  "It's warm in here." Through gritted teeth, she added, "And my name is Holly or Miss Kaufman, not lady."

  "Oh, you're a lady all right. A very cool, smooth lady. I told you I notice little details. Let me tell you a few. You avoid looking me in the eye, even when you're insulting me, you lick your lips much too often and you've been wiping your hands on your napkin every few minutes. You said you were starving, then you order cottage cheese and a glass of milk—the kind of bland food that would pamper a very nervous stomach.