Carnal Vengeance

by Marilyn Campbell

  "If that's not enough, when I reached for your hand just now, you looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a hunter's truck. You're not afraid of me, huh? Bull. You're scared shitless and I want to know why."

  Holly fought the panic gnawing away at her stomach lining. When had her nice orderly plan gone off track? She had no choice but to brave it out. Taking a deep breath, she tried again to reclaim her hand. After a long moment, he let her go. "I have to be on my way now." With an outward show of calm, she pulled several bills out of her wallet and tucked them under the saucer. "Coffee is on Earth Guard tonight, Mr. Wells. Thank you for the opportunity to update your readers. Please call Evelyn if you have any more questions."

  She realized he was right behind her as she exited the deli, but she ignored him. While she was determined to escape his company, he was equally intent on denying her that freedom.

  "I told you I was escorting you. Of course, if you prefer to pretend I'm not here—" He cocked his head at her as if she had interrupted him with a question. "What's that? Oh yes, I wanted to be a reporter for as long as I can remember. I meet some very unusual people in my line of work. Take this lady environmentalist for instance—a real tough nut to crack. But once I got her talking about her pet project, she bubbled over like a glass of champagne.

  "She's an incredibly beautiful woman with an intellect to match. The strange thing was, she seemed to be coming on to me and pulling away at the same time." He had to pick up his pace to stay with her as she entered a parking lot.

  He closed in on her as she stopped beside her dark compact car and fumbled with her keys. Before she could insert one in the car door, his fingers closed over her shoulders. Unexpectedly he swiveled her around and pressed her back against the car door. Straddling her thighs with his own, his head lowered to within an inch of hers. He glared into her wide, terrified eyes and murmured, "I don't like to be played with, lady. I'm not a little boy, and I'm not your lapdog, Philip. For some reason, you wanted me chasing after you. Well, I caught you. Now, what do you want from me?"

  Holly knew she was still standing only because the grip on her shoulders and the brace of his thighs were holding her up. What insanity had possessed her to imagine she was woman enough to deal with this man, to manipulate him for her own purposes? Fool. She forced a whisper through trembling lips. "Nothing. I don't want anything from you."

  "Liar."

  She felt his hot breath against her mouth and tried to slow her rapidly beating heart.

  "Prove it. Prove you want nothing from me. Prove you're not the least bit interested."

  Holly closed her eyes and prepared herself for his assault. He could take his kiss. When he discovered just how cool she really was, then he would have all the proof he needed.

  She didn't expect the spark.

  Certainly he felt it, too, for his sharp intake of breath sucked her own gasp into his mouth. When his lips brushed lightly over hers, she almost sighed from the exquisite sensuality of it.

  Dear god! She had forgotten what it felt like to be immersed in liquid heat. His tongue slid across her lower lip, then withdrew, only to return again with increased pressure.

  Her mind went to war with her body. She should be fighting this intrusion. After all the years of existing in a passionless void, how could she respond so easily to a man she hardly knew? A man who was intent on tasting her whether she gave him permission or not.

  To her utter shock, her body was somehow winning the battle. She couldn't seem to resist the melting sensation she had experienced only once before. Her fists clenched and unclenched against the metal of the car to keep from showing him just how strongly he affected her. Maybe she could enjoy it for another moment or two, then she would push him away.

  Parting her lips the slightest bit, she did not grant him easy access but neither did she block his entrance. It was impossible to prevent the shiver of pleasure that ran through her when his tongue met hers and he deepened the kiss. She had to stop him, but not just yet. It had been too long and she was too starved for this sweet torture.

  She felt his fingers release her one shoulder and skim down her arm. Taking her hand in his, he slowly dragged it up between his thighs. And pressed.

  In her slightly dazed state it took her a second to realize that the flesh cupped in her hand was flaccid. His biting words completed her humiliation.

  "Now who's not the least bit interested?"

  Chapter 8

  Timothy Ziegler's murderer glared at the Friday morning newspaper. Unbelievable! Not even a single line of coverage. Why couldn't the body have been found by a hotel employee or other nongovernment person who would have gone screaming to the press? That was what was supposed to have happened. Instead, a secret service agent had been given a key to the senator's suite to check on him, ruining a perfectly good plan.

  Even after death, another rapist was being protected!

  Just as the murderer's biological father had been protected in spite of impregnating his victim. Rather than that man being held responsible for what he had done, it was his unwanted child who had been sentenced to years of hate and neglect—abuse for which there had seemed to be no way to seek adequate revenge.

  Until now.

  A cryptic, anonymous phone call or note to the media would undoubtedly stir up some attention and possibly force some details out of the FBI. But that was the sort of act a psychotic killer might perform—someone who really, subconsciously, wanted to be caught. The message had to be spread without personally going public, because this murderer had no intention of being caught.

  There were three more names on the list. Surely the message would be made public with the next execution.

  How convenient that Billy O'Day's itinerary was published in the sports section of every newspaper in the country.

  Chapter 9

  Three days had passed since David had blown it with Holly Kaufman, and he was still kicking himself. He had acted like a cub reporter, letting his personal feelings interfere with a story. The recycling article had come out fine, but the other, the one he smelled, had slipped right through his fingers, and all because the lady got to him.

  He had gone over the sixty minutes they'd spent together at least a dozen times. The conclusion wasn't very attractive. Like a teenage boy with his hormones in an uproar, he hadn't been willing to accept no for an answer. Was it because she was more seductive than every other woman he'd ever encountered, or because she was one of the few who seemed immune to his charm? Even though he had accused her of it, he was no longer certain she had been trying to seduce him. That left the latter reason.

  He had used his sex appeal as an investigating tool for so long, he hadn't considered the fact that it would have the opposite effect on Ms. Kaufman, even though he had been well warned.

  He should have acted strictly professionally during that first meeting. His plan to establish a relationship, befriend her and gain her trust would have eventually earned him the answers he was seeking. But her obvious fear combined with her show of indifference had clouded his brain.

  Instinctively, he knew a traditional apology would not be sufficient to wipe out the damage he'd done. Considering the dead ends he'd run up against with this story, he definitely needed another chance with Holly Kaufman.

  Though he knew there was a connection between Donner and Wallace, he had yet to find a similar tie between them and Holly or Greenley. Valerie had yet to get him a roster of students enrolled at Dominion when Wallace and Donner were there.

  A general background check showed the four of them were born in different states—Holly was a year older than the others—and had graduated from different colleges, and so far, there didn't seem to be any organization they all belonged to. The fact that they seemed to have so little in common was the one element that would drive David until he uncovered the reason for their meeting.

  In the meantime, he still couldn't identify the other two women he had seen at the hotel, the mouse and the other bl
onde. Although he had caught the call number of the cab the mouse had taken, and his contact there had been willing to look up the details on that fare, where she had been dropped off didn't narrow down her destination.

  He had no choice but to find a way to make amends to Ms. Kaufman. Tim Ziegler's murder was incentive enough to convince him to bend a few of his personal rules about women if he had to.

  * * *

  Holly frowned at the calendar on her kitchen wall. Friday. She had promised April she would call every Friday, but what would she say?

  That Timothy Ziegler's murder had frightened her into not wanting to get further involved with the Little Sister Society? There was some truth to that, but she had already come to the conclusion that she could carry out the assignment given her without having to associate with the entire group of damaged women.

  That she had changed her mind about wanting retribution against Jerry Frampton? There was no truth to that at all. If anything, before her disastrous encounter with David Wells, she had begun to imagine how exciting it would be to track the reporter's investigation and how satisfying it would be if he uncovered something horribly detrimental that Frampton would then be suitably punished for. She had heard revenge is sweet, and she already had acquired an interest in finding that out for herself.

  The real truth was, she had nothing substantial to report to April, as she had hoped to have by now, and she was embarrassed about that. Almost as embarrassed as she was over her miscalculation with David Wells.

  Since April had suggested she use David as practice for dealing with other men, it wouldn't be out of the question to discuss with her what had happened. She would probably be very understanding and have some reassuring comments, but Holly wasn't yet accustomed to sharing her problems so easily.

  No, she didn't want to call April until she had made a decision about a reporter. There was no question she had to eliminate Wells. As crude as he was, he had effectively demonstrated that she was no match for him. Her amateurish ploys to lure him to her had achieved nothing but a severe case of comeuppance.

  All in all it was a good thing he had seen through her act. He made her feel something she had never expected to feel again, nor did she want to. Sexual desire had made her a helpless victim once before and that was one time too many.

  Of the other reporters she was considering, there were two that came close to matching Wells' qualifications and credentials—one was a happily married man and the other was a razor-tongued woman whom Holly had always avoided. She wouldn't be able to believably establish a relationship with either of them that would allow her to remain close throughout an investigation of Frampton. Wells would have been perfect, if he had not been so astute, so egotistical... so much more man than she was woman.

  It appeared that her only choice would be to pass on the information she had to one of the two less perfect reporters, then hope a story appeared in the newspaper. It didn't sound nearly as satisfying as going along for the ride, but it seemed to be the only option left to her.

  She interrupted her mental debate to check the news before heading to the office. Timothy Ziegler's murder had taken a back seat to other stories within forty-eight hours. Friday morning, the weather held the top spot.

  The National Hurricane Center reports Brigitte's winds are now averaging one hundred forty miles per hour and building. Although it had been assumed that the storm would slow down as it passed over the Bahamas, the opposite has happened, leaving a path of destruction in its wake. At this time, it is estimated that Brigitte will make a direct hit on Key West, Florida, by four a.m. Residents from Key West to Miami Beach have been ordered to evacuate and any women more than seven months pregnant are urged to go to a hospital and remain there until the storm passes.

  Holly listened as the reporter read off statistics from other hurricanes that had hit the southeast coast of the United States in the last hundred years. Other than the severe flooding from Wilma's storm surge in 2005, Key West had been spared a direct hit for many years. On the other hand, the worst recorded storm of the previous century had landed in the Florida Keys in 1935.

  Officials were gravely concerned over the fact that the population on the island of Key West alone was around 25,000 but evacuation routes remained limited. Small craft warnings had gone out due to choppy seas and most airplanes were being flown to more secure fields. The only safe passage remaining to the mainland was the Overseas Highway, a series of forty-two bridges that connected the individual islands.

  Extensive efforts were being made to encourage the residents to head north immediately rather than wait for Brigitte to get any closer. Additional police had already been called out from nearby Dade County to help direct the evacuation and generally maintain order, but it was reported that traffic was bumper to bumper and being further hampered by accidents on the bridges. A considerable number of Keys residents interviewed were planning to ride out the storm rather than risk being on the highway.

  The one estimate Holly would have liked to hear wasn't aired. Of course, back in 1935, no one would have thought to record environmental statistics. The Florida Keys and surrounding waters housed a delicate ecosystem of plant and animal life, coral reefs, mangrove stands and nesting grounds for shore birds. Man was not the only destroyer of Earth's resources. Sometimes Mother Nature could be just as cruel to her own children. Either way, Earth Guard was standing by to offer assistance.

  Confirmation that the Keys were in severe and imminent danger came at eleven o'clock Friday evening. Brigitte had developed into a Category 5 hurricane, sustaining winds of 158 miles per hour with gusts up to 180. The eye stretched twenty-five miles in diameter and hurricane force winds spread approximately seventy miles away from it. Based on its current path, the eye was heading for the lower islands. Nothing from Key West to Key Largo was expected to be spared extensive damage.

  Holly napped on the couch, waking from time to time to catch the latest news bulletin. At four-fifteen Saturday morning disaster struck.

  Holly called Philip. He hadn't been feeling well when he left the office, but she knew he would want to hear about this.

  His muffled answer let her know he had gotten worse during the night.

  "You sound awful. Did you get any sleep?"

  "A little. And I can't possibly sound as bad as I feel. Even my hair hurts. Have you heard the news this morning?"

  "That's why I'm calling. I realize this is your bailiwick, but the way you're feeling, I don't think a field trip to the tropics would be a good idea."

  "Damn. I hate to admit it but I barely have the strength to make it to the bathroom let alone the airport. I suppose an inspection could wait a few days-—"

  "And miss getting pictures before the cleanup begins? I don't think so. I have a copy of all the arrangements you made today. I'll just take your place."

  "Since I agree with you, I won't argue. Call me when you get there."

  "Yes, dear."

  "Okay, so I worry. Be careful. I love you." His voice was barely audible, as if it took all his energy simply to speak.

  "You just take care of yourself and get better. I'll be back in a couple of days."

  * * *

  David's editor woke him up with the kind of announcement every reporter loves to hear. With half the staff down with the flu, David had been assigned to cover the worst disaster in the history of the United States.

  * * *

  The earliest Holly could take off was a two o'clock flight to Miami out of Dulles with a forty-five-minute layover in Atlanta. She was normally as thrifty as possible with Earth Guard's funds, but coach class was booked solid, so she splurged for a first-class seat.

  She couldn't help but think about the fact that she was practically flying into Jerry Frampton's backyard. If she were a stronger person, perhaps she could do a little investigating on her own. But she couldn't see herself seeking him out any more than she could imagine having a cozy chat with his pornographer friend, Mick D'Angelo. Then again, may
be she could just ask a few questions at that Chinese restaurant on Miami Beach that was mentioned in the last report.

  On her way to the airport, she made a trip by the office to pick up some reference material on the Florida Keys and used the waiting time to refresh her memory about its natural resources.

  As soon as she was settled in her window seat on the plane, she went back to perusing one of the books. A man's voice behind her broke into her concentration. It couldn't be!

  "I'm a real white-knuckle flyer, Jennifer. You can bring me a double bourbon as soon as you're allowed to serve it. And if you could sit on my lap during takeoff, it would calm my nerves considerably."

  An insincere feminine chuckle reached Holly's ears. "As much as that sounds like fun, I'm afraid it's against regulations, Mr. Wells."

  The pounding in her ears prevented Holly from hearing any more of the flirtation. His velvety-smooth voice brought her humiliation back in a rush. It was difficult enough to forget how he had made a fool of her, without having to see him so soon after their last encounter. How could fate have played such a trick on her?

  Reminding herself that she had been as much at fault as he erased the anger, but reinforced her acute embarrassment. Perhaps, if she was lucky, he was only going as far as Atlanta. Surely she could stay hidden in her seat for the next hour. The restrooms were in the rear of the cabin. There would be no reason for him to see who was seated in front of him.

  When they touched down in Atlanta, she remained seated until she was certain everyone had deplaned. Then she stood, stepped into the aisle to stretch her legs... and groaned. It would be rather ridiculous to pretend she didn't recognize him or see him slouched there, looking like death warmed over, especially since he was staring right at her.

  She nodded at him and headed for the exit before he had a chance to make whatever glib comment was surely on the tip of his tongue.