Carnal Vengeance

by Marilyn Campbell

  "All except one set." Rachel purposely paused for several seconds. "But those aren't on file anywhere. We do know one thing, though. Because of the surfaces they were found on, it's fairly certain that whoever the prints belong to was in the bathroom sometime after the maid had cleaned at four that afternoon. Also, there was one more piece of evidence that points to the theory that there was a woman in Ziegler's room sometime before he died." This time Rachel could actually hear April inhaling. "Oh?"

  "A piece of toilet tissue was clinging to the inside of the toilet rim. It had blood on it. Period blood. Unless the maid was negligent or lying, a woman was there after the maid left and before he was killed. It also means they have the woman's DNA as evidence—if she's ever found."

  "Couldn't you do something about that?"

  Rachel laughed. "You mean like flush the toilet? Couldn't. I wasn't the one who spotted it. Of course, there's always the possibility of a report getting misfiled."

  "What about Cheryl?"

  "All taken care of. I filled out the report showing I questioned her and have witnesses to the fact that she checked out of her hotel that afternoon, immediately drove out of the city and was at her home in Connecticut at the time of the murder. All nice and tidy. Did you speak to her husband?"

  "Yes," April replied. "Just like we discussed. He should be sunning himself on the Riviera about now."

  "Good. As to the rest of us, we should be in good shape. Except for Holly Kaufman. Erica said she talked to her and wasn't sure if she had a reasonable alibi for that night. I've got to tell you, April, I'm a little worried. We don't know her or how she thinks. There couldn't have been a worse time to bring a new person into the group. This whole situation is liable to get her nervous enough to talk to someone about what she's learned."

  "I don't think she'd do that," April said instantly. "She may get a little nervous, even suspicious, but not enough to expose herself to public scrutiny. Especially if there's a problem with her alibi. Don't help her with that just yet. Besides, I think she's been well tempted by the idea of being involved in Frampton's retribution."

  "I hope you're right, but I think I'll have a talk with her to make sure."

  "I'd rather you didn't, Rachel. I've already started forming a bond with her. She trusts me."

  "Doesn't everyone?" Rachel retorted sarcastically.

  "She's due to check in with me on her progress. In fact, I thought you were her calling. If I don't hear from her by Monday, I'll call her. Just leave Holly Kaufman to me," April said firmly. "Haven't I always taken care of our group?"

  Rachel hesitated just long enough for April to get the message. "So far, Doctor. So far."

  Chapter 10

  Another hour crept by while David and Holly took a cab to where the motorhome was parked and David received operating instructions and a map of the area. Additional bottled water had been stocked due to contamination of the regular supply further south.

  David and Holly were told that nothing south of Key Largo was left undamaged and several of the smaller islands had been leveled. But major wind and flood damage was also reported up through South Miami. Property losses would surely end up being in the billions.

  Death toll estimates varied but all of them were tragically high. They were warned that although the expressway had been cleared already, side roads were still covered by debris and fallen trees. Rescue workers were busy searching for bodies of those who had refused to evacuate, while the police had their hands full keeping the curiosity seekers out of the way and the looters under control.

  While Holly and David had been in transit, the President had pronounced all of the Florida Keys a disaster area and promised to send in the National Guard to render immediate assistance. At least the government had learned something from Hurricane Katrina.

  As tired as she was, Holly was too keyed up to take advantage of the bed in the rear of the motorhome. She wanted to see as much as possible before the sun set completely. She'd already seen broken tree limbs and palm fronds littering the ground around the airport, and as they headed south, more evidence of the storm was apparent in the neighborhoods beside the highway—roofs with missing shingles, broken windows, tree limbs on top of cars. They were about fifty miles north of where the outer edge of the hurricane had blown through, but they had been told that tornadoes had caused considerable damage hundreds of miles away.

  David kept his eyes on the road, determined not to think about the bed behind him. He was absolutely exhausted, but it wasn't thoughts of sleep that were disturbing him. It was a mental picture of Holly, stretched out on the compact bed dressed only in her diamond earrings. He couldn't stop himself from imagining how close two people would have to be to share that bed for a night.

  What he could not imagine was Holly allowing anyone to get that close to her. That gorgeous female had a barrier of granite around her. His wayward thoughts drifted to the night he had hammered a crack in that barrier. After what he'd done, though, she would be twice as defensive the next time.

  The next time? Where the hell had that thought come from? Walking away from their first encounter had damn near killed him. Yet he knew he had to find a way past her defenses. What he needed was more time than it was going to take to drive her to her hotel. It was too bad she wasn't a different kind of woman—one who would easily accept his invitation to share his camper, and his bed, for the time they were both in Florida.

  He shook his head to rattle his brain back to a saner topic: Florida, a place he had not previously visited. He wondered if the debilitating humidity and sweltering heat outside were normal or made worse by the hurricane. At least the motorhome's air conditioner made driving comfortable. The clear blue sky and brilliant pink-and-gold sunset seemed incongruous with the storm wreckage they were passing.

  Traffic was moving slower than a person could walk. As a reporter, he wasn't surprised at the number of people wanting to get a closer look at a disaster, but he was irritated that they were preventing him from getting his job done.

  It was nine o'clock by the time they reached the hotel where Holly had reservations.

  "Thank you very much for the ride, Mr. Wells. I really appreciate it."

  David grinned. "It was my pleasure. Listen, you were right about this being a good distance from the disaster. You're welcome to come with me the rest of the way."

  "Thanks, but I doubt if I could get a room for the night anywhere else."

  "You could stay with me." He saw Holly's disapproval and added, "I'd be a perfect gentleman, I swear."

  Holly smirked.

  "I have a press pass."

  "I have credentials from FEMA."

  David shrugged. "Suit yourself."

  As she climbed out of the camper, he did as well. "I can manage my bags myself," Holly assured him.

  "I'm sure you can, but a gentleman always sees a lady safely to her door."

  Holly thought he was being a little silly, until she reached the front desk and learned that her reservation had been given away when she didn't show up by six and hadn't called to let them know she'd be late.

  "But I'm sure my assistant would have guaranteed it for late arrival with my credit card," Holly protested.

  They were very apologetic but there was nothing they could do for her. The circumstances were unusual. There were no vacancies anywhere that they knew of.

  She was considering camping in the hotel lobby when David once again picked up her suitcase and headed for the exit. "Let's go," was all he said.

  As he pulled the camper out of the parking lot, Holly pointed across the street to another hotel. "I could try that one. Maybe they have something."

  David shook his head. "You heard the clerk. The motels and hotels are full. The campgrounds probably are, too. Fortunately, we don't need anything but a parking space."

  "We?"

  He shook his head at her. "Please be reasonable. I'm dead on my ass. I'm not going to drive around for another couple of hours in the dark in a str
ange area when we've been told it's a waste of time. You can try to find a place for yourself tomorrow. For tonight, you can sleep with me."

  "David!"

  He clutched his chest and gasped for breath. "Oh my god! She called me by my first name. Was it good for you too, darling?"

  "Stop it. I'm serious. We hardly know each other. Quarters this small would be cramped for an old married couple."

  "Look, I am so tired, I can't even think of a snappy comeback to that great opening you just gave me. It's getting late. All I want is a few hours' sleep and you don't have any options—unless you want to go wandering around in the dark with the looters." A shudder gave her fear away. "Okay then, I'll take the bed, since it's the only mattress long enough for me. You can have the bunk above us. You'll be perfectly safe up there, I swear."

  "Why? Are you afraid of heights, too?"

  "Ouch. No, I'm not. But I am afraid of falling on my head and that's a very narrow, short shelf. Not at all conducive to fun and games, even if I was up to it. Okay?"

  What choice did she have? She sighed and gave in. It seemed she was doing that a lot around him.

  Another hour in bumper-to-bumper traffic got them only halfway to Key Largo. Needing another injection of caffeine, he pulled the motorhome into a rest area. He excused himself and slipped into the tiny bathroom.

  When he came out, he opened one of the cabinets and removed a jar of instant coffee. "Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea, soup? If it mixes with water we've got it. Or there are cold sodas in the fridge."

  She poked her head around the edge of the big captain's chair. "Tea would be nice. Need help?"

  He laughed and shook his head. "This is strictly a one-person kitchen." From another cabinet he removed two mugs, filled them with water and stuck them in the microwave oven.

  "Don't tell me you're one of those liberated males who knows the difference between a pot and a pan. I would hate to have to alter my biased opinion of you."

  That earned her a wink. "Nope. Strictly a macho-man through and through. Besides, if I learned how to cook, a whole string of restaurants would go out of business. What about you? Like to play with food?" He placed the two steaming mugs on the ledge below the dashboard, then climbed into the driver's seat.

  "I'm one of those modern women who believe the microwave was the greatest invention of the twentieth century."

  "Well, hell! And here I was about to suggest you could repay me for my hospitality with a few days of cooking."

  "Fat chance!" she said, laughing. "Once I left my parents' restaurant, I swore I'd never work with food again." A stray memory of the day her father had ordered her out of her bedroom and off to work took away her smile.

  David took a sip of his coffee as he watched Holly deal with some inner conflict. His natural ability to read people by their expressions and body language gave him an advantage in his career and personal life. It was also natural for him to use that talent to analyze an adversary. And Holly was definitely an adversary.

  Every time she started to relax around him, he said something that got her uptight again. This time however, it was her own words that had caused the mood swing.

  "Where was their restaurant?" he asked, more to get the dialogue flowing again than out of real curiosity.

  "They still have it, in a northern suburb of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania."

  "Oh? Is that where you grew up?"

  "For the most part."

  "Any brothers, sisters, childhood pets you'd like to tell me about?"

  She glanced at him and took a drink of tea. His voice had a strange edge to it, as if he was interviewing her, rather than having a friendly, getting-to-know-you chat. It was probably only because he was a reporter, but it made her uncomfortable. "Haven't you heard enough of my voice for one day? Why don't you tell me about yourself instead."

  He considered her reluctance to give personal information proof that she had something to hide. Of course, he'd already uncovered the basic statistics about her, but he had thought if he could get her talking about her background, she would say something that would give away her connection to Erica Donner. Perhaps if he opened up to her first, she'd relinquish a few tidbits about herself in return. "What would you like to know?"

  "Whatever you'd like. Let me rephrase that. Whatever you can tell without bringing up your intimate encounters with the opposite sex."

  "Well, hell. That wipes out half my life story!" He gave her another wink that could have meant he was joking or it was the complete truth. "Okay, let's see. I grew up in a relatively seedy area of Washington, D.C., along with four brothers and sisters. Nancy and Patty are older, Gary and Jill, younger. That made me the middle child, but I was the smartest and best-looking, so I never suffered for it."

  He ignored her groan. "With my old man, that made six of us in a two-bedroom, one-bath apartment. You can't imagine how strange it seemed when I moved out and had a bathroom all to myself. Every once in a while I still expect somebody to bang on the door when I'm taking a shower."

  Holly angled her head at him. "What about your mother?"

  David shrugged. If she had a heart at all, this next truth would win him a few points. "She took off right after she dropped number five in seven years. We never heard from her again." Bingo. Her heart was in her eyes.

  "How awful."

  He raised his brows in surprise. "Not really. We learned to make do. Sometimes I think we had a closer-knit family because we had to help each other. Dad did the best he could, under the circumstances. His job in the factory never earned enough to take care of five kids, but we managed with welfare, and as soon as I was old enough, I got a job as a paperboy for The Washington Herald.

  "It didn't get really tough until Dad was laid off when I was in tenth grade. I skipped the rest of that school year to take a full-time job working at a deli, besides keeping up my paper route. The other kids earned a little money too, but I wouldn't let any of them quit school."

  Holly frowned. "What do you mean, you wouldn't let them. What about your father?"

  Again David shrugged. "I don't know. It just sort of happened. One day, he was in charge of the family and the next day, I was. Like I said, he did his best, and eventually he found another job, I went back to school."

  "What about your sisters and brother?"

  He couldn't help but grin over her interview technique. Fire the next question the instant the last one is answered. "Nancy and Patty got married. Gary went to refrigeration school and Jill became a paralegal. I'm the only one that liked school well enough to go for a college degree."

  "How did you manage that?"

  He didn't even try to hide his pride. "Fortunately, schoolwork came easy to me. Between being a paperboy for ten years and maintaining a straight 'A' average through high school, I won the Newsboy Scholarship. Since I couldn't afford room and board, I chose George Washington University, not far from where we lived. You'll never guess what I majored in."

  "Girls?"

  "Smartass. Look, the traffic's finally let up a little. Why don't you use the bathroom while we're still parked? It takes a little improvising to get around in there anyway, but I bet it's damn near impossible when we're moving."

  He saw the flush on Holly's cheeks as she tried to get out of her seat. His arm instantly formed a barricade across the space in front of her.

  "Do you always embarrass so easily?"

  She sighed loudly and glared at his hand. "No. I don't."

  He raised his arm and smiled at her back as she moved away. It didn't make sense, but the realization that he could so easily fracture her composure and she knew it, made him feel rather cocky.

  He had hoped his sad but true tale would put another crack in her barrier, and it looked like he'd accomplished that much. But it had also served the purpose of reminding him of his vows where women were concerned. Vows that Holly could make him forget for a few hours if he let her.

  Women had their perks and he enjoyed them whenever the
opportunity arose. But developing feelings for them, forming relationships, even friendships, were completely out of the question. No woman would ever have the chance to do to him what his mother had done to his old man. No woman would ever leave him with a broken heart and a brood of children. He'd take what they had to offer and go on to the next one when they got too possessive.

  As soon as she was buckled back into her seat, he eased the motorhome onto the highway again.

  Holly thought they had been making some progress toward friendship but now she wasn't so sure.

  Something had changed in the minutes she had been away and she wanted to quickly recapture whatever ground had been lost. "Are you and your family still close?"

  He seemed surprised that she wanted to know more about him, but he replied without hesitation. "Not in real miles. We're spread all over the country now... but inside"—he paused to tap his temple—"that won't ever change. There was this one time, a dress-up high school dance. My two older sisters were certain they would die if they couldn't attend. Dad and I pooled our money. We only had enough for one dress. Now you know, most girls would have fought tooth and nail to be the one to get a new dress. Not my two. Nancy wore the dress for the first half of the dance, then turned it over to Patty for the second half. That way they both had a night to remember.

  "The only problem was, Patty was about four inches shorter and ten pounds heavier than Nancy, so we got a dress size in between. It didn't fit either one of them perfectly, but the rest of us convinced them they both looked like movie stars. Luckily, everyone at the dance was too preoccupied with their own appearance to notice the switch, or at least they had the decency not to mention it."

  He related a few more family stories and moved on to anecdotes about Harry Abbott, the sports writer who had taken him under his wing, until he had her laughing along with him. When she accused him of making them up, the tales became even more outrageous.

  When was the last time she had laughed so much? Jerry. The answer sobered her slightly but she didn't let the realization ruin the fun she was having.