Carnal Vengeance

by Marilyn Campbell

  With a false show of calm, Holly said, "Please listen to me, Philip. You can't win me by hurting someone else. I'd never be able to forgive you." Very cautiously, she rose to her feet. "I explained to you that we could never be more than friends. It has nothing to do with David. It has to do with me, facing life without your protection, or anyone else's." She took a slow step forward, keeping her body between David and the gun. When Philip lowered the weapon a fraction of an inch, she took another small step.

  Though she wanted to lash out at him, she kept her voice gentle. "I'm not a prize to be won or lost, Philip. I'm a woman, and neither you nor any other man will ever control my life again. Now, give Agent Varden your gun and we'll forget all about—-"

  A bloodcurdling scream cut her off. Holly jerked around and saw Cheryl pointing at Philip with an expression of pure horror. April tried to drag her back out of the room but she wouldn't budge. "It's him," she shrieked. "The man I saw in the hotel room. He killed Ziegler!"

  Philip whipped the gun toward Cheryl and pulled the trigger, but his shot went high. Varden instantly fired two shots into Philip's back before he could aim again. As he fell to the porch floor, Holly ran outside.

  Shaken and bewildered, she dropped to her knees beside him. "Dear god, Philip! What have you done?"

  "I punished the rapists," he whispered, his eyes glassy as he focused on her face. "I had to eliminate your attackers... so that you could finally love me... without them coming between us. But Wells—" He coughed and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. "I should have eliminated him... when I first realized... you looked back."

  Holly gaped in stunned silence as Philip's head lolled to the side and he exhaled his last breath.

  * * *

  Holly felt as though she should be doing something, but she had no idea what that might be. Though three days had passed since her personal holocaust, the shock remained.

  Philip, the man she had thought of as her dearest friend and mentor, was dead. No matter that he had confessed or that his hair matched the samples found at the murder scenes. Regardless that hidden in his bedroom closet had been a canvas tote bag containing latex gloves, a prescription bottle with the same medication that had been used on the victims and a battery-operated carving knife on which blood samples of the victims were found. Holly could not think of him as a vicious killer.

  The tote bag had held one other piece of evidence that offered a glimpse into Philip's tortured thoughts. On a blue, lined index card, he had printed:

  Jerry Frampton—for the Little Sister Society

  Adam Frankowicz—

  William O'Day—for Stella

  Timothy Ziegler—for Holly

  As soon as Holly was told of the alphabetical listing of the four names, she knew for certain Philip had seen the sheet of paper bearing the fraternity brothers' names weeks ago in her apartment. The index card was the kind she kept in her briefcase. He had apparently copied the four names that hadn't been crossed out while she was out of the room, then after talking to her parents and getting their input, he had formed enough of the picture to begin his plans for retribution.

  Holly knew that Stella was Philip's mother's name, though he'd only mentioned her once or twice. When she realized how much it bothered him to talk about her or the father he had never met, Holly never pushed him on it. However, she did recall his attending his mother's funeral some years back. After she was buried, he had become so despondent, he had tried psychiatric help for a while, at Evelyn's insistence. And when he cheered up again, Holly had accepted his assurance that he had just been sad.

  When Agent Quick spoke to Evelyn, she was able to supply the doctor's name and number. Quick bent a few rules by passing on to Holly what he learned from the doctor. Philip had only visited the psychiatrist a handful of times, but what he had revealed about his birth parents in those sessions was sufficient to explain the gnawing resentment that motivated him to commit murder.

  The doctor had detected his silent rage and had tried to convince Philip to continue seeing him or another therapist in order to work out his feelings. He had warned his patient that one day he could lose control of all that pent-up anger if he allowed it to continue seething without neutralizing it.

  His warning had gone unheeded and had been proven correct, with fatal results.

  At least Cheryl seemed to be doing better. Seeing Philip framed in the window had recreated the image she had seen of him through the bedroom doorway, and it had all come back to her in a flash.

  Right after she arrived in Ziegler's suite, he had gotten a call and said he had someone coming with an emergency. Rather than leave and miss her opportunity to say her piece, she had gone into the bedroom to wait her turn. She didn't want anyone to know she was there, so she stayed hidden in spite of how long it took. She couldn't make out what was being said, but when she heard a sound like a motor, curiosity made her peek out of the room.

  The grotesque performance she witnessed literally terrified her into silence. After Philip had left, she had slipped in the blood on her way to the door of the suite, and that was how April had found her.

  April had called last night, sounding more like her old self. She said Bobbi had been given a one-year sabbatical leave, based on her willingness to spend that time in a mental health clinic. Erica wasn't returning her calls but April never worried much over Erica. She was like a cat, always landing on her feet.

  Holly's parents also seemed to be on the mend. Their weekend honeymoon had been what they needed to begin putting all the misfortunes of the past permanently behind them and look to the future once again. Having lost a close friend in such a tragic way seemed to have helped Bernie accept the futility of revenge.

  Evelyn handled closing up the office for two weeks until the curiosity over Philip's death quieted down.

  There was nothing Holly needed to do, no loose ends left to tie up, and yet she felt... incomplete. She was vacillating between making dinner and going out when the phone rang, offering a temporary reprieve from having to make a decision.

  "Hello?"

  "Hi."

  "David?" The sense of being incomplete faded, until she realized this was only the second time he had ever spoken to her over the telephone. "What's wrong? Why are you calling?"

  "Nothing's wrong." He hesitated a moment, then reluctantly admitted, "I just wanted to hear your voice."

  The End

  Want more from Marilyn Campbell's

  Lust & Lies Series?

  Page forward for excerpts from

  UNNATURAL RELATIONS

  TWISTED HUNGER

  WICKED OBSESSIONS

  All available in eBook format

  Excerpt from

  Unnatural Relations

  Lust & Lies Series

  Book 1

  by

  Marilyn Campbell

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  UNNATURAL RELATIONS

  Praise and Accolades

  "Nerve-shattering tale of danger and suspense."

  ~Romantic Times Magazine

  "Heart-stopping terror... a non-stop, fast-paced thriller."

  ~Lake Worth Herald

  "What a fantastic conclusion! An outstanding story!"

  ~Rendezvous

  "George Washington was a wuss!"

  Barbara Johnson shot a disapproving glance at her son, Matthew, then returned her attention to backing their weather-beaten Honda Civic out of the driveway. After so many years of Matt being too timid to say much of anything, she hesitated to reprimand him now that he'd begun behaving like other nine-year-old boys.

  "Let me guess," she said, as if she were giving it serious thought. "Kenny gave you that bit of information."

  Matt looked about ready to defend his friend, but he reconsidered. "Well, sort of. But it was in the movie we saw in class the other day."

  She shot him a quizzical glance. "The Father of Our Country was called a wuss in an educational movie? What did your teacher say about that?
"

  Matt rolled his eyes over his mother's obvious teasing. "Ma-a-aw. They didn't use that word exactly. They just showed how when he was a kid, he liked to dance and write mushy poems. Junk like that."

  "Oh, I see," Barbara said, nodding solemnly. "Girl junk."

  Something on the side of the road distracted Matt. "Where did you say we're going today?"

  His abrupt change of subject made her grin. He knew he had stumbled into sensitive territory where Mom was concerned. Rather than repeat her equality of the sexes speech, she answered his question.

  "Since Washington's birthday just passed, I thought we'd go see where he was born. It sounded interesting. Besides the memorial house, there's a farm where the animals and crops are raised the same way they were in colonial days."

  He perked up at the mention of farm animals. "Is it far?"

  "About thirty miles. The brochure said it opens at nine. We should get there a little after that."

  When she and Matt first moved into the little house in Fredericksburg, Virginia, she had vowed they would see as much of the surrounding historic area as possible before they were forced to move again.

  So far, during Matt's short life, the two of them had lived in eleven other cities, but had never really become familiar with any of them. Their stay in Fredericksburg had now stretched to nearly two years, and it definitely looked as though they finally would be able to stay somewhere for as long as they wished. Nevertheless, at least one Saturday a month, Barbara still selected a famous site between Richmond and Washington, D.C., for them to visit.

  The last two outings had been to the Smithsonian, where they spent the day indoors, but an unseasonable warm spell allowed Barbara a wider range of choices this weekend. And when given a choice, she knew her son's preferences well.

  Just as his father had, Matt loved animals and they seemed to love him right back. An image of Howard being nuzzled by his horse popped into her mind and she quickly erased it. She never purposely called up memories of Matt's father anymore. It was simply impossible not to think of him when every time she looked at her son's face she saw the gentle, artistic young man who had once meant the world to her. Perhaps she could have dismissed the similarities in their personalities if Matt had inherited her dark features rather than Howard's fair coloring.

  Then again, perhaps not. She was a realist and the fact was, Matt's existence, regardless of his appearance or behavior, was a constant reminder of Howard and how falling in love with him had turned her pleasant life into a roller-coaster ride through heaven and hell. But none of what had happened was Matt's fault and she never allowed memories of the father to diminish her love for their child.

  As she drove onto the bridge that would take them across the Rappahannock River, she could see the downside of the week of sunny weather. Rapidly melting snow and ice had caused the river to rise higher and flow faster than usual. Last night, the weather report predicted rain by the end of the weekend and warned of a possible flood.

  "Hey, cool," Matt said, pointing at the railroad bridge that spanned the river a short distance from the bridge they were on. A long, sleek passenger train had started across moments ahead of them. "If you could make all the other cars on the road move out of your way, which would get to the other side first, the train or us?"

  Barbara smiled as Matt began counting the railway cars. Trains came right under animals on her son's favorite things list. "Hmmm. I think that's one of those trains that carry people and their cars, so it's probably too heavy to go very fast." She gave the dashboard a loving pat. "I bet this old girl would win even on a cold day."

  Unable to make all the other cars vanish, however, they were only halfway across the car bridge when the train's engine reached the other side of its bridge.

  "Maw!" Matt shouted, and tugged on her sleeve.

  Barbara shifted her gaze back to the center of the railroad bridge to see what Matt was pointing at. For a second she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her as she watched one of the concrete pillars buckle and collapse. Like a row of dominoes, the cars of the train tipped and tumbled one after another into the raging river below, while only a whisper of sound leaked inside the Honda to accompany the horrendous sight.

  "Maw!" Matthew exclaimed again and she managed to slam on the brakes a heartbeat before colliding into the car in front of them. Everyone had stopped to gawk.

  Eventually the line of traffic began to creep along again. By the time they were across the bridge, the initial shock had worn off sufficiently for Barbara to absorb the reality of the situation. There were people inside those train cars bobbing in the river and overturned on the banks, people who needed help.

  As she turned the car toward the railroad bridge and pulled off the side of the road, she was relieved to see that she was not alone in that realization. Dozens of other cars were already parked and a crowd of men and women were heading for the crash site.

  "What are we doing?" Matt asked, his bright blue eyes filled with curiosity.

  "I'm going to see if there's anything I can do to help."

  "Me, too," he declared, pushing open the passenger door.

  As Barbara stepped out of the car, she considered ordering him to stay there but with his new sense of independence, she wasn't certain he'd obey. "All right. But you hold my hand." Though he grimaced at being treated like a baby, he went to her side and took her hand.

  Hurrying toward the accident, Barbara noted a number of people talking excitedly into their cell phones and one trucker using his CB radio. Professional help would surely be arriving any moment. But she also saw a lot of people using their phones to take pictures and videos. There were even a few using iPads to record the catastrophe.

  For the next four hours, Barbara, Matt and scores of other volunteers assisted the rescue workers in any way they could. They fetched and served hot coffee, comforted terrified children, and ran errands for anyone who voiced a need. They prayed for the victims trapped inside the railway cars as they began sinking into the icy water, cheered each time someone was pulled out alive, and ached for the families of those who were not so fortunate.

  When their assistance was no longer needed, Barbara and Matt drove home feeling good about their contribution, yet too exhausted to proceed with their original plans for the day. At any rate, the experience had been worth more than a hundred trips to historical monuments.

  Before Matt went to sleep that night, Barbara told him one more time, "I'm so proud of you, honey. You were as helpful as any of the grownups there today."

  "I keep telling you I'm not a baby anymore."

  Tucking the blanket under his chin, she smiled and kissed his forehead. "I know, sweetheart, but it's hard for me to remember that after so many years of taking care of you."

  "Yeah, I know, but I'm going to start taking care of you now."

  Barbara laughed and gave him a hug. "Don't be in such a hurry to take over. Making all the decisions isn't half as much fun as you think." She gave him one last good-night kiss and left the room, his promise echoing in her mind.

  Once, before he was born, because she was too tired and sick and broken-hearted to keep going on her own, she had accepted someone's offer to take care of her. She discovered too late that the price of that care had been her freedom. Although Russ Latham proved to be a man of his word, he also turned out to be brutally possessive and dangerously unbalanced.

  It took a long time but she finally made a new life for herself and Matt, without giving up her independence. Even if she met the perfect man someday and fell in love, she would never allow him total control over her or her son.

  * * *

  As soon as Barbara opened the front door to bring in the newspaper the next morning, she felt the extreme drop in temperature. Wondering if it would be enough to prevent the predicted flood, she pulled the newspaper out of its plastic wrapper to see what the weather report had to say. The photo on the front page banished all thoughts of the weather, however.

 
It was not surprising that the headlines of the Washington Herald focused on the train accident. What she hadn't expected to see was her face beneath those words. Shards of panic pierced her mind and froze the air in her lungs. Quickly she skimmed the caption beneath the photo—Fredericksburg residents, Barbara and Matthew Johnson, lend a hand to drenched survivor, Louise Pilcher.

  She recalled the moment pictured—Matt placing a blanket over the elderly woman's shoulders while Barbara handed her a cup of steaming coffee. She even remembered telling the woman their names and where they lived. But she had not noticed anyone taking their photograph. It could have been anyone with a phone.

  "Maw!" Matt called from the doorway. "What's taking you so long? You always yell at me if I leave the door open."

  Barbara pushed aside the paralyzing fear and hurried back into the house. Forcing a smile, she said. "Looks like we're celebrities, kiddo. I guess somebody thought you were so cute yesterday, they decided to put you on the front page."

  Matt's eyes opened wide with delight when he saw the photo. Then, just as suddenly, he frowned up at his mother. "Do you think he might see this, too?"

  At times like this, she wished her baby wasn't quite so smart. Keeping her smile in place, she did her best to reassure him. "I doubt it. I'm sure they only used it in the Herald because we're local residents. There's no way he'd see this paper."

  Matt looked at her suspiciously but he wanted to believe her badly enough to let it go. "Good, 'cause I like it here. I don't want to have to move again."

  She gave him a quick hug. "Neither do I, kiddo. Neither do I."

  * * *

  Russ Latham squinted at the photo on the front page of the Boston Times, then abruptly laughed out loud, despite the fact that he sat alone at the table in the coffee shop. The handful of other Sunday morning regulars turned toward him expecting to be let in on the joke but he waved them off. They wouldn't see the humor in the touching picture, nor was it something he could share with them. This joke was very, very private.