"Hey, better him than me," Jerry said with another dry laugh, then turned serious. "Collateral damage for a greater good. Those broads have to be taught a lesson. Do you want me to take care of it?"
"No," Tim said quickly. There was no telling what the repercussions would be if Jerry took care of this matter his way. "I know just the man for the job."
* * *
After hours of self-analysis followed by nightmares of being chased by demons, Holly awoke with one conclusion. It was past time for her to face those demons.
Cheryl's method of dealing with her nemesis was too extreme, and too public, for Holly. All Holly really wanted was to find a way to live a more normal life than she had been doing—a life in which she felt comfortable in her own skin. A life in which her inability to recover from a debilitating event could no longer hurt the ones she loved.
She had put her parents through hell back then, and though she'd apologized and they'd forgiven her, she'd never explained the cause. That omission had left a small but permanent scar on an otherwise close relationship, but she couldn't seem to repair it.
As difficult as that was to bear, the guilt was even worse with Philip Sinkiewicz, the man who had pulled her out of the depths of depression by giving her a new career, friendship and unconditional love. A normal woman would have been able to give him the love he deserved in return. He was still her best friend and, technically, her employer, but she had failed at being his lover. She would change that if she could.
The cryptic letter from Dr. April MacLeash was the only clue she had to a solution. Determined to make a change in her life and without any better alternative in mind, she placed a call to the psychiatrist.
She was relieved that the office number in Wilmington, Delaware, was still correct, but when the receptionist informed her that the doctor was staying in Washington, D.C., for a few days, her relief turned to curiosity. Could Dr. MacLeash's visit to the capital have some connection with the hearing? Holly left her name and cell phone numbers with the message that it was in reference to Ziegler.
April MacLeash returned the call within fifteen minutes and got right to the point. "I don't think we should discuss anything specific over the phone. Suffice it to say, your name was given to me quite a long time ago as someone who may have suffered a trauma at the hands of one or more of the individuals listed in my letter. A number of us discovered we shared similar experiences and formed a very unique therapy group."
"Because we're scattered over the country now, we only have semiannual meetings, but due to the current situation, several of us are in Washington this week. There's no cost to join our group or attend sessions, and, if you'd like to meet with us while we're here, there wouldn't be any obligation on your part to become a regular member. I assure you, it won't hurt to talk with us, and it might do you a lot of good, whatever your personal history is."
Holly was not one for joining groups—she had never even joined a sorority in college—nor did she normally make spontaneous decisions, but after the miserable night she had had, she was willing to try anything, including the outside help she had always avoided. "I've never talked about it with anyone. I'm not sure I can now."
"That's okay. You wouldn't have to talk at all this time if it makes you too uncomfortable. Just listening to the others might benefit you. The important thing is for you to realize that you're not alone and whatever happened was not your fault. The extent of your participation in our group after that is solely up to you."
"All right. I'll try," Holly promised, before giving herself time to equivocate.
"Good. We're meeting in the executive suite of the Kessler Hotel at noon tomorrow. There will be a buffet lunch served in the room. I look forward to seeing you then."
"Yes. Same here." Holly's voice belied the words. She had no idea if meeting these women would help or hurt her mental state but she felt certain once she took that step there would be no turning back.
* * *
David Wells sat in the luxurious lobby of the Kessler Hotel, pretending to read the newspaper he was holding up in front of him. It wasn't a very original ploy but it was one that usually worked. The phone call he'd received Monday night from Senator Ziegler had convinced him to drop everything else he was working on and focus on what he'd been told. Although he was not one of the throng of reporters assigned to cover the Senate hearing, he had been keeping abreast of the proceedings. Since he wasn't reporting it, he could afford a bit of bias.
He had met the senator while investigating the top-heavy administrative staff of the Department of Housing and Urban Development. Ziegler was one of the few people he had dealt with who had come out crystal clean. The exposé David wrote for The Washington Herald resulted in the resignation of the then secretary and the subsequent recommendation of Senator Ziegler for that post.
David liked Tim, as a politician and as a man, and on the basis of the latest polls, more than half the country believed he was being unjustly vilified by Cheryl Wallace.
It had been a long time, but David's own experience with being falsely accused was still a raw wound. When he was sixteen, he'd lost his job at a delicatessen when the owner's jealous son blamed him for a shortage in the cash register—right after the boy had loaned David the same amount of cash that was missing, as a favor. With the money in his pocket and the son's word against his, David hadn't stood a chance of being believed.
Firing David had meant nothing to the deli owner but it had devastated David, not only because he'd been framed, but the income had been helping to support his four brothers and sisters. Getting another job where he could work as many hours had been almost impossible, especially after the man spread word of the theft to other merchants in the neighborhood.
He couldn't change his own past, but perhaps he could help the senator with his present dilemma.
Altruistic motive aside, if what Tim Ziegler had implied was true, it would make one hell of a story!
When Ziegler had testified to the Senate committee the yesterday, he had spoken quietly, and with considerable embarrassment, about the wild fraternity parties he'd once participated in. He was obviously guilt-ridden over the youthful overindulgence, but he could look back with a clear conscience knowing that he had never hurt anyone and the girls at those parties were there willingly. Cheryl was one of the regular attendees who were game for anything in the name of fun.
Privately, Tim had related to David his belief that Cheryl had never been quite right mentally. He knew she'd spent some time in an institution, but didn't have details. He also claimed that he wasn't the first target of Cheryl's unfounded hostility.
Some years ago, one of his fraternity brothers had been spied on by a private investigator. Because of the evidence of sexual misconduct collected by the investigator, the man's wife sued him for divorce. He lost his family and most of his possessions and, through it all, he swore he'd been framed. Supposedly, the investigator had been hired by Cheryl Wallace. Tim didn't have the investigator's name or address, but he promised to look into it if David was interested.
Tim's story became truly intriguing, however, when he implied that a second woman might be helping Cheryl with her revenge schemes. At the last fraternity reunion, it was discovered that two of the brothers had lost control of their businesses to the Donner Corporation, and a third man had been abruptly terminated from a high-paying executive position immediately after that same corporation bought the company he was employed by. An article in Forbes magazine about Donner gave Tim a bit more fuel for his suspicions.
He believed it was an incredible coincidence that the present owner of the Donner Corporation, Erica Donner, had attended Dominion University the same year as Wallace, long before she had met and married the wealthy George Donner. Tim couldn't recall ever meeting her, however.
David had heard enough to agree to meet with Tim after the hearing was over to get names, dates and any other pertinent details. What he hadn't told Tim was that there was another coincidence ri
ght over his head.
Erica Donner had arrived in D.C. on Monday and was currently occupying the penthouse suite of the Kessler Hotel—just a few floors above where Tim was staying. Since her company owned the hotel, she could simply say she was on an inspection tour—as David easily learned the staff had been told—but the fact that the hearings had begun the day of her arrival, combined with Ziegler's input, made David feel certain that he was on to something more than coincidental circumstances.
David credited his successful journalistic career to a combination of good luck and personal charm. He knew part of that charm was that he was a boyishly handsome, just turned forty-year-old bachelor, whose curly brown hair always looked mussed and whose bright blue eyes revealed a lighthearted nature. He loved women and instinctively knew how to impress them. Though he often took advantage of that skill, he never lied and always made sure they had fun while they were with him, whether it was business or personal.
That skill had gotten him the information that put him in his present location. He occasionally dated Suzanne, one of the front-desk clerks at the Kessler. She was one of a dozen female hotel employees he had befriended around town. He never promised them anything more than a good time—he had been immunized as a child against ever getting seriously involved with the so-called gentler sex—and never did more than hint at the kind of information he could use if they were willing to pass it along.
They were always willing.
Suzanne had called Monday afternoon to let him know about some notable people who had checked in. Erica Donner was one of them. And David had thanked her with a romantic dinner in his apartment that night.
The first call David made Tuesday morning was to Valerie Glick, the best research assistant The Washington Herald had ever hired. She was not only bright and ambitious, she had a sixth sense about ferreting out the most trivial data. David's charm had never impressed Valerie; she was happily married and immune to his flirtations. What she liked about him was the way he respected her and admired her intelligence, never taking her efforts for granted. Thus, when he asked for "a little background" on Erica Donner, particularly what schools she had attended and when, an in-depth bio and folder of press clippings appeared on his desk a few hours later.
From the photos of Mrs. Donner, David was certain he could recognize her in a crowd. A woman of medium height and build, she wore her jet-black hair pulled back in a severe bun that accented her widow's peak. She had dark, slightly almond-shaped eyes and prominent cheekbones. Her Oriental looks were countered by a Memphis, Tennessee, accent that had coated many an unappetizing deal with molasses and expensive bourbon.
Erica Donner was regarded as a phenomenon in the world of mergers and acquisitions. Rather than scaling the corporate ladder to the top, she had taken a faster route—she married the boss first and proved herself afterward. George Donner had been called a wizard on Wall Street before he had her on his team. Together, they had regularly caused tremors through vulnerable companies.
After George Donner's death, she took control of the company in spite of the scandal that erupted. It was made public that George was Erica's third husband to die under questionable circumstances, and she was instantly dubbed the Black Widow. Because of her ruthless business practices in the years that followed, the nickname stuck.
But the information that most interested David was the confirmation that she had attended Dominion University as Tim Ziegler had claimed.
Considering how few facts he had, David figured his first step should be a direct surprise attack, via a routine interview. An unexpected accusation, carefully phrased as a question, usually caused a guilty party to react. Even a flinch would be sufficient for David to decide if there was a story worth investigating.
As Cheryl Wallace was refusing to speak to any reporters during the hearing, David aimed his curiosity at Donner.
That afternoon, he left his name and office number with her secretary in San Diego, California, then left several messages with the hotel operator. Though he'd explained he only needed a few minutes of Mrs. Donner's time regarding her company's most recent acquisition, she made no reply.
After talking to Suzanne last night, he decided to hang out in the hotel lobby in hopes that the elusive businesswoman would make an appearance. If she never left her room, he figured he could try bribing a waiter to let him borrow a uniform and go to her suite the next time she ordered room service. Whatever trick he had to pull, he was now determined to get an interview with Mrs. Donner.
The bank of elevators across from David had been in constant use all morning, but he was only concentrating on the one that served as an express to the top floor. No one had come down from the penthouse but he had watched three late thirtyish women in business attire go up between ten and eleven. One was a petite blonde with a confident, athletic stride—a lawyer or other professional type, David guessed. Another was her direct opposite, with mousy brown coloring, beige clothes and wire-rimmed glasses—a research assistant or computer geek if he ever saw one.
The last had to be law enforcement of some kind from the way she scanned the lobby when she first entered and kept her back to the wall while she waited for the elevator. Of course, the bulge of a shoulder holster under her poorly fitted navy-blue jacket helped David's guess considerably. She might have been decent-looking but her auburn hair was cut too mannishly short for such a tall, broad-shouldered woman, and her lack of makeup and masculine way of moving detracted from whatever female attributes she had.
David's imagination was already busy trying to put these three visitors into a scene with Erica Donner, when another woman entered the hotel lobby. She was vaguely familiar, though he couldn't place her. Then again, it could just be that she embodied everything he lusted after in a woman.
Her light-blonde, chin-length hair was softly waved and framed a flawless face. He couldn't see her eye color, but her full, rose-tinted lips were almost the exact shade of her simple, tailored dress.
Expert that he was, he noted that the cut and length of the dress were meant to hide a lush figure and long, shapely legs—two female characteristics he found irresistible. If he weren't working...
Before he completed the thought, she had approached the express elevator and pressed the "up" button.
She was nervous. Though he'd been focusing on her spectacular looks, he had also seen the way she slowed down as she neared her destination and, once there, shook her head and straightened her shoulders, as if she had to talk herself into going on.
* * *
Holly almost turned back. She could no longer remember why she had agreed to come here. She had managed up 'til now without discussing her personal problems with anyone. Why should she begin now, with a group of strangers?
Yet, when the elevator doors opened, her feet took her inside. Her finger touched the only thing that resembled a button, a little red square on the wall with a credit card-sized slot beneath it.
"Hello?" asked a detached female voice a few seconds later.
Holly looked around the mahogany-paneled enclosure with its polished brass rails and saw a duplicate set of doors behind her, but no visible speaker. "Um, I have an appointment in the penthouse suite with Doctor MacLeash. I'm Holly Kaufman.''
"I'll bring you right up."
The doors closed and the elevator began a rapid ascent the next instant. When it stopped, the rear doors opened and Holly stepped into a foyer that expanded into large living room, beautifully appointed with Italian and French antiques and rich brocades. A grand piano adorned one side of the room, where floor-to-ceiling windows offered a magnificent view of the capital.
An attractive woman a few inches shorter than Holly, with blonde-on-blonde frosted hair cut in a pixie style, greeted her with a warm smile. "Holly Kaufman? Welcome. I'm April MacLeash." She held out her hand.
Holly surreptitiously wiped her damp palm on the side of her skirt and forced a return smile as she briefly shook hands. "How do you do, Doctor."
&
nbsp; "No formality here. I'm just April. Come on in and meet my friends."
Three other women were seated in a conversation area on the opposite side of the room from the piano. As Holly and April approached, they stopped talking and turned toward the new arrival.
"This is Holly Kaufman," April said with her pleasant smile firmly in place. The women remained seated as they were identified. "This is Erica Donner, today's hostess. Erica's company owns the majority of the stock in this hotel, so they usually give us special treatment."
Erica's mouth softened into a semi smile, but her dark, slightly slanted eyes glittered with a permanent hardness that couldn't be disguised by a professional makeup artist.
"And this is Bobbi Renquist. The Internal Revenue Service is her employer."
Holly had an easier time smiling at Bobbi, whose timidity seemed to equal her own. If she hadn't been told Bobbi's profession, she might have guessed the extremely plain woman with the bifocal glasses was a librarian.
As Holly's gaze moved to the last woman, it caught on the weapon strapped to her shoulder.
"Our armed member is Rachel, also known as Special Agent Greenley of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We've convinced her to remove her jacket, but she swears she feels naked without the gun, so I hope it doesn't make you nervous."
"Oh, no," Holly said quickly. "It just surprised me." Rachel toasted her with a Manhattan glass, half full of an amber-colored liquid, then drained it before setting it down again on the coffee table. As April directed her to a seat, Holly was somewhat relieved to notice that the others had all been drinking coffee or tea.
Rachel's voice sounded perfectly sober though as she said, "Actually, I'm not the only armed member. Agent Renquist carries a cute little toy in her purse, the way a real lady who's licensed should." When Bobbi didn't rise to the obvious bait, Rachel changed topics. "We were discussing the Ziegler hearing, Holly. I say we should just cut the bastard's balls off and be done with it. What do you think?"
Carnal Vengeance Page 2