Carnal Vengeance

by Marilyn Campbell

  Her first thought was that she would have to come up with a good excuse for not seeing Philip. "Why don't we try getting through an amicable lunch first?"

  For the next hour he filled her in on what had happened in the Keys after she'd gone and she admitted she'd been impressed with his articles in the paper. Her answers to his questions about federal aid for the environment would go into another piece he was working on.

  He had paid the check and they were lingering over a second cup of coffee, when he changed the subject. "I need an unbiased opinion on something."

  "Is it a topic appropriate for discussion in a public place? Wait, let me rephrase that. Would I discuss it in a public place?"

  "You are way too suspicious of my intentions, you know that? It's just a lead that's been dropped in my lap, and I can't decide what to do about it. You've got a good, analytical mind. I thought you might be able to talk it out with me."

  She couldn't believe he was going to make it this easy for her. Her expression turned serious and she leaned forward on her elbows. "I've tracked down my share of leads over the years. Sometimes they pan out, sometimes they don't. But I would think you'd be accustomed to ferreting out stories from no more than a lead."

  "Oh, yeah. Don't get me wrong. That's how my biggest story originated. But this is different. It's not local and it's too flimsy to get backing from my editor to go chasing after it on the paper's dime. That means I'd have to cover my expenses as well as taking time off. Besides that, he gave me something else to follow up on since I've been back."

  Holly twisted her mouth as if she was considering his dilemma. She hadn't thought of the possibility that money would be a problem for him and it was too late to rectify that. It took all her self-control to give the kind of answer she would if she were not personally interested. "Then pass it on to somebody else, or forget it completely."

  "That's where the problem comes in. I rely on my instincts, and they're telling me there might be a hell of a story here."

  "Would the end justify the means, like prize-winning stuff?"

  He gave her a sly grin. "Possibly."

  "Maybe if you tell me about the lead I could be more helpful. I swear it wouldn't go any further." He only hesitated a moment before relating to her the information he had received about Jerry Frampton and Mick D'Angelo. She asked the expected questions about where he thought it might have come from then offered, "It sounds like it could be a dynamite exposé if it's based on fact. Tell me this, would any innocent people be hurt by your checking it out?"

  With a shrug, he said, "I could do some preliminary verification without anyone being the wiser. However, if it's true, there are already innocents being hurt."

  "If you don't follow it up, can you ignore that possibility? The David Wells I've gotten to know wouldn't be able to."

  He narrowed his eyebrows in thought. "Now that you said it aloud, I realize that point has been nagging at me along with my instincts."

  "Then it's a matter of how and when. Could you handle the story your editor wants then take some time off?"

  "Actually, he's so satisfied with the coverage on the hurricane, I doubt if he'd gripe too loudly."

  "Next problem—money for expenses. I can't help you solve that one."

  "I really shouldn't have included that as a factor. I've had to live on a starvation budget for so long, I'm afraid I place spending money in the same category with having blood drawn."

  "It sounds to me like you've made a decision. You mentioned a lead in Miami. Will you be going back down there soon?"

  He laughed and leaned closer. "If I wasn't so secure about my manhood, I'd think you were anxious to see me gone again."

  "Perhaps you'd like me to help you pack." His wounded look was as false as her disinterest.

  Since she had taken a cab there, she let him drive her back to the office. He stopped in front of the building, but before she could get out of his car, he pulled her close for a soul-wrenching kiss.

  "David! You can't keep doing that to me."

  "Why not? It feels good and I know you like it."

  "Because..." She heard several horns blaring behind them. "We're stopping traffic, that's why."

  "Always thinking of others. How very ladylike. Okay. I'll pick you up at six tomorrow. Dinner first, someplace extravagant to show that I do part with my money from time to time, then the symphony. Wear that sexy, black number you wore at the fundraiser. I want to act out a fantasy I've had about you and that dress."

  She sighed loudly and pushed open the car door. "You are truly... impossible!"

  As she ducked out, he called, "You'd better dust off your thesaurus, lady. You already used that one!"

  Holly could remember her father saying, "The best defense is a good offense." He may have been referring to football, his favorite spectator sport, but she had often used the strategy when she was unsure of her opponent. Hopefully it would work on Philip. Because he accepted her need for independence, they rarely saw each other more than once over a weekend, so if she went out with him that night, she would be free to go to the symphony with David on Saturday.

  As soon as she picked up her messages from Evelyn, she went into Philip's office. Guilt prompted her to sound more enthusiastic than she felt. "Would you like to come with me to a movie tonight? The new Nicholas Cage one sounds good."

  Philip beamed up at her, clearly pleased with the suggestion. "Only if you'll feed me first. I'm easy but I'm not cheap."

  Holly wondered if he realized how many times he had said that over the years, and how many times she had smiled at the tired old line. Funny, it had never really bothered her before. "Good. Tonight will be my treat. I'll even pick you up and do the driving." That way, I can drop you at your house and go home alone.

  Philip was delighted with her unusual assertiveness and moved on to discuss a report he was working on.

  When Holly had returned to her office on Tuesday, there had been phone messages from Dr. MacLeash and Bobbi Renquist. April had also called her home and cell phones several times. Rachel Greenley had also called her cell. She guessed April was checking on her, since she hadn't made the promised call Friday night. She had no idea what the other two wanted, nor had she changed her mind about avoiding contact with them.

  Since Evelyn had told everyone that her boss was in Florida because of Hurricane Brigitte and it wasn't known when she would be back, Holly had decided to put off calling April until she was certain David had received the envelope on Frampton. She realized the overachiever in her wanted to prove herself to her new friend.

  As soon as she got home, she placed the call and caught April just as she arrived home. After the necessary apologies from Holly and assurances from April that it was no problem, Holly was ready to report.

  "Holly, I hope you'll understand if I'm not able to respond as freely as I'd like over the phone."

  Holly understood and heard an unspoken suggestion that she be careful about what she said as well. She supposed it was wise under the circumstances. "Yes, of course. I'm pleased to say that I've spent quite a bit of time with the man we discussed, and he's... interested."

  "Does he know anything about your... background?"

  "No."

  "Good. And will you be seeing him again?"

  Holly hesitated a second. "I think so. He's not... the kind of man I'm accustomed to dealing with, but I'm fairly sure I can manage it." She could almost see April smiling her approval.

  "That's fine. Remember the advice I gave you, Holly. Think of him as practice. It's not important if you make mistakes, because you're not looking for a permanent relationship with him. If you take off the pressure of being perfect, you'll find it's not so difficult to be with a man."

  "I'm trying, but—"

  "It's not important," April repeated. "Do you enjoy his company?"

  Holly was tempted to lie rather than hear herself say it aloud. "Yes. Very much."

  "Then take the pressure off and have fun for a change
. You've accomplished the fundamental part of your assignment. The rest, particularly being able to watch it all unfold, would be a bonus."

  "But I really want that part of it, now that I've begun."

  "So you do understand how we all feel? I'm very relieved to hear that. Listen, I hate to cut you short, but I must feed my poor husband. You know what would be very nice? If you would come up here for a visit next weekend. I'd love to get to know you better."

  "I'd like that, too," Holly replied instantly. She felt good after each talk with April and wouldn't mind deepening the friendship. Holly remembered promising her mother to spend a weekend with them. "I'll see how my schedule looks and let you know."

  That evening was like so many others she and Philip had shared, a blend of friendship and business, but Holly sensed an undercurrent of tension and sought to relieve it by having a cup of coffee with him at his house after the movie. It was the sign Philip must have been waiting for.

  "I hope you don't mind my bringing this up, honey, but I've noticed a change in you in the last two weeks."

  Holly's years of concealing her emotions helped her to show nothing but mild curiosity. "Oh?"

  He shrugged. "Ever since you spoke to your parents about what happened to you in college, you seem a little... I don't know... stronger might be the best word. It frightened me at first. I thought you were... well, it's not important now. I read a book about rape victims and one of the recommendations for recovery is talking about it."

  "Yes, that was the advice a friend gave me. I think it helped."

  "But the book also stated sometimes that's not enough. One of the recurrent problems of the victim is the fear that the attacker will find her again. As long as he's free, she feels threatened."

  She had heard that before too, but he continued before she could say so.

  "There's something I should have told you when we first talked about it, but you seemed adamant about wanting to keep the identity of your rapists a secret, so I let you think it was."

  Holly didn't bother to hide her bewilderment.

  Philip cautiously patted her hand. "It's all right. Your secret's safe with me. You see, after you talked to your parents, your mother pulled out what she called your memory box. Although you'd left Dominion, they'd sent you the yearbook and she had put it away, in case you ever wanted to look at it. Did you know she'd kept every card and letter you ever sent them? Well, in several letters, right before you quit school, you wrote about your new boyfriend, Jerry Frampton, and his fraternity brothers."

  "It was a simple matter to look up the fraternity in the yearbook and find out who those brothers were. Frampton was obviously the boyfriend who hurt you. Your reaction to the Ziegler hearing and the way you freeze every time his name is mentioned suggests Ziegler was the other one. Was he?"

  Holly's mind was spinning. Philip had figured it out! Her mother had found the name! Had she passed it on to her father? She could deny it but she would have to name one of the other brothers to be convincing. At least with Ziegler gone, neither Philip nor her father would be able to confront him. Finally, she simply nodded her head.

  Philip gave her another sympathetic pat on the hand. "The point that I'm trying to make is that I want you to know that it's perfectly normal if you're feeling relieved that Ziegler is dead. You don't have to hide it from me."

  Holly shook her head in protest. "No matter what he did, I couldn't be happy he's dead."

  "Of course you're not happy. Only a wicked person would be happy and I know there's not an ounce of wickedness in your whole beautiful body. I was only trying to understand the change I've noticed. You must realize it started around the time of the murder."

  Holly considered the timing he referred to and all the things that had recently taken place in her life. She still didn't think it would be wise to tell him about the Little Sister Society or their goals, and she certainly couldn't confide in him about David. Instead, she let him believe what he wanted. There didn't seem to be any harm in it.

  "Any plans this weekend?" he asked as she was leaving.

  As casually as possible, she lied. "I think I'll pamper myself a little. Get a manicure, read a good book, sleep a lot."

  "Call if you want company," he said, hope hanging heavily on his words.

  "I will," she promised, giving him a friendly hug. As his arms loosely circled her waist, she thought he felt rather frail and realized she was comparing him to another man—a younger, stronger, more sexual man. On impulse, she pressed her lips to Philip's, hoping to find the spark of passion that had failed to surface in all their years together, wishing that he could be the one whose kiss had the power to take her to heaven.

  Philip inhaled deeply when she ended the kiss. "Are you sure you want to go home?"

  Her smile was neutralized by the sadness in her eyes. "Yes, I'm sure."

  Chapter 13

  "Good morning, Pop. What's cookin'?"

  "If you hadn't called within the next ten minutes, it was going to be your bottom."

  "Sorry I'm late. I slept in. You okay? Mom?"

  "Mom's also sleeping in this morning, but we're fine. And we'll soon be even better. I'm going to take her on a little vacation next weekend, maybe up into the Poconos."

  Holly thought he sounded lighthearted—not at all disturbed as her mother had described him. Maybe she hadn't told him the name of her attacker after all. "What about the restaurant?"

  "Got it covered. Anyway, Mom needs a break. She's been... a little down lately."

  "Oh, no."

  "It's okay, baby. I think she just needs a change of scenery. The doctor recommended that rather than a new prescription, so I'm willing to try."

  She considered asking about what her mother had said about him being preoccupied with thoughts of revenge but figured it might cause problems between them.

  "Then I guess Mom's invitation for me to come home for a weekend is postponed?"

  "Since when do you need an invitation to come home? Why not make it the next weekend? And bring Philip. We could have a marathon pinochle game."

  Holly forced herself to sound pleased with the idea, but she was already thinking up excuses to avoid a weekend that would include her parents' not-so-subtle hints about marriage. She didn't think she could laugh it off under the present circumstances.

  "I've got to run, Pop. Why don't you give me a call when you return from your little getaway and I'll let you know then how the following weekend is shaping up."

  "Sounds good to me, sweetie."

  "Take care of Mom. I love you both."

  * * *

  At ten minutes before six on Saturday evening, the lobby security guard/doorman buzzed Holly's apartment. "There's a David Wells here to see you, Miss Kaufman."

  "Tell him I'm not quite ready, Pete. Make him wait until six o'clock, then let him up."

  She was ready and waiting but it wouldn't do to let him know that. As she had guessed, it hadn't been necessary to give him her address.

  At exactly 6:01, there was a knock at her door. She opened it, certain she was in control of all her faculties. The sight of him, handsomely clad in his black tuxedo, holding a single pink rose, rearranged the circuits in her brain. She told herself he probably chose the symphony because he knows how great he looks in a tux. She took the rose, sniffed it then walked to the kitchen. He didn't need to be invited in.

  "I'm partial to pink roses. Did you research me?"

  He came up behind her and kissed the bare curve of her neck as she filled a bud vase with water. He smiled when he felt her shiver of response instead of the usual flinch away from his unexpected touch. "Didn't need to. It's how I think of you—beautifully delicate, yet complicated, with lots of layers, like a rose, but also innocent—pink."

  Turning, she smiled up at him. "Why, Mr. Wells, you should consider a career in writing. You definitely have a way with words."

  He stepped back and scanned her from head to toe. The dark-blue beaded sheath she wore fit as if it
had been designed for her—except for the scooped neckline: More of her appeared to be out of it than in. A thin diamond choker complemented her stud earrings, and he promised himself he would see her wearing nothing but the diamonds before the evening was over. "I may have made a slight miscalculation about the innocence, though. That dress doesn't promote innocent thoughts. It's very... alluring."

  "Thank you. I've had it for ages." Ever since this afternoon.

  "Why didn't you wear the one you wore at the benefit dinner, like I asked you to yesterday?"

  She touched his cheek as she moved around his side carrying the vase. "Probably because you didn't ask. You told me to wear it. Now, had you asked..."

  "Like a good little boy? Sorry. You can't turn a big, bad wolf into a good little boy. Only witches can do that." He tweaked her nose as a reminder that she had no such power then followed her back into the living room. She set the vase down on a table and picked up a small silver purse that matched her shoes.

  With a perfectly sincere expression, she said, "The last man who underestimated my power now spends his days barking and chasing cars. Shall we go?"

  He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, wondering if she hadn't already worked some sort of spell on him. How in the world was he going to keep his hands off her for the next five hours?

  As it turned out, he didn't, though not in the way he had been imagining. During dinner he opened his hand on the table and she placed her palm on his. As they spoke of inconsequential things, their fingers intertwined, slipped apart, and came together again. He fed her a bit of buttered bread and she licked his thumb. She pushed a wayward lock of hair out of his eyes and he kissed her wrist.

  Although he had been to the symphony with women before, he couldn't remember actually enjoying the music. It was just one of those places sophisticated men took classy ladies to impress them. But Holly loved the music, so he loved the music.

  And they held hands. No playing footsie or running fingers up and down thighs until they could finally escape the necessary preliminary rounds and get on to the main event. They held hands and let the music of Brahms and Mozart stimulate their souls. He had never experienced anything quite so sensual.