Carnal Vengeance (3 page)

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 right 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.