Carnal Vengeance (19 page)

And now, at his first opportunity to make amends, he had stuck another needle into her thin skin. Perhaps, subconsciously, he wanted her to dislike him, or at least be leery of him, because for the last three days, he had had one hell of a time staying away from her—and not just because of the story. He didn't like that either.

He tossed back his drink and put his mind on the assignment ahead of him. "What arrangements do you have to get to the Keys?"

She studied his expression for a moment before answering. "Evelyn reserved a rental car for pickup at the Miami airport yesterday."

"Where are you staying?"

"A hotel in South Miami. It's some distance from the heart of the disaster, but I was lucky to get that."

"I'm surprised you could get a room at all. Besides people seeking shelter, I assume reporters from every major television station and newspaper in the world are on their way there by now. Not to mention government reps, insurance adjustors, power company employees from other states and every unemployed carpenter and roofer in the southeastern United States."

She nodded her agreement with his assessment. "I've suspected Evelyn is a miracle worker on occasion. Are you going to be covering the disaster in general or do you have a specific angle?"

"Basically, I'll be on the lookout for the kind of government snafus that went on during Katrina, such as inadequate relief efforts and rescue missions, though the hope is they learned their lessons well on that one. Listening to you talk about the effects on the environment makes me think that would be a good secondary story. It would make a nice follow-up to my recycling article. I'd need to learn a lot more about it, though. Of course, I'll be happy to quote you as often as you'd like."

"It's a shame Philip couldn't be here. He's really much more knowledgeable about specific ecosystems than I am. As you know, I keep pretty busy working on waste management."

"Well, just for the record, I'm glad he's not. I can't imagine his voice talking me through a takeoff." He stopped himself from paying her the compliment he was really thinking. Stick to business.

They had been in the air a short while when David interrupted their discussion to order drinks for both of them.

"I don't want anything alcoholic," Holly said quickly.

"Good. I'll drink yours too. In just over one hour, this plane is going to land again and I intend to be as close to unconscious as possible."

"I don't think getting drunk is a very sensible solution. Why don't I just talk to you again?"

"Because I'm twice as bad going down. Do you have any idea how many plane crashes happen during landing?" He downed both drinks without taking a breath.

"Have you ever tried taking one of those workshops for your, uh, problem?"

"No. There's nothing anybody can tell me that will convince me this is a sane way to travel. I've read all about the theory of flight, aerodynamics and so on. It doesn't make any difference. Nothing this big and heavy should be suspended in midair—particularly with me in it."

"Then why do you do it if it's so hard for you?"

He shifted in his seat to face her. "I accept the fact that I have the fear, but I refuse to let that fear stop me from living or from getting what I want out of life. But you know all about fighting fear, don't you?"

She held his gaze for several seconds then said evenly, "Yes, I do."

"Of course, if you really want to help, I can think of something you could do to distract me."

She started to agree when he wiggled his eyebrows at her. "You're disgusting. You know that? How can you speak so intelligently one minute and be so... so..."

"Earthy? I always liked that word." He repeated it in a deeper, sexier voice. "
Earthy.
C'mon, lady, I was teasing." He tried to take her hand but she yanked it away. "You don't like that, do you?"

"Lady
was a dog in a Disney cartoon. My name is Holly."

"I'm not talking about your name. You don't like to be teased. In fact, I can't imagine you laughing. Do you ever smile,
Holly?"

"Of course I smile." She pulled her lips back in a wide, toothy grin then frowned at him again.

In a much too sudden movement, his hand came toward her face. She jerked back so quickly her head banged against the window.

"Whoa," he said in surprise. There was that flash of panic in her eyes that he had seen before. He withdrew his hand and watched her slowly lower her eyelids. When she raised them again, she was back in control. "What's your problem?"

"You."

"Naw, that's too easy. You know my greatest fear. It's only fair you tell me yours."

She took a slow breath. Maybe if she told him part of it, he would back off. "I have... a little difficulty when someone... touches me unexpectedly. It's no big deal."

David studied her, while she studied her fingernails. What caused such a hang-up? Childhood abuse? Rape? Certainly nothing insignificant. Chalk up one more reason to progress carefully with her. "Okay. So, if I wanted to brush your hair off your cheek—like I was about to—how would I do that without scaring the hell out of you?"

"You could try asking first."

"Ask permission to touch you? Hmmm. Do you always make Philip ask first?"

She narrowed her eyes at him before turning back to the window.

"None of my business, huh? You're right. It's that terrible earthy side again. Jus' refuses to stay submerged." He snickered, then grew very quiet for a minute. "Mos' women kinda like it, ya know. Why couldn't you be like all the res'?"

David considered the idea of asking permission completely ludicrous. Through experience, he had developed his own theories about women. To succeed with one, all a man had to do was home in on her primary desire to be given precisely what she wanted without asking her or waiting for her to voice a specific request. Obviously, it required a delicate balance and a great deal of finesse, and David believed his exceptional intuition had helped him master the subtleties of the game.

So where was that intuition when it came to Holly?

"Holly?" His lashes fluttered open. With a bit of effort he focused on her eyes, verified that she was listening, then lowered his eyelids again. "May I have your permission to hold your hand? Jus' while we land. Please?" He held out his hand, palm up, above her lap.

She looked skeptically at him and his hand. She definitely didn't trust his innocent-little-boy routine. There was no question about his being frightened, nor that he was drunk. But if she held his hand, would he appreciate it, or find a way to humiliate her again? Would he even remember when he sobered up? Finally, she placed her palm on his and let him thread his fingers through hers.

As they waited for their descent to begin, Holly realized she was losing most of her fear of David. He was a very astute man and a good listener when he wanted to be. She simply had to ignore the corny come-on lines that seemed to thoughtlessly slip out of his mouth on a regular basis.

He had demonstrated quite dramatically that he didn't find her irresistible. But he
did
seem to like her a little and respect her intelligence. And he
had
trusted her enough to let her see his weakness. Was it enough to form a friendship?

Perhaps the error in her original plan to establish a relationship with him had been the basic approach. He had an unlimited choice of beautiful blondes in Washington who could play at flirtation much more skillfully than she. Maybe the man would appreciate a friend. Or a mother.

David Wells had the extraordinary ability to bring out her caretaker instincts. Ridiculous. She didn't feel that way around Philip. But then Philip was a mature man, not an adolescent in a grown-up's disguise. She guessed David's boyishness made up part of the charm she had heard about, but hadn't quite discovered for herself.

By the time the plane touched down on the runway, Holly's fingers were completely numb.

When the plane came to a complete stop, David opened his eyes, took a deep breath, then released her hand. "Thanks. That helped a lot."

"Think nothing of it." She raised her hand in front of her, crooking the fingers into an arthritic position. "I hardly ever used my left hand anyway." Then she smiled. A genuine smile.

It took him a second to realize she had made a joke. He laughed out loud then immediately pressed his palms to his temples. "Ouch. Time for flying phase two."

"Phase two?"

"The part where I sober up before leaving the airport. Wanna help with that part too?"

Her caretaker instincts had her agreeing to keep him company at one of the airport restaurants. He insisted it wouldn't take long, since most of the alcohol had been countered by the adrenaline surge he'd gotten while the plane was descending. He hadn't eaten anything on the plane, but he more than made up for that omission once they were seated. Along with his meal, he swallowed a handful of aspirins and downed at least a quart of coffee. Apparently, it was a routine he'd been through countless times before.

In return for her patience, he accompanied her to the rental car counter to make sure she got off all right.

She didn't. Her reservation for a car was in the system but there weren't any rentals available. People hadn't returned cars due in, and hordes of visitors who couldn't get flights out of the area had rented anything with wheels. Holly's turn for an anxiety attack came as she went from agency to agency and received the same information.

"No luck, huh?"

She spun around at the sound of David's voice. She had actually forgotten he was there. "It would take a magic wand."

"You need a wand? I would have thought for sure you could just wrinkle that cute little nose of yours." David tapped her nose with his index finger and looked so surprised when nothing magical happened, she couldn't help but smile.

He readjusted the bag hung over his shoulder then took hold of the extended handle on her rolling suitcase. "C'mon," he commanded and started to walk off when he realized she hadn't moved, not even to pick up her tote bag. "What are you waiting for?"

"Better question: What are you doing with my suitcase?"

"I thought I'd take it for a little ride. Want to stay here or come with it?"

"You
were able to rent a car?" she asked as she caught up to him.

"Sort of. I have a very smart editor whose hunch paid off. In case Brigitte hit, he made arrangements two days ago to have a twenty-six-foot motorhome standing by for his reporter. It's totally self-sufficient. Has a generator in case there's no power available and a fully stocked kitchen. And at least one bed," he added with a wink.

"Mr. Wells!"

"Uh-uh. Caught you jumping to earthy conclusions, Miss Kaufman. I only meant that you could stretch out while I drive you to your hotel. You look like you haven't slept in a while."

His perception was accurate and disconcerting, and she hated the fact that he could make her blush so easily, but his offer was too good to pass up. Besides, there was that theory of hers about becoming his friend. "Deal."

"Deal?" He leaned toward her ear and half-whispered, "Lucky for me you didn't ask what your payment would be."

* * *

"Hello?" April greeted a bit too anxiously.

"It's me." Rachel knew she'd recognize the voice.

"I hope this call doesn't signify bad news."

"I suppose that depends on your outlook on life. We need to talk. I'm calling from the number I gave you while you were here. How long before you can call me back the way I explained?" Rachel imagined April taking a slow, calming breath to prepare herself not to overreact while she figured out how long it would take to find one of the throw-away cells she'd been given.

"Fifteen minutes."

Rachel hung up without saying goodbye and, as soon as April called back, she launched directly into her report.

"The fingerprint tracing is finally finished from the Ziegler case. The lab techs and their assistants really had to work on this one. You can imagine how many different fingerprints might be found in a hotel room—even with the maid service, they don't wipe off every surface. There were prints from former guests, people who had visited the victim during his stay and hotel employees, and every print had to be tracked down."

"On top of all that though, the doorknobs had been wiped clean of all prints, including the victim's, which implies that it might have been done at the last minute, and that presents a very interesting problem."

"Why do you say that?"

"Ice tongs were left by the body that were definitely used during the castration. They weren't wiped clean, yet there were no prints on them. That means the cutter wore gloves, probably surgical latex, so there'd be no reason to wipe door handles. Are you following me?"

"I'm afraid so, but I'd better hear it all."

"One deduction might be that somebody else—possibly a witness to the murder—wiped the door handles on the way out, after Ziegler was killed. But since that was all that was wiped, either that person was sure he or she hadn't touched anything else or was in one hell of a hurry."

"I see," April said slowly. "The prints that were picked up, were they all identified?"