Carnal Vengeance (6 page)

"It doesn't matter," Erica said with a wave of her hand. "Viello had a construction company in Mobile, Alabama. He'd built it up from a one-man home-repair service to a general contractor corporation employin' hundreds of people. The construction business had a few bad years and his company went from bein' very profitable to barely meetin' the payroll. He was certain things would improve eventually; he just needed enough capital to hang on until they did."

"That's where my company came in with a deal he couldn't resist. Explainin' that we were lookin' for a short-term investment for a cash surplus, we agreed to put capital into the business in exchange for a temporary fifty-one percent ownership and the right to put our employees in certain key positions... to guarantee an efficient turnaround. Once the business was back on profitable ground, Viello had the right to buy back our percentage at a reasonable price.

"As had happened before with other men, he assumed my bein, a woman would make it easy for him to maintain control of our business relationship. Once my own executives were in place, they followed my instructions for downgradin' the company. Within a year, not only was there no profit bein' made, there was no business left to salvage and no cash to start fresh. And Donner Corporation received a tax benefit for the losses sustained.

"It never seemed to occur to Viello that the lovely Mrs. Donner had purposefully set out to steal his company or ruin him financially. He actually apologized for my losin' my investment. There was never a chance that he'd make the connection with the Little Sister Society because I hadn't been on his dance card. Cheryl, Bobbi, and Rachel had."

Setting her empty glass on the table, Rachel said, "I've always wanted to send the men condolence cards from the Society when we finished with them. It would be rather satisfying to let them know who got them and why. But April convinced everyone that the risk of exposure wasn't worth the extra satisfaction—at least until the last man receives his just deserts."

Holly gave herself a moment to see how she felt about what these women had done—and, apparently, were still doing. In a way, they were no better than the vigilantes in the Old West, taking the law into their own hands and meting out justice as they saw fit. But law and justice had failed them all and the men deserved punishment.

Considering the brutal beating and rapes the last man had participated in, he had gotten off rather easily by only being financially ruined. The truth was, rather than disapproval of the women's methods or sympathy for the men, Holly was feeling a very unchristianlike sense of righteousness. She found herself unable to stifle a smile. "How many of the fifteen have you managed to get to?"

Erica held up three French-manicured fingers and said, "Three by corporate takeovers. Two others were sentenced to prison time through Rachel's efforts. Bobbi's gotten four for tax evasion and two others were publicly humiliated, careers destroyed, marriages broken, that sort of thing. In most cases, the initial evidence was provided by one of the many different detectives Cheryl hired."

Again Rachel cut in. "My personal favorite was Ike Brown. After graduation, he became a pilot and started his own charter service based in San Antonio. The detective reports showed that he made a lot of trips in and out of Mexico and had purchased a number of large-ticket items with cash. I did a little additional investigating on my own and came up with enough evidence to strongly suggest he was running drugs.

"It would have felt good to make the arrest personally, but he might have recognized me since I had given him such a hard time after my assault. I had to turn over the information I'd gathered to the agents in Texas, and they closed in on him."

"My leads usually begin with a detective's report as well," Bobbi added somewhat shyly. "You'd be surprised how many people have a regular job for which they report their income, but also have some sort of side business that they keep hidden. Normally the deceit would never be discovered. However, between the detectives and Rachel and my information networks, there is nothing about a man's life that can remain a secret."

Rachel snorted. "One thing you can count on is once a scumbag, always a scumbag. Every one of those fifteen frat boys was bound to stray from the straight and narrow as adults. All we had to do was wait for it to happen and be ready for them."

April nodded and said, "The main reason I've insisted we keep our motives secret is to avoid being discovered too soon. If the targets communicated with each other, they might try to stop us any way they could—not that we're doing anything criminal, as I said before, but our actions might not be construed as entirely ethical. There could be repercussions. Also, to keep the risk of being discovered to a minimum, we've concentrated on the lesser-known men up until recently."

Holly could see the logic in what April was saying, but it contradicted the present situation. "Having kept a low profile all these years, why did Cheryl decide to testify against Ziegler?"

"The Society was never able to come up with a suitable punishment for him. Basically, he's been as clean as his political campaigns make him out to be. The only thing negative that's ever been uncovered is that his wife has a serious problem with depression—attempted suicide some years back. But we have no reason to hurt her. Stopping him from getting the cabinet appointment was the best revenge we had come up with, and Cheryl was the only one of the inner circle who did not have a career or marriage that could be damaged by going public."

April guessed Holly's next question. "Yes, some of us are married. My husband and I were married while I was a senior. He was a professor at Dominion and was aware of some of the incidents involving the fraternity, but not what the women were doing about it. Cheryl's husband is somewhat younger than she is and supported her decision to testify."

Rachel gave a nasty laugh. "Considering the allowance she gives that boy-toy of hers, he
better
support her decisions."

April shot Rachel another frown as she continued. "Samantha, the attorney, is not only married, but the reason she's not here is because she just gave birth to their third child. Our seventh member, Paula Marconi, is also married with two children. Paula's our computer wizard. The system hasn't been made that can keep her out. Both of them told their husbands about the rapes, but not what they've done to get even."

April picked up a thick, expandable folder that had been leaning against her chair, pulled a sheet of paper out, and passed it to Holly. "You can keep this."

Holly scanned the paper, which bore the fifteen names she had first seen years ago, but now, all had lines drawn through them except four: Adam Frankowicz, Jerry Frampton, William O'Day, and Timothy Ziegler.

April gave Holly a moment, then said, "Hopefully, Tim Ziegler will be scratched soon. Adam Frankowicz has been working for an oil company in Saudi Arabia for the last several years, so he's been out of our reach, but the latest report says he's being transferred back to New York soon. Bobbi's been compiling a file on him for years. It was just a matter of being patient. If you know anything about professional football, you know William O'Day is extremely popular. His celebrity status has kept him safe from any aggressive investigation until now."

April removed a large envelope from the folder and set it in the center of the table. Holly could easily read the name Jerry Frampton on the neatly typed label.

"Was Erica right, Holly? Did Jerry Frampton hurt you too?"

Holly met April's understanding gaze and nodded. "Yes. Jerry and... and Tim Ziegler, but it was Jerry that—" The words she would have said choked her and she tried others. "It was the year before... before what happened to all of you. They were juniors and I was freshman. Jerry had to repeat a class I was in and he hired me to tutor him." Again she found it impossible to say more. "I'm sorry. I really am. I thought—you were all so open with me—but I can't."

"It's all right, Holly," April said. "Nobody's pushing you. If you change your mind, anytime, just call me. In the meantime, why don't you take that envelope home with you and go through it when you feel up to it. We're almost ready to close in on Frampton, but there's one step left. If you'd like to pull the last string, that would be rather appropriate, since you seem to be one of his first victims."

Erica gave Holly one of her half smiles. "There is nothin' quite so healin' as bein' an integral part of the retribution process. Ah highly recommend it."

"But he abused all of you—"

"Yes," April interrupted. "And each of us had a hand in putting his file together. You don't
have
to do anything. Just take a look at what we've come up with. Then call me if you want to be involved in bringing King Stud down to peasant level. But keep in mind, as long as your attackers go unpunished, you'll always feel like a victim. Once you take action against them, they'll no longer have any power over you."

They talked a little more about how the rapes had affected their lives and how they were still trying to cope with the leftover anxieties and fears. Repeatedly, Holly heard how talking about what had happened was the first step. She understood what they were saying and empathized with them completely, yet in her mind, these women were strangers. If she were ever to open up to anyone, she felt it should be her parents first, then Philip.

"By the way," Erica said as they were all leaving. "There's a reporter in the lobby who's been tryin' to get an interview with me. Y'all may want to steer clear of any good lookin' man wantin' to speak to you on your way out."

* * *

David had to force himself to sit still when the express elevator doors opened. He watched the same four women exit that he had seen go in, but no Mrs. Donner. Abiding by his earlier decision, he prepared to follow one of them and try to get a few questions answered.

Like a wolf sniffing out a wounded doe, he immediately noticed how the tall redhead's walk was not as steady as it had been earlier. With some reluctance, he gave up the pleasure of trailing the sexy blonde for easier quarry. All four moved across the lobby and headed out the front doors as if someone was chasing them, and within seconds, David was.

He couldn't believe his luck when the redhead decided to walk instead of ride. Perhaps she thought some exercise beneath the August sun would sweat some of the booze out of her system. As she headed down the sidewalk, he quickly made note of the identification number of the taxi cab the mouse got into, then took off before he lost sight of Red.

She hadn't had that much of a head start, but she managed to make it hard for him to keep an eye on her for the next couple blocks. It was almost as if she knew she was being followed and performed a few maneuvers through the crowd that might have thrown off a less determined hunter. At the intersections, she didn't wait for the proper signal before dashing across the street. David had no choice but to challenge the traffic right behind her.

The mystery of how someone who appeared so tipsy could move skillfully enough to throw off the average tail was solved a block later when she hustled into the building that housed the FBI. David reached the female guard posted at the entrance doors seconds behind her, but Red was already out of sight. His charm couldn't wheedle a name out of the guard, but he had seen Red flash her identification card as she flew by. The fact that she was instantly recognized combined with her carrying a concealed weapon told him she was probably an agent. His curiosity was definitely tweaked.

* * *

Bobbi's head had started pounding even before the group went their separate ways. She knew what the warning sign meant and, during the short cab ride to the IRS building, she practiced the control techniques April had taught her, but the need to submit was much too strong.

I can handle this, Roberta,
Bobbi insisted.

No, you can't,
a stronger voice replied in Bobbi's head.
But I can. Go to sleep, Bobbi.

Again Bobbi concentrated on maintaining her identity and forcing Roberta into the background. Because of April's help, Bobbi understood about Roberta from a psychological standpoint, but neither comprehension nor control techniques were enough to keep Roberta subdued when she truly wanted out.

As a shy child, Bobbi had invented Roberta to blame for any wrong she was accused of, in an attempt to avoid a beating, or to be out of body when it was inevitably delivered. In later years, when she was most frightened, she often fantasized about being a strong, aggressive girl like Roberta. Unlike Bobbi, Roberta was brave enough to fight back and always had the perfect comeback to an insult. Roberta wasn't afraid of anything or anybody—and the more dangerous something was, the more it appealed to her.

Sometime during her gang rape, Roberta had become as real as Bobbi had ever been.

Bobbi sat at her desk and strained her eyes to focus on the numbers on the form before her. Finally, she removed her glasses and put them in her purse.

There. That's much better,
Roberta thought. She never understood how Bobbi could stand wearing those annoying bifocals. Contact lenses were so much nicer, but, as usual, Bobbi had left those at home.

Within minutes, Roberta had told one of Bobbi's coworkers that she was feeling ill and was outside hailing another taxi.

Roberta didn't know how or why, or even care, but when she was in charge, Bobbi slept, unaware of what Roberta was doing. When Bobbi was in control however, Roberta remained alert in the shadows. On the way to their apartment, she considered everything discussed over lunch.