A Killing Kind of Love: A Dark, Standalone Romantic Suspense (12 page)

“Let’s see how things go between us, Adam,” she’d said the first time he’d suggested she get rid of Lambert and marry him.

For a while they’d gone along fine. Every time Lambert went out of town it was a twenty-four-seven bed fest. He’d done nothing but suck up to her—and on her—for months. He got hard thinking about it, and he knew for sure she enjoyed it as much as he did. When his chest tightened, he looked out the window, tried to focus on the city flashing by the speeding cab.

He remembered the day it all went wrong. It was right after that shock of a visit from Lando. He’d been scared stupid. Made some bad moves. For one he’d pushed her to set a firm date on dumping Lambert—getting the legal work done. Pushing Holly was always a bad idea.

They were in bed. She was spread under him like a feast. He was doing what he did best.

“Hm-m, that feels good,” she murmured.

He added another finger . . . “And it’s going to get better. Tell me what you want, baby, and it’s yours. “

“I want it all . . . Everything you can give me.”

“Then you’ll have to promise me something.”

She lifted to his hand, rolled her hips. “Anything.”

“I want you to marry me, Holly. I want you. I want our kid. I want us to be a family. And I want it now. No more delays.”

She’d lifted her head, her face flushed, and he could feel the heat of her skin against his palms. “You’re a bastard, Adam Dunn.”

He licked at her
—
stopped—arched a brow. “You want me to finish what I’ve started
?”

“Tomorrow, baby. I’ll do it tomorrow. “

“Tomorrow you leave for Boston.” He kissed her flat belly, stilled his hand, and lifted his head to meet her eyes.

“Then I’ll do it there.
”
She’d gasped. “Just . . . finish me. Please
…”

He didn’t remember saying anything after that. What he remembered was slamming into her so deep, he’d rooted there.

The next day she’d left for Boston. Three days after that he’d followed.

The cab pulled to a stop outside a gated driveway. “You want I should buzz us in?” the cabbie asked.

“No. This is good enough.” Adam fumbled for his wallet, handed the driver his credit card, and said a short prayer it would take one more hit. It did, and two seconds later the cab drove off, and he was standing like a Little Orphan Annie outside the dilapidated Solari mansion.

He craned his head and looked through the rusted wrought-iron gate at the sprawling three-story house. What a mess. Peeling paint. Roof tiles missing. One of the windows in the top floor broken and boarded up. A lawn high enough to hide a pride of hunting lions, and a tangle of shrubs that hadn’t seen a shave and haircut for years.

Across the lake the sun was sinking below the horizon, casting the West-side grounds of the house into heavy shadow. A set of sorry-looking lawn furniture sat on a patio covered in leaves.

All of it was far worse than he remembered.

He lit his long-overdue cigarette, took a couple of deep drags, and stared at the gate phone. Hell, he’d be lucky if the damn thing even worked. He hesitated, rolled his banged-up head to loosen the tension in his shoulders.

This Gina thing wouldn’t be easy. He had to play it right.

Dropping the cigarette on the driveway in front of the gate, he stubbed it out.
Do it, Dunn. Just damn well do it.

He pushed the button.

“Yes?”

He sucked up some air. “Gina, it’s Adam.”

Silence. Total and absolute. But the line was open. She hadn’t clicked off. His breath lightened. “I’ve missed you.”

More silence.

“You still there?”

“You’re a son of a bitch, Adam Dunn, and I never wanted to see you again.”

He didn’t miss her use of past tense, and put his mouth closer to the speaker, lowered his voice. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’ve never meant anything more in my life. You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me.” Her voice rose slightly, unusual for Gina, who didn’t often let that hot Italian ancestry show anywhere other than the bedroom. Not as good as Holly, but . . .

She went on. “Come to think of it, you’re the worst thing that could happen to any woman who gets within ten feet of you.”

“You and I got a lot closer than ten feet, baby, and I loved every minute of it.”

“Something I’ll regret forever. And I am not your baby. Not anymore, Adam. If I ever was.”

And you’re not clicking off.

Adam smiled, but didn’t let it show in his voice; it dripped a soft sincerity. “I hurt you. I know that, and I’m sorry, and I’ll go if that’s what you want.” He paused, not above a little emotional muscle-flexing before lobbing his ace. “The thing is, Gina . . . I need you. I never thought I’d say that to any woman, but I’m saying it to you. I’m in trouble, and I really need you.” He paused. “Open the gate, baby . . . please.”

The following morning, Camryn found Paul outside on the back patio. The day was bright and flavored with soft gusts of wind, cool and autumn-scented.

He was leaning against one of the white columns that flanked the stairs leading to a lower terrace, looking preoccupied and deeply thoughtful. Her father would say he was probably plotting how he could take her down, how he’d do it without a flinch. According to her father, Paul was a heartless, greedy, merciless enemy. He might be right, but at this moment, he simply looked . . . sad.

Beyond the terrace, a magnificent linden tree dripped yellow leaves onto the lawn. Deep green from the recent showers, the lawn beyond the tree stretched to the dense hedge that separated the Grantman property from its neighbor. The hedge was a long way off.

She and Kylie were leaving in the afternoon, and Camryn didn’t intend to leave without speaking to Paul and trying to settle things between them. He was Kylie’s granddad, always would be. She would not take Kylie and run off like a kidnapper. She wouldn’t run. Period.

Unlike Dan Lambert.

After spending some time with Kylie following yesterday’s meeting, he’d packed and strode out of the house without another word. It made her think that on some level, he might be pleased he wouldn’t have the burden of raising someone else’s child—that most of his concern was his rigid idea of responsibility. Maybe Holly recognized that, and with the marriage as rocky as it was, decided to leave Camryn’s guardianship in place.

Or maybe, Camryn, you’re rationalizing, trying to get rid of the persistent gnaw of guilt and confusion you’ve had since Maddox handed you those papers.

Camryn hadn’t pegged Lambert as an uncaring man, but, then, her pegging score for men left a lot to be desired. Shaking off that miserable thought, she said a silent thank-you to the Man Upstairs for the gift of innocence he’d given to children. Because of it, Kylie, barely three, was blissfully playing with the new doll Lambert had left with her, unaware of how her life was about to change.

Telling herself to get this face-off with Paul over with, she walked toward him, determined to say something, anything, to ease the situation between them.

“Paul.”

He stiffened, but he didn’t turn to look at her, nor did he speak. What he did was rub the lines in his forehead.

She walked to his side, waited a moment, then said, “We have to talk, you know. We can’t leave it this way.”

“We have nothing to talk about—considering you’re stealing my granddaughter.” He turned to her then; his eyes were hard, glassy—as if he’d been crying.

Camryn’s heart lurched. “I’m not stealing her—”

“You’re right. It’s more like borrowing. I’ve already started the necessary legal proceedings, so I’d suggest you don’t get overly attached.” He gave her a stark, irritated look. “And given that, if you were smart, you’d leave Kylie here with Erin and me until the legal issue is resolved.”

Camryn looked at him, what sympathy she had seeping away. “I’m not going to do that.”

“I didn’t think so.”

She took a calming breath. “There’s no point, Paul. Holly entrusted Kylie to me. Not you and not Erin.”
Particularly not Erin.
She touched his arm. “I’ll take good care of her—you must know that. And I’ll love her as my own.”
I already do.

“I bet.” His tone dripped sarcasm, and his cold gaze turned hot. “A child is not a commodity that someone can will to another, Camryn. That girl is my blood. Holly had no right to name you as guardian. No right at all.”

“She was Kylie’s mother. She had every right in the world to make her feelings known, and that’s what she did. She didn’t want—” She stopped. No way did she intend to mention the letter she knew was enclosed with the will. It must have killed Paul reading that letter, hearing his daughter’s reasons for her choosing a friend to care for her child rather than her father . . . and Erin.

“You know about the letter,” Paul stated, his gaze riveted to hers.

Damn!
“Yes.”

“You know what’s in it.”

“Yes.”

He looked away, his chest heaving, then turned back to her. “If you’re counting on it for backup in court, you’re making a mistake. Her allegations about Erin are completely untrue.”

Camryn had no intention of arguing for or against Holly’s opinion of Erin. To go there now would be incendiary. “I came looking for you in the hope we could work this out,” she said. “And to tell you I won’t keep Kylie from you.” She paused. “This needn’t be a court issue unless you make it one. Holly and I were like sisters—you know that. I’ve been helping her with Kylie since the day she was born. I already love her like my own, and I’ll give her a good and loving home.”
A home where she’ll be safe.

He faced her, put his hands on his hips, and stared at her for a long moment. “You want her because you’re unable to have your own children. You’re barren, Camryn—or as they say these days, infertile. So, please, spare me your altruism. Your motive for taking my granddaughter is no higher than your own self-interest.”

She froze in place.
How did he know?

She couldn’t ask because her mouth refused to open. She’d spent years struggling with her inability to bear children, the pervasive disappointment and pain of it, but she’d never thought that failure would be used as an emotional bludgeon, a means to make her love for Kylie appear selfish and egocentric.

“Holly told me part of it,” he went on. “I followed up. I always follow up. You’ve spent enough time in fertility clinics in the past few years to earn a degree in gynecology.” His mouth tightened. “Obviously with no results. Which is probably why your husband walked out on you.”

Whoa
 . . .

Camryn took a deep breath, unclenched hands that had turned to fists at her sides. She’d always known Paul Grantman was a shark, that he had a reputation as a street fighter in boardrooms and businesses across the continent, but she’d never seen it first-hand. Never quite believed her own father.
God, poor Holly.
“None of which is your business.”

“Holly naming you Kylie’s guardian made it my business. Holly was my daughter. I loved her, but she was foolish and soft-hearted. I’m neither. Her way to deal with an issue was to slide around it. From my point of view, the fact that you can’t have children of your own is not a reason for you to be
given
my only grandchild. I suspect the courts will feel the same, forced to choose between awarding Kylie to a single mother struggling to support herself and her deadbeat father, or—all this.” He lifted a hand to indicate his house and grounds.

You manipulative bastard…
“And who should be ‘given’ your granddaughter? Your alcoholic, cocaine-sniffing trophy wife?” She paused, crossed her arms. “Holly didn’t think so, and neither do I.”

His face reddened. “I won’t have you bring Erin into this.”

“Let me get this straight. My empty womb is fair game, but your wife’s addictions aren’t? Well, guess what? That doesn’t work for me.” She met his thunderous gaze. “I’m not Holly, Paul. I won’t smile, agree with whatever you say, then go and do whatever I meant to do in the first place. And I won’t be intimidated.”

“How about being bought? I can either pay you, or I can pay my lawyers. Take your pick.”

“You’re offering to buy Kylie?”
For your dim-witted wife.

“I want what’s mine, and I’ll do what I have to do to get it.”

Camryn shook her head. “All that ‘get what’s mine’ stuff? It’s exactly why Holly did what she did. The answer is no; I won’t sell you your granddaughter, because along with not being intimidated, I won’t be bought.”

“And I won’t lose.”

“Let’s see”—she counted off on her fingers—“so far in this ten-minute conversation you’ve tried extortion, intimidation, and bribery. Your next move should be fascinating.”

“And you won’t see it coming.”

“I’m breathless with anticipation.” She stopped, took a moment and settled herself—somewhat. “But I’ll say again, none of this is necessary. So when you stop playing the role of spoiled rich man, stop thinking win-lose, and start thinking about what’s good for Kylie, let me know.”

She turned her back on him and headed toward the French doors leading into the house. She had nothing more to say to Paul Grantman. The next move was his. All she could do was wait for it.

And take Kylie home.

The plane left on schedule, and within half an hour in the air, an overexcited and very tired Kylie was asleep in the center seat next to Camryn’s by the window. Fortunately, the aisle seat was empty, so the airline pillow propped on the armrest wasn’t bothering another passenger. Thinking the plane’s air conditioning might be too cool on the child’s shoulder, Camryn gently covered her with a blanket. Kylie stirred, nuzzled deeper into the pillow, and continued sleeping.

Camryn couldn’t stop staring at her, her feelings an unsorted jumble, half warm, half cold. Only love stood front and center—love for this child and her mother.

Oh, Holly, you’ve given me such a gift—and such a challenge. I won’t let you down, my friend. No matter what, I won’t let you down. And I won’t let Kylie down. I love her, Holly. I love her with my whole heart.

The tears that seeped to Camryn’s lower lashes were as confusing to her as her feelings. There was sorrow that she’d lost her dearest friend, elation at having Kylie—another life to concern herself with, a child to love—then a sick regret and guilt that the cost of such a gift was Holly’s life. Dear God, if she could change that, she would, but she couldn’t.