A Killing Kind of Love: A Dark, Standalone Romantic Suspense (8 page)

“Of course. We have lots of room.” Her pale blue eyes emitted neither welcome nor displeasure. Languid described Erin Grantman, Dan decided. Or better yet, lethargic.

“Thanks, Paul. Erin,” Camryn said, giving Erin a quick smile. “But I’m fine at the hotel. I’ll come by tomorrow when—”

“I said, I insist.” Paul paused. “I have some things of Holly’s there and I think she’d like you to have them.” He looked up at Sebastian Solari—whom Dan now knew wasn’t Camryn’s husband—and his expression became momentarily confused. “Your, uh, friend is welcome as well.”

“Thank you, but my flight leaves this afternoon,” Sebastian said, then added, “You don’t remember me, do you?” The fact didn’t seem to bother him a hell of lot, but then he’d been stone-faced since he’d slipped into the pew an hour ago.

Paul studied him, shook his head. “I’m sorry. No.”

“I dated Holly in high school. Final year.”

“Sorry,” Paul said again. “Holly dated a lot of young men. Too many.” He glanced at Dan, obviously lumping him in the “too-many” category.

Sebastian’s mouth tightened and he directed a dark glare at Dan. “Yes, she did,” he agreed. Turned back to Grantman, he said, “Maybe this will jog your memory—I’m Gina’s brother. Delores’s son? Sebastian Solari.”

“Ah . . . yes.” The older man looked as if the memory had the taste of a bad oyster, but he rallied. “You’re welcome to stay—at least for the weekend. I’ll send Maury to your hotel to pick up your things.”

“No, thanks,” Sebastian said. “Like I said, I have a plane to catch.”

“As you like.” Looking relieved, Paul turned to Dan, gave him the usual cold stare, and said, “You’ll stay. It’ll give us a chance to straighten things out between us. Be easier if you were close by.”

“Fine by me.” Dan would take any opportunity to see Kylie—and make damn sure he didn’t leave without her.

“Tell Maury where you’re staying. He’ll get your and Camryn’s things.” At that Paul glanced at his watch, then took Erin’s arm. “We’d better get going. We can’t leave our guests too long.” Erin did her slo-mo blink, smiled, and nodded. Together they walked to the black Mercedes limo.

Sebastian shot another cold glance at Dan, before saying to Camryn, “I’ll get the car, drop you at Paul’s before I leave.” He strode off, leaving them alone on the shallow steps.

She lifted her eyes to meet his. “Paul doesn’t like you,” she said.

Her directness stymied him for a second. Then he shrugged. “No.”

“He never liked any of Holly’s boyfriends. Not one. So you shouldn’t take it personally.” Her still tear-bright eyes looked amused.

Dan didn’t bother to say he’d been a bit more than a boyfriend. “I don’t.”

“Good.” She glanced in Sebastian’s direction, and Dan followed her gaze, saw the man get in the car and put his cell phone to his ear. Camryn looked back at him, annoyance creasing her brow. “You know, Sebastian dated Holly for two years in high school. They went to the prom together. They were absolutely inseparable. No way would Paul not remember him. Sebastian didn’t deserve that slight.” She shook her head, her eyes still fixed on the man in the car, filled with concern and frustration. “I know Paul adored Holly, but damned if he can’t be a real son of a bitch sometimes.”

Dan felt his lips twitch.

Camryn put a hand to her mouth, looked up at him.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Foot-in-mouth disease. It’s chronic.”

“I don’t know. That’s what Holly called him from time to time. Said the description fit real well, considering his mother.”

Camryn took her hand from her mouth. “Oh God, I’d forgotten. Granny . . . Gertrude Penelope Grantman. Holly called her a ‘certified nasty’ and took off every time she showed up at the lake. We spent a lot of time hiding in my closet, as I remember.”

“Where’s Granny Grantman now?”

“Dead.” She came near to smiling. “Gone, as Holly used to say, in full drama-queen mode, to justice and her everlasting reward, a universe where everyone wore bigger diamonds, everyone drove a newer car, and everyone called her Gertie, a name she hated. So you’re right, Holly didn’t like her.” She looked up at him, and her tentative smile wobbled as a wash of tears filled her eyes. She closed her eyes against them. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m finding this harder than I imagined. She was my friend, and I loved her.”

“As did I,” he said, He wasn’t lying. There had been love, just not enough of it.

She gave him a quick glance, then dropped her eyes. “Yes, this must be hard for you.”

He had the sure sense she didn’t believe him, and for the first time he had the urge to defend his feelings for Holly, and would have if he knew what the hell they were. Luckily, Solari brought the car to within a few feet of the stairs in time to stop him from stepping into that quagmire.

Sebastian got out of the car and walked up to them. “Ready?” he said to Camryn, his voice brusque. She nodded, and as she turned toward the car, Sebastian gave his attention to Dan, his expression unreadable. “I’m sure I should say something about your loss, Lambert, but I figure I’d be wading in a bit late. Unless I miss my guess, your real loss was months ago . . . about the time Adam Dunn started screwing your wife.”

Dan took the hit—the equivalent of a sucker punch from Muhammad Ali wearing an iron glove—but it knocked out his word-making ability.

Camryn spun to face them both, her eyes wide with shock.

Solari’s expression was unrepentant. “You going to tell me you didn’t know?”

Dan leveled off his breathing. “I’m telling you you’re out of line. Way, way out of line.”

He snorted. “Yeah, well when it came to Holly and Adam, there
were
no lines. They never could keep their hands off one another. They’ve been on again, off again since college. And lately very much on. Which makes you a . . . what’s that word? Cuckold. Yeah, that’s it.”

Dan took a step forward, his chest heaving with the effort to stop himself from taking a piece out of the asshole’s jaw. “Get the hell away from me Solari.
Now!”

Camryn pulled on Sebastian’s arm, but he yanked it from her grasp. “I’m going, but before I do, I’ll tell you this. Holly didn’t love you, Lambert, and she sure as hell didn’t love Dunn.
She loved me
. She was set to leave you both—
for me.
” He poked his own chest, his eyes strangely bright, then said again.
“Me!
You got that?”

“Stop!” Camryn said. “Are you crazy?” She towed Solari back, out of fist range. Her eyes, when they met Dan’s, pleaded for understanding. “Please,” she said. “He’s . . . grieving.”

Strangest goddamn grief Dan had ever seen.

“I’m not the crazy one, Camryn.” Solari’s eyes narrowed, fixed on Dan like fetid lasers. “The crazy one is either Lambert or Dunn. Because one or the other of them killed Holly when he found out about us. And with Dunn being nothing but a cowardly opportunistic bastard, my money’s on Lambert here.”

“Now you’re accusing me of killing my wife?”
Who the hell was this guy?

“I’m saying you’re prime suspect material.”

“Sebastian! Shut up, for God’s sake! You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Camryn sounded panicked now, again tried to pull him away. He refused to budge.

Dan fisted his hands at his sides, all too aware of where he was—steps away from his wife’s ashes, not the place to beat a man senseless. His eyes on Solari, he said to Camryn. “Seeing that you can’t get him the hell out of here, I’ll have to.” He stepped into Solari’s face. “Move on, Solari. And do it now.”

The man took a couple of steps back. “I’m going—but you can take this to the goddamn bank, Lambert. If you killed Holly, you’re going to pay. I’ll see to it.” He shrugged free of Camryn’s grip and glared at her. “You coming?”

When she didn’t move immediately, he said, “Suit yourself.” He left her standing like a stick figure, got in the car, and drove off.

“Son of a bitch …” Dan stared at the backside of Solari’s car, breathing like a horse after a training run. Hell, he’d had trouble enough accepting Holly had taken one lover. But two . . .

Camryn couldn’t get her bearings. She was standing on the cemetery grounds, having said good-bye to her best friend only minutes ago, trying to digest another friend’s words—words that accused Holly of being an adulteress and her husband—or lover—of killing her.

Nothing clicked into place. Except a name she’d never forget but had hoped she’d never hear again: Adam Dunn. And it was that name that made her certain Sebastian was wrong. Holly hated Adam.

Silence rested between Dan and her, until he took her arm and made a move toward the last car still remaining in the row of parking stalls near the chapel. His grip was firm, and his gaze was straight ahead.

“You have any idea where all that shit came from?”

Still stunned, she shook her head.

“You believe it?”

“Believe Seb?” She stopped and tugged her arm from his grasp a few steps from a midsize Buick with a rental sticker on the bumper. “I still can’t believe Holly’s dead—that someone killed her. I don’t have room in my brain for a list of suspects.”

“You know this Adam guy?”

She hesitated. She really did not want to go in the direction any conversation about Adam would take them. She also couldn’t lie. “Yes. I know him.” The words came out edged with defensiveness, her own history with Adam inevitably tingeing them with bitterness . . . and hurt.

“Get in the car.” He took the few steps to the passenger side of the Buick and opened the door.

His tone was brusque, and under normal circumstances, she’d have called him on it. But not today. Not after Sebastian’s stunning accusations, and not with Adam Dunn’s name again polluting her universe.

They drove for a time before Dan spoke again. “Tell me about him,” he ordered, staring straight ahead.

She knew he meant Adam, but not being in the mood for another of his crisp instructions, Camryn turned in the car seat and took a good look at him. His face was lean, clean-shaven, and grim. His jaw clenched and unclenched as if in a battle for control, yet he didn’t look angry. He looked shell-shocked and ruthlessly determined.

When she didn’t answer, he cast her a sideways glance, his intelligent green eyes icy and unforthcoming. “You second-guessing yourself? Thinking maybe you’re riding with a man who killed his wife?”

“I don’t know how to answer that.”

“You don’t have to. You already did.”

“How so?”

“You got in the car, didn’t you?”

“So?”

“Holly always said you were the smartest person she ever knew, that you had great instincts. Scary instincts, she said. So the way I figure it, your getting into this car with me says you know damn well Solari’s full of shit.” He set his gaze back on the road ahead. “But I’ll say this once, so you’re sure. I did not kill my wife.”

Camryn let that statement hover over those instincts he’d referred to, watched him go back to exercising his jaw. “I believe you,” she said.

Another glance shot her way. “Thank you.”

“Of course, it helps your case that you were out of town at the time.”

“How do you know that?”

“I spoke to Holly before she left for Boston. I was hoping to see Kylie . . . Anyway, she said you were working in northern Canada and wouldn’t be back for a couple of weeks.”

He nodded, left the car to silence for a time. “What else did she say?”

“Not much more than that. I wanted us to get together before she and Kylie left, but she put me off, said she didn’t have time. That we’d do it when she got back.” Camryn remembered the conversation, how evasive Holly was, and how she’d resisted their getting together, as she’d been doing for months.

“We were separated. Did she tell you that?”

“I knew you were having some kind of problem. Holly wouldn’t talk about it, but she did say it was one of the reasons she was taking Kylie and going to Boston for a while.”

“Yeah, there was a problem, all right. And thanks to your friend, that problem now has a name. Adam Dunn.”

When the breeze coming off Lake Washington turned cold, Gina came in from the porch. She went immediately to the phone. Called again. Still no answer—for either Camryn or Seb. She wanted to know about Holly’s funeral. She was curious enough for that.

She went to the window and stared out. Perhaps she should have gone to the service, if only to keep up appearances. A thought that made her laugh. She’d given up caring about appearances when she’d knocked on Delores’s door months ago. The darkening world outside this ugly house held nothing for her other than broken dreams and missed chances: a ruined career, a lost child, and the man who’d caused it all.

She dropped the curtain she’d been holding back, wondered idly if Adam had attended his lover’s funeral—even from a safe distance. Wondered if he mourned his one true love.

“Gina!” her mother called from upstairs.

Gina went to the bottom of the stairs. “I’m here.”

“Bring me that bottle of brandy you’ve been hiding above the fridge. I need a nightcap.”

“How about some tea instead? I made a pie.” The kitchen was filled with bread, cakes, cookies. When she couldn’t sleep, which was most nights, baking filled her hours from darkness to light.

“If I wanted tea and your damn pie, I’d have said so.”

“You know you’re not supposed to be drinking while you’re taking Demerol. The doctor was clear about that.”

“Screw the doctor. He’s not the one in pain.” Pause. “Besides, I haven’t had a pill in hours. So bring the brandy, and cut back on the give-a-damn attitude. You’ll live longer.”

But you won’t
 . . .

“Fine by me. If you want to kill yourself,” Gina muttered the last as she moved away from the stairs toward the kitchen. To reach the brandy in the cupboard above the refrigerator, Gina had to stand on a stool. As she did so, the thought about how Delores even knew it was there. She hadn’t seen her put it there; Gina was certain of that, which meant she was getting the bottle herself when Gina wasn’t around to do it for her. “Sneaky bitch,” she murmured, shaking her head, and reaching for the brandy. She wasn’t surprised, or even angry, knowing full well Delores was getting out of her wheelchair more and more. She was just keeping her increased mobility to herself, because it suited her to play the invalid.