A Killing Kind of Love: A Dark, Standalone Romantic Suspense

by EC Sheedy

  And now Delores was going to use her, because she’d been too stupid to properly aim a gun.

  She touched her gashed knee, raised a bloodied finger to her mouth and licked it; she savored the saltiness of it, tasted the death in it.

  She licked some more, smeared it over her lips, and looked out at the vaporous, ghostly moon, vowing never, never to be stupid again.

  Chapter 8

  Camryn looked up to see Dan Lambert standing in the hall outside Holly’s bedroom door.

  Damn it, he must have heard her crying, or laughing, depending on what memory of Holly came to mind. She brushed at her damp cheeks, oddly embarrassed, as if she’d been caught playing in her mother’s jewel box.

  “You’re not here to talk about what Sebastian said, are you?” She hoped her expression told him that if that were his plan, he’d be wasting his time. “Sebastian was upset. We all are.” She lifted her chin. “Besides, there’s nothing I can tell you.”

  “And very little I can’t find out for myself. But, no, I’m not here to talk about your friend. I’ll wait on that.” He stepped into the open doorway and gestured with his chin to the two dolls that Camryn, who sat cross-legged in the middle of Holly’s old room, held in her hands. “That’s what she wanted you to have?”

  “Yes.” Camryn, relieved at not having to deal with Sebastian’s strange and grossly ill-timed outburst, turned back to memory lane—a more comfortable place than the one Sebastian had created with his insane accusations. The idea of Holly and Adam together again, after everything that had happened between them, was inconceivable. Just as the thought that Sebastian’s obsession with Holly had him following her to Boston was nothing short of tragic.

  She gave a little rub to her chest, wondering at its tightness.

  “Dolls?” His words were low, his gaze curious. He stood tall and still, his hands in his pockets, his head cocked.

  “Not just any dolls. Barbie dolls.”

  “I bought Kylie one of those, but hers has the legs off.” The smile he gave her was brief, but it warmed his austere face. She guessed austere made sense, given he’d just buried his wife, then had to withstand—as she had—the tedious gathering in Paul and Erin’s living room immediately after the service. Not to mention Sebastian’s rant.

  “A little too young then. To appreciate them,” she said, risking a smile back.

  “Maybe. But she wanted one….” He shrugged.

  The floor around her was littered with doll clothes, doll furniture, and other bright plastic artifacts of Holly’s twenty-five-year-old Barbie collection. Every item a memory. Again, Camryn brushed at her cheeks, even though they were dry now, and tight from her salty tears. She’d had a lovely cry—her and the Barbies. Gently, she put the two dolls back in their velvet box, again wondering how Holly had kept them so pristine. There was even a Barbie suitcase with clothes—and matching shoes!—neatly placed inside.

  Camryn still had her three dolls, but of the two of them that still had their heads, one had ended up on the wrong side of the scissors, her glorious, flowing blond hair now an uneven buzz cut. And the other, after she’d spent a long, rainy afternoon applying makeup with colorful felt-pen markers, looked like an untreated burn victim. Holly’s dolls looked as beautiful and untouched as the day they’d come out of their boxes. Obviously, Kylie was following in Camryn’s more careless footsteps.

  Camryn got to her feet, box in hand. “These dolls, all legs intact, come with history and a long story.”

  “You and Holly?”

  She nodded. “And later our friend Gina. The Barbies were like our mascots. Paul built a house on Lake Washington before Holly started school—that’s when we met—but Holly’s mother loved this house, loved Boston, so they came back here often. A lot of the time, I came back with them. When we met Gina in high school, she joined the club. Every summer for three weeks …” She let out a long breath. “It was magical.” She thought it best not to mention that Gina was Sebastian’s sister. “One long sleepover, wearing each other’s clothes, drinking too many colas, playing with makeup. A big O.D. on everything girly.”

  “I see.”

  She laughed. “I doubt it.” She took a step back from him and sat on the edge of Holly’s bed. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  He walked into the room, across to the window, then sat on its padded bench and looked around. He was wearing an immaculate white shirt, a tie, but no jacket. His slacks, topped by a soft leather belt, were black. And he was even more attractive than she’d remembered. “I’ve never been here before,” he said. “Not this house, not this room.”

  She twisted her lips thoughtfully. “Paul really doesn’t like you, does he?” Not that it seemed to bother him. She had the impression very little bothered Dan Lambert. He had both an easy grace and deep coolness about him. She’d admired his restraint earlier today, in the face of Sebastian’s stupid, misguided accusations.

  “I think we covered that.” He arched a brow.

  “Yet he invited you here. That’s not like him.”

  “We have business.”

  Camryn cocked her head in question.

  “Kylie business.” He pushed away from the windowsill and walked to a bookshelf on the adjacent wall. He fingered some of the books that sat like obedient soldiers on the tidy shelves, then ran his index finger along their multicolored spines. “He doesn’t like the idea of my being her father, step-or otherwise.”

  “He wants Kylie?” Camryn stilled where she sat. She wasn’t surprised, only saddened.

  “Yes.”

  “You want Kylie.”

  “Absolutely yes. She’s my daughter.”

  “And she’s my goddaughter. Did you know that?”

  “Yes, Holly told me. Kylie’s Aunt Cammie.” He studied her. “You’re close, you and my daughter.”

  Camryn dipped her chin. “I was there when she was born.”

  “Yes. I know that, too.”

  “I know Holly talked about guardianship. Did she—?” Camryn stopped when his dark green eyes settled on her. Okay, none of this was her business, but Kylie sure was. She had to ask. “Holly told me she was planning on changing her, uh, guardianship arrangements for Kylie. Did she?” She waited for his answer and tried to ignore the growing patch of emptiness in her heart.

  “Yes. Thank God.”

  Camryn nodded back, tried to hide her flash of disappointment. Things would have been different if Holly hadn’t married Dan, but she was relieved all the same, even though she knew a legal abyss when she saw one. Paul would fight. Paul always fought. And he always fought dirty. Her heart ached for Kylie, losing her mother, then becoming legal sport for two stubborn men.

  If only Holly hadn’t married Dan. If only things had stayed as they were . . .

  Determined not to slide heart-first into her personal pity party, she stared hard at the serious man now walking the room.

  He ambled around the room, looking at the pictures on the wall, the girly doodads on the dresser, the fancy custom-made crate in the corner. Painted red with gold bars, it looked as if it belonged in a thirties’ traveling circus. It held Holly’s childhood collection of stuffed animals.

  Dan pulled a rhinoceros from the mix, tugged its ear, and grinned. “Kylie would like this. She’d rename it though. A ‘nosheris’ would be my bet.” He put the stuffed animal back in the crate.

  Camryn frowned. “Where is Kylie, anyway? I expected to see her.” Actually Kylie was the reason she’d accepted Paul’s invitation to stay in the first place. A lump grew in her throat when she thought this visit could be her last for a long time.

  His face tightened. “Paul and Erin sent her to stay with her new nanny . . . until we settle the custody issue.”

  “Just to be clear, Camryn.” Paul Grantman strode through the open doorway and stopped in the center of the room. “There is no issue. She’s my granddaughter.” Although he spoke to her, his gaze veered toward Dan, who was back at the window, leaning lazily again
st its sill. “Erin and I will raise her.”

  Dan said nothing, but if eyes could chill a room, his would have done it.

  Camryn touched her stomach, which had gone odd and heavy. She wished she could sympathize with Paul; she knew he loved Holly in his way and that he doted on Kylie, but she knew, too, that his determination to gain custody of Kylie had another motivation. He wanted her for Erin.

  Erin, Holly had said, “totally creeped her out.” Camryn knew her reasons and agreed with them. If Kylie were her child, she’d feel exactly the same; she would not want Erin raising Kylie. What amazed her was Paul being such a blind fool.

  “Dan says Holly made him Kylie’s guardian, Paul, so maybe—”

  “So he tells me,” Paul said. “I say, show me the papers.”

  “Which I intend to do.” Dan looked relaxed. “They’ll be here tomorrow. Along with my lawyer.”

  Camryn shot her gaze between the two men, decided Dan wasn’t as relaxed as he looked. His eyes were narrowed, and she saw the hands he had stuffed in his pockets were fisted.

  Paul’s eyes blazed with scorn. “Good. He can meet mine, and we can start the countdown.”

  “Holly wouldn’t like you two being . . . at odds like this.” Camryn said. “She hated fights and disagreements. She’d do anything to avoid them. All she ever wanted was to be happy, and make Kylie happy. You have to think about that, Paul. Think about what Holly wanted.”

  Dan Lambert briefly met her gaze, his own angry, concerned expression softening as if in gratitude.

  The lines around Paul’s mouth loosened, and he looked at Camryn. “That may well be so, but Holly didn’t always know what was best for her. She was too easily influenced.” He shot a glance toward Dan, but at least his tone was less confrontational.

  “What I know”—Camryn glanced at both men again, knew her face was stern—“is that the day of her funeral is not the time for this conversation.”

  “Hear, hear,” Dan muttered.

  Silence claimed the room for a moment, then Paul nodded. “You’re right. We’ll let the lawyers duke it out.” Paul took an obviously deep breath, then gestured at the dolls in her hand. “I see you found them. Those are what she wanted you to have.” He smiled lightly. “She even made a will—”

  “A will about dolls?”

  “When she was little girl, I tried to teach Holly to take responsibility for what she cared about. To think long-term. I guess this was her take on that.” He shrugged. “The housekeeper found it years ago. I left it where it was, and so did Holly.” He nodded toward the bureau. “In the top drawer.”

  Camryn withdrew a rolled piece of paper tied with pink ribbon. Unfurling it, she held it flat on top of the bureau. Along the top of the paper was a continuous row of Xs and Os: kisses and hugs. Camryn’s eyes, a well she’d thought dry an hour ago, filled with moisture.

  “Read it aloud, Cammie,” Paul said. It was the first time he’d called her that for a long while.

  Camryn read:

  “XXX OOO XXX OOO XXX 000 XXX OOO XXX

  The last will and testimant of Holly Michaela Grantman.

  Dear Cammie, if your reading this, I hope your a hundred years old, because I’ll be dead. And if your a hundred that means I probibly lived a long time to. Rite now I’m eight and thinking about Kelin and Ryley my 2 favarite doll babys in the whole world. If I get hit by a car or drown in the pool or get kidnaped or maybe even murdared, I need someone WHO CARES to look out for them That’s you, Cammie, because your my best friend ever!! Somebodys always in my drawers, cleaning and stuff, so I’m pretty sure you’ll get this and I can stopp worring.

  And now I can sleep.

  P.S. Take all there stuff too, okay? Ryley likes her pillows and beds and Kelin likes the shoes and pink sweater. And tell Dad to give you the Barbie suitcase, the realy big one, it hols everything.

  Signned:

  Holly Michaela Grantman.

  XXX OOO XXX OOO XXX 000 XXX OOO XXX”

  Camryn lifted her hands from the flattened paper, let it roll closed, and slipped the pink ribbon back into place. Her hands shook with the effort to hold it carefully, not crush it to her breast. “Thank you for this, Paul, but, dear God . . . what will we do without her?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, his expression strained, his hands locking and unlocking at his sides. “I just don’t know.” He headed for the door. “There are people leaving downstairs. I’d like you both to come and say good-bye.” He left the room.

  Camryn looked at Dan, whose eyes were on the empty doorway Paul had passed through. His expression gave away nothing. When he said, “Hard to get it right—the love thing. He tried to hold her too close, and I didn’t hold her close enough.” He strode toward the door. “See you downstairs.”

  Adam Dunn stood outside the Federal Reserve Building in downtown Boston in a state of stunned disbelief. Telling himself to calm down and think, he took out a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply. Shit, even his lungs hurt, thanks to his parking-lot meeting with the Bill and Bob duo. Gingerly, he touched the bowling-ball-sized lump on the back of his head. He was damned lucky he didn’t have a concussion.

  He took another drag on his smoke. If there was a way out of this mess, he needed to find it—and fast.

  He stretched his neck, blew a wind of smoke, and looked up at the building he’d come from. The tallest building in Boston, its facade resembled a giant slatted blind.

  Ignoring the dirty looks tossed his way by a pair of uptight suits as they passed him, he took another pull on the cigarette, dropped it at his feet, and stubbed it out. Two seconds later he was walking down Summer Street toward the Saab, no calmer post-cigarette than he’d been pre.

  Holly had lied to him. Flat-out lied! Hadn’t shown up for the appointment. Hadn’t done a goddamn thing she’d promised.

  He got into the car, put down the window, and rested his head on the headrest. Damn. He quickly sat upright, again touched his aching head.

  Thumping head and aching brain or not, he had to do some figuring, and given that Holly hadn’t changed the guardianship, he had no idea where to start. He needed help. He needed control of his kid. She was the only thing that would save his ass—the only way into Grantman’s bank account.

  He was running out of time—given he had a pair of gorilla boys on his tail. And it was all because of a stupid old woman.

  His mood darkened when he thought about what the bitch might cost him—after him making her so happy. It sure as hell was no cakewalk, working on that old body night after night. He’d earned every cent of the money she’d paid him, and she sure wouldn’t miss it. Sunny had buckets of money. He rubbed his tender gut.

  Unfortunately, she also had a son, Lando Means, one of the biggest, most vicious drug lords on the southeast coast, who’d paid a personal visit to Adam months after his and Sunny’s affair was over to, as he put it, explain his position, which was that Adam pay his mother back every cent he owed her or be prepared to chew on his own balls.

  Those “cents,” according to Lando, totaled a half a million dollars. The amount froze Adam’s brain. Jesus, a few designer suits, cars, a few trips . . . Who’d have thought it would add up to that. But then who was counting? Certainly not him.

  And who’d have thought a man like Lando would give a rat’s ass who his mother slept with or what she did with her money? The whole thing was one big screw-up, and the only way out was money.

  He lit another cigarette. Goddamn you, Holly! Now he had no easy way into Grantman, no quick negotiating weight. And time was running out.

  Unless . . .

  Adam flicked the lit cigarette out the window.

  He fished his cell from his pocket, and in less than ten minutes had a flight booked for Seattle. Then he turned the key in the ignition and eased his way into the crush of late-afternoon traffic.

  Maybe he didn’t have Kylie, or enough to settle his hotel bill, but he had Gina Solari—or could with a minimum of effort. And she was a la
wyer, exactly what he needed.

  He smiled. It didn’t get any better than this. It had been a bit dicey there for a time. Getting her pregnant wasn’t his best move, and maybe he wasn’t . . . solicitous enough when she lost the kid, but she’d be over all that by now. If not—his smile deepened—he’d have to distract her. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was distract a woman.

  For a second his smile slipped. He’d have to be careful with Delores. Never knew what the hell was going on with that one. Then again, she was a woman. He’d handle her, like he’d handle Gina. No sweat.

  Gina would give him exactly what he needed: cool, logical legal advice—and a nice hot bed.

  Chapter 9

  The next day Grantman’s attorney arrived shortly before the 2:00 P.M. meeting Dan and Paul had arranged. Maury, Paul’s man-about-the-house and whose last name Dan hadn’t yet heard, led him into Paul’s study.

  When Paul’s lawyer stood to greet him, Dan gave him a quick scan. Jason Wallace was a tall, fit, neat-as-a-pin Bostonian blue blood, with eyes the color of his flint-gray suit, and a smile that looked practiced and overused. Instead of the classic legal briefcase, he carried a thin leather attaché case that looked soft enough to sleep on. His handshake was firm and brief. Dan put him at fifty, but figured he could be off by five years either way.

  About the time ice was clattering into their crystal glasses, and the scotch was being poured, Holly’s legal wizard, Edwin Maddox, arrived windblown, flustered, and apologetic. While Wallace gleamed with his years of legal polish, Eddie Maddox—maybe thirty, maybe less—looked as if he’d just been shot out of a cannon—and liked it.

  More ice hit the glass on his behalf, and the four men sat down to business.

  The business of Kylie.

  Dan hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words to Paul since yesterday, and right now, looking at his granite face, he was glad of it. All he wanted was for this legal farce to be played out quickly, so he could catch a plane home—with his daughter. He had the next six weeks free, plenty of time to spend with her and find a good nanny. He and Kylie were going to do fine. Better than fine.