A Killing Kind of Love: A Dark, Standalone Romantic Suspense (19 page)

His words washed over her, into her. Maybe everything would be all right. He’d stay. They’d get married. She’d look after him forever, be a mother to his daughter—everything as it was meant to be. They’d make love, morning, noon, and night… forever. She could make it work. She brushed at her tears.

Voices, shrill and insistent, cried from her mind.
Foolish, foolish woman. He’s here because he needs you, not because he wants you.

It didn’t matter, as long as he stayed. She had to make him stay.

“I love you, Gina,” he repeated. “Come and take that shower with me, and I’ll show you how much.” He slid his hand between them, touched her wet heat through the silk of her nightgown. His hot breath seared her neck.

She gave him one last desperate embrace, forced herself back far enough to look into his beautiful face.

He smiled down at her; the smile was crooked, his eyes were filled with sex and seduction.

His mouth was smeared with lipstick.

The night was black, enveloped in cloud, and threatening rain when Dan arrived at Camryn’s door. He was met by her father, Trent, who, as usual, looked none too happy to see him. So far, since their initial introduction when Trent had been board-stiff and cool as the northern country Dan had just come from, the two men had avoided each other. Now, with Camryn apparently not yet home, avoidance wasn’t in the cards.

Dan stood outside the door, holding a bottle of wine and a coloring book and crayons for Kylie. Trent, looking paler than usual, stood inside. He smoothed his thinning hair, stood there frowning, as if the decision regarding Dan’s entry was his to make.

“Come in,” he said finally, fully opening the door. “Camryn decided to take Kylie for a haircut, so she’s running late.” Even having to offer that bit of explaining seemed to annoy him.

Dan stepped inside. “Where can I put these?” He lifted the wine and gift for his daughter.

Trent jerked his head to indicate the kitchen, then spied the cover of the book. “I got her one like that yesterday. So you know.”

Recognizing one-upmanship when he saw it, Dan said, “Then I guess she’ll have two.” He’d sensed the man’s proprietary attitude toward Kylie, but so far he’d let it go. The way he saw it, the more people who loved a kid, the better off they were. The safer they were. No reason those people had to love each other in the process, and getting bent about it served no purpose. Dan headed for the kitchen and was surprised when Trent followed. He set the stuff he’d brought on the table.

“What’s your game, anyway?” Trent asked.

Dan turned to see him standing near the counter, his expression hovering somewhere between anger and suspicion. “Game?”

“Kylie’s not even your natural daughter, for God’s sake. So why do you keep coming around, making trouble about things?”

“Things? Like custody, you mean?”

Trent’s pale face turned stubborn. “Kylie’s where she belongs, with my daughter. You should stop messing with that. Cammie will be a good mom.”

Dan took a second to get himself under control. “I never said she wouldn’t.”

“So, why the hell don’t you hoof it on out of here and leave things as they are? The way your wife wanted them. Holly and Camryn were friends since grade school. Hell, I’ve known from the get-go how she wanted Cammie to look after her girl.”

“That right?”

“I knew about her keeping it a secret from her father, too. No surprise there—if you know anything about Grantman.” He closed his lips, moved them tight over his teeth as if to keep them closed.

“I know enough, but it seems you know more. About him, and about something that doesn’t concern you.”

For the first time since Dan had met him, real color tinged his face. Fusing to his normally gray pallor, it was falsely bright, almost feverish. “It concerns me, Lambert, because Camryn loves that little girl. Any fool can see that. She wants that child more than anything, and I want her to have what she wants. I might not have been much of a father, but I won’t stand by and let you take Kylie away from her. Kylie is where she’s meant to be.”

“It sounds to me,” Dan said, “as if you care about your daughter, and if that’s true, you shouldn’t have a problem understanding how I feel about mine.”

“Kylie’s not your daughter, not your blood. It’s not the same. Not even close.”

“Have it your way.” He didn’t bother to remind him Kylie wasn’t Camryn’s
blood
either.

Enough said, as far as Dan was concerned. He headed to the sink, intending to get a glass of water and drop this conversation in cold storage. More words weren’t going to change anything.

None of them—not Trent, not Paul, and not Camryn—were ever going to understand what Kylie meant to him. To them he was an inconvenient stepdad who, if he’d go along with the stereotype, should have been long gone by now and be relieved when some new “daddy” took his place—a thought that hit Dan’s heart like a blunt bullet. The thing none of them got was that he loved Kylie, and she loved him. And that love was a promise.

He took a drink of water, turned, and leaned against the counter. Trent’s brow furrowed, and his mouth was working overtime. He rubbed at his temple and pulled his lower lip under his top teeth. “You’re too damned sure of yourself, Lambert. You think everything’s going to go your way.” He wagged his head. “Take it from one who knows, life doesn’t work that way.”

“How does it work?” Dan crossed his arms, one hand still holding the glass.

“When your luck’s running, life’s a feast. Nothing too much. Nothing too good. Nothing out of reach. You feel like a god.”

“And what about life when that luck changes?”

Trent took a breath. “It’s a goddamn battering ram. And it doesn’t let up. Pound, pound, pound.” He dropped the hand he’d been rubbing his temple with to his side, his expression flattened. It was as if he’d had an energy drain or a sudden mood shift. “You don’t always get what you want, Lambert. Remember that. You goddamn don’t.”

“Maybe not, but by and large, I think we get what we deserve.”

“Yeah? Well, if that’s true, my Cammie deserves a run of luck, deserves to have the child she wants. You interfere with that, and I—”

“Sorry, I’m late. The traffic was awful.” Camryn and Kylie entered the room, Camryn laden with grocery bags and both wet from the rain now pounding outside. Kylie, wearing a yellow rain slicker so bright it made her red hair pale by comparison, trailed behind Camryn, but when she spotted Dan, she went straight for him.

“I got my hair cut, Daddy. In a big-lady place. Look.” She bent her head awkwardly to show him the back, where its curly copper length had been trimmed to somewhere below her ears.

“It looks beautiful.” He stretched out his arms to her, and she didn’t waste a heartbeat before rushing into them.

“Aunt Cammie says you’re eating with us. Are you?” she asked.

He swung her up and settled her against his chest. She was so tiny, so perfect, she always made him think of porcelain, fine and precious. “That’s right, princess.” He glanced at Camryn, caught her eye. “Aunt Cammie was very nice to invite me.” She looked hurried, but happy. They’d had a good time, Camryn and his Kylie.

Camryn shifted her gaze to the bags, started removing groceries. “It’s going to be rushed,” she said. “A quick chicken-and-pasta”—she looked at Dan—“if that’s okay.”

“Sounds great.” This time when their gazes met over Kylie’s fiery little head, they held. For the briefest of moments, it felt as if they were seeing each other for the first time. A good feeling, he thought. A very good feeling. But Camryn was right, they did need to talk. They needed to sort this Adam Dunn thing out. Before Dan called the Boston cops, he wanted every bit of information on Dunn he could get. And he wanted Camryn to see things his way. He smiled, shifted Kylie higher in his arms. “Can I give you a hand with anything?”

“No. It’ll be faster if I do it. But you can pour some of that.” She gestured to the wine he’d brought, which still sat on the kitchen table. “A glass of that would be perfect right now.” Her gaze settled on him, then on Kylie, who’d put her head on his shoulder, and a shadow drifted between them. “Kylie, why don’t you go with Grandpa Trent for a while, your da— Dan and I need to talk for a bit.”

“I want to help. I can cook. I can.” The little girl pushed back from Dan’s chest to stare him down and make her case. “Tell her, Dadd—”

A blast . . . sharp, clear, deadly. The ear getting it, the brain not comprehending. Yet.

Time coalesced, a second into an eternity.

A shattering . . . the window blown out, pieces flying like crystal through the bright kitchen light.

A searing . . . a branding iron at full heat drawn fast and hard across his bicep.

Dan instantly dropped to the floor, taking Kylie with him, Tucking her under him, he put his hand on her head.

She didn’t make a sound.

“Down! Everybody down!” he shouted.

“What the hell?” Trent lunged backward into the hall.

Camryn dropped instantly and curled into a ball, her hands over her head. She was in the open, the easiest target from the window the shots were coming from. Lakeside. Whoever the hell it was had to be standing on or near the porch.

The second shot hit the open fridge door, where a split second earlier Camryn had been about to put away a quart of milk. The milk hadn’t made it and pooled on the floor near her head.

The third shot shattered a jar sitting on the counter above.

A grocery bag fell to the floor, splitting on impact. Three apples rolled across the floor.

“Kylie!” Camryn screamed. “Where’s Kylie!” She started scrambling toward Dan.

“She’s okay. I’ve got her. Stay down. For God’s sake, stay down!”

The next shot came from the hall.

Dan looked up. Trent stood in the doorway, holding a gun with both hands. He fired twice more into the blackness outside the shattered window.

Silence. Then the sound of rain slamming on the porch roof.

Trent leaned against the door jamb, looking as spent as the gun in his hand. His eyes were closed in a tight grimace.

“Dad, are you all right?” Camryn’s words came in an uneven whisper.

He was panting, rubbing his chest. “I’m okay.” His voice was weak, hoarse. “I think I scared them off.”

Camryn pulled herself by her forearms to where Dan, still sheltering Kylie, was starting to get up.

“Take her,” he said. “But stay low.”

Kylie dug her fingers into Dan’s shoulder as if she’d never let go. No tears, but her eyes were wide as saucers.

“It’s okay, princess. Everything’s okay.” He stroked her hair. “Be a good girl now, and go with Aunt Cammie.” When Camryn took her from Dan’s arms, Kylie clung to her with the same ferocity. She started to cry.

“Stay down and head for the hall,” Dan said to Camryn. She did as he said, and crawling with Kylie tucked under her, she disappeared into the hall.

Trent, pale as a sheet, still stood in the doorway, an easy target from the kitchen window. Dan moved toward him, grabbed his hand and pulled him down, prodded him to follow Camryn.

“Give me that.” He took the Smith and Wesson from his limp hand. “You okay?”

Trent nodded, but he looked anything but okay.

“Stay close to them.” Dan jerked his head toward Camryn and Kylie.

“Yeah. Okay.” The older man pulled himself a few feet down the hall to where the three of them huddled, Trent like a rag doll, Camryn and Kylie in a tight hug.

Dan checked the gun. Two rounds left. He was damn sure the shooter was gone, but he intended to take a look anyway. He glanced around; except for a couple of decorative panels in the front door, a combination of obscure and stained glass, there were no windows, no sightline into the hall. He went to the phone stand, grabbed the phone, and brought it back and handed it to Camryn. “Call 911.”

She nodded. “What are you going to do?”

“Take a look.”

“You think that’s smart?” Her voice was a little high, he noticed, but nowhere near panic. Good.

“I think it’s probably a waste of time. I’m pretty sure your dad’s wild-west routine scared them off. But it won’t hurt to make sure.”

Camryn, hugging a sobbing Kylie to her breast, looked as if she were going to protest but then said, “There’s some security lighting between the porch and garage. The switch is outside the door. To your left.”

“Okay. Make that call.”

To Camryn it seemed as if the police were there in seconds. She guessed they didn’t get too many shootings on North Lake Washington in the middle of the week. They were fast enough that they picked Dan up outside the house—with her father’s gun dangling from his hand. Her heart had stopped when they’d walked him into the house, guns drawn, while Dan calmly explained the situation and waited for her and her father’s corroboration.

“You’re bleeding,” she said to Dan, feeling numb and sounding stupid. She should have noticed before. His shirtsleeve was soaked with blood. She walked over to him and took his hand; the blood had dripped down to between his fingers.

“It’s a scrape. We’ll deal with it when this is over.”

“We’ll deal with it now,” she said. “Can you hold Kylie?”

He took Kylie with his good arm, kissed her cheek. “Always.”

Kylie, sucking her thumb, something Camryn hadn’t ever seen her do before, put her head on Dan’s shoulder.

Camryn headed for the bathroom, where she foraged for her meager first-aid supplies and did some steady breathing to calm herself down. Hurrying back to the living room, she saw Dan still in conversation with the officer. He continued answering questions while she tore away his shirtsleeve. She took a good look. He was right; it wasn’t much more than a scrape from the grazing heat of a bullet intended for . . . who? She shuddered, concentrated on the job at hand, and started patching him up as best she could.

“And you have no idea who might have fired the bullets?” the officer asked Dan for at least the third time.

“Nope,” Dan answered, wincing when Camryn applied antiseptic, then a bandage on his upper arm.

“Nor you, ma’am? This is your house, I understand. No neighbor problems? Kid problems? Anything like that?”