A Killing Kind of Love: A Dark, Standalone Romantic Suspense (24 page)

“Nothing.” Delores crossed her arms. “To tell you the truth, I had other things on my mind.” She sighed noisily. “Jesus, that man has gotten better with age. That heavy, silky hair. Those amazing blue eyes. I mean, even as a kid, he was a sexual knockout, but now …”

Static, crackling and electrical, started interfering with Gina’s hearing. “You didn’t…” She couldn’t say it, couldn’t bear thinking it.

“Have sex?” Delores ran her tongue over her lips. “No.” She turned her gaze full on Gina. “Sleeping with your boyfriend already put me in a wheelchair. Knowing you, a second go with him might net me a pine box.” Her arms still crossed, she tapped one finger, smiled. “Although after seeing that gorgeous piece of male beef again, it might be worth it.”

“I didn’t shoot—” Her denial came by rote.

The older woman’s expression hardened. “Stop it, Gina. We both know what you did. It takes a cheat and liar to know one—and damned if we both don’t qualify. Willing to do whatever it takes to get what we want—and keep it.” She gestured to her wheelchair. “I use that chair and falsify medical questionnaires for the few bucks it brings in. You plead agoraphobia so you can stay home and nurse your depression—and obsession for Adam Dunn—and keep the world out while you do it. In the end, we all do whatever the hell works for us. And we don’t give a shit who we hurt in the process. And that includes your precious boyfriend up there.” She gestured with her head to the upper floors.

“But you,” she went on, her tone lower, more thoughtful. “You’ve got something else going on in that too-smart head of yours—you and your brother. Me? I go for what I want and win or lose, I move on, but you and Sebastian”—she shook her head—“you don’t do that. You never move on. You live in a goddamned time warp. What you do is grab on and never let go. Sebastian to his Holly, you to your Adam. You never let go.” She stopped. “Add to that you’ve both got long memories and a taste for revenge.” Her expression accused, her eyes were unyielding. “You shot me, Gina, and you shot to kill.”

Gina took a couple of steps toward her mother, then said, “You’re right, Delores. I did shoot to kill.”

Delores’s eyes narrowed, but she looked neither surprised nor relieved at finally hearing the truth, even though she’d been angling for it for months.

“Hell of thing,” she said.

“There’s something you should know.”

“Let me guess, you’re going to tell me how sorry you are. That it was all a
horrible
mistake.”

“No, I’m telling you that you’re right. I don’t let go. Ever. So stay away from Adam, or I’ll do it again. And this time no last-minute jolt of conscience will make me lose my aim.” Stillness, an utter calm, the grace of certainty, came to replace the last of her doubts. She could do it. She could walk over to the sofa, get the gun, and kill her own mother. And because she knew she could do it, she didn’t have to—didn’t even want to. Knowing was enough. She was comfortable and strong. For the first time in her life, she knew who she was, what she was capable of.

It was as if the truth, evil though it was, had raised its ugly face to the sun and was drawing on its power.

Delores’s mouth moved as if she were going to speak, but she said nothing.

Silence, welcome but ungodly, filled the room, and Gina let it lie. She didn’t care what her mother thought, wasn’t afraid of what she’d do. She was done with her. Done with everyone—except Adam. Adam was her world now. Nothing else mattered. Locked into her own thoughts, at first she didn’t hear her mother. The laughter.

Delores, now chuckling, was settling herself back in her wheelchair.

“You think it’s funny that I shot you, Delores? Or you don’t believe me?”

“Oh, yeah. I believe you . . . but seriously, daughter mine, you think for a minute that gold-plated stud up there could get it up for this?” She waved a hand over her lower half. “Hell, I should be complimented, I guess.” Her eyes, filled with laughter and tears, lifted to Gina, then went hard. “But damned if I don’t feel bad for you. Because if anybody’s going to die around here, it’s you, baby. That man will tear your heart from your chest and spit on it.”

“I can handle Adam.” She couldn’t stop from adding, “He loves me. He said so.”

“And to hear those words from his lying mouth, you’ll do anything, won’t you?”

Gina lifted her chin.

Delores pushed herself to the door, then spun her chair around to face Gina. Morning light shafted into the room, an errant early ray of sun peeking out before the start of the endless bad weather predicted for the coming week. The light caught her mother’s hair, illuminated the gray streaks. “In my day, when I had my looks—and money—I could have managed a type like him, but you?” She shook her head, her expression pensive. “Not a chance. Adam Dunn is too hot for you to handle, Gina. He’s playing you, and you’re letting him. You’re trying to put lightning in a bottle, and he’ll never let that happen. And he’ll never keep that beautiful dick of his in his pants, either—not for you or any other woman.” She spun her chair again, gave a backhand wave, and disappeared through the door.

Gina closed her mind against her mother’s parting shot. She wouldn’t let it reach her or weaken her resolve. But something else Delores had said resonated.

“Put lightning in a bottle.”
She tossed the paper towel she’d been using for her feet into the trash and stayed in the kitchen long after she’d heard the parlor door close.

Yes, that’s exactly what she needed to do. She shuddered, rubbed her arms. If she’d been successful tonight, if she had . . . eliminated Camryn, it would have been a disastrous mistake, giving Adam a clear shot at getting his daughter.

He’d have no further use for Gina Solari’s body or her law degree. He’d leave. She wouldn’t be able to hold him.

Her heart hammered in her breast. She would not allow that to happen.

What she needed to do was put Adam in a bottle.

She walked to the sofa and retrieved the gun.

Camryn woke with a start and immediately glanced at her bedside clock. A digitally presented 7:07 A.M. was her answer. Her first thought was that she was late. Her second was, she was naked.

She heard a pot bang in the kitchen. That would be Dad, starting breakfast.

Closing her eyes again, she lay very still, not sure how to feel or what to say to the man in her bed, a man she’d made love with, whose arms she’d fallen asleep in. Her only thought, and it came through loud and clear, was that she wasn’t sorry. She plumped the pillow, opened her eyes on the day, and lazed in this easy, warm moment, savored the softness in her body, the sense of . . . “wellness” was the only word that fit.

She smiled into her pillow. Hale and hearty, that’s exactly how she felt. That and well-loved, in the physical sense. None of which made the morning-after necessity of rolling over and looking into Dan’s eyes any less nerve-wracking.

But roll over she did . . .

He wasn’t there.

Her hale and hearty feelings shriveled a bit, as she put her feet on the floor and reached for her robe.

In the shower, the incongruous events of last night filtered back, gunshots, stalkers, making love—and her plan to call Paul Grantman. Get Kylie somewhere safe. She pushed aside the sexual afterglow. In another time, another place, she might have basked in it, but right now she didn’t have that luxury.

She was on the bottom step when Dan came out of the downstairs bathroom. His hair was damp, and he was buttoning up his shirt, leaving her a last glimpse of a chest she’d come to know intimately in the small hours of the morning. Her breath caught, and that afterglow she’d beaten back began to pulse.

When he saw her, his hands stilled on the last button. “Hi,” he said, his eyes covering her as deftly as his body had done last night. “Sleep okay?”

She caught the knowing glance, the pleased look of male arrogance—which, damn it, he was entitled to—and gave him back a raised brow. “No. I had the most terrible dream.”

He instantly sobered, the arrogance replaced by a probing look of concern. “What?”

She looked around; the hall was clear. She moved closer to him, whispered, “I was having spectacular sex with this… love god. It was absolutely incredible, then”—she sighed noisily and waved a hand—“he was gone, just when things were getting interesting.”

He smiled. “That’s the thing about love gods. Never can trust the bastards.”

“Daddy, you’re here!”

His smile expanded, and he swung Kylie into his arms, kissed her. “Said I would be, didn’t I?” He touched his cheek, turned his head, and she kissed it soundly. To Camryn the exchange had the look of a ritual, making her feel warm—and left out, until Kylie said, “You, too, Aunt Cammie.” When she put her arms out, Camryn moved closer and offered her cheek to get a clone of the damp spot just above Dan’s jaw.

Her morning loving done, Kylie put her arms back around Dan’s neck and looked at him. “Tent’s making wuffles,” she said. “You want some?”

Dan put her down. “Sure do. You go ahead and tell ‘Tent’ I’ll be right there.” When the child was gone, he looked again at Camryn. “And won’t he love that.”

“He won’t mind. He’ll understand why you stayed. As for the rest? Our business.”

He nodded. “Getting back to my departure from your bed, and that love-god thing—”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Lambert,” she said, arching a brow, barely managing not to paste a smile wide as a clown’s on her face. God, it felt good, looking at him, having him within touching distance.

He grinned at that, then added, “I left because I thought my staying the night in your bed might not play well with your dad—maybe confuse Kylie.”

She took a step closer, kissed where Kylie had. “You did the right thing, cowboy.”

He looked down the hall, saw they were alone, and pulled her close. His back against the wall, he tugged her against a, sadly, unusable morning erection. His kiss was a hell of a lot more than a peck, leaving her breathless and wanting more. “What happened to the ‘love god’ thing?” he asked, brushing her mouth with his thumb.

“I’m a woman of many fantasies,” she said, then pulled back. “Unfortunately, making out in the hall while my dad makes ‘wuffles’ isn’t one of them.”

They took the few steps down the hall together, but before entering the kitchen, she put a hand on Dan’s arm. “About Kylie. I’m going to call Paul right after breakfast.”

His expression darkened. “I hate the idea, but I agree. Kylie will be safe there.”

“Then I’ll call Gina, tell her we’re coming over.”

“Now, there’s a woman I can’t wait to meet.”

Camryn gave him a sharp look. “She hasn’t done anything, Dan.”

“She’s got Dunn under her roof, hasn’t she? I’d say that makes her—as the cops are inclined to say these days—a person of interest.” His tone was flat, darkly wry.

She decided not to push it. When he met Gina, he’d see for himself what a good person she was. Adam being there wouldn’t change that—although getting him the hell out of there wouldn’t hurt. “And, Dan?”

“Hm.” He looked down at her.

“Let’s not tell Dad where we’re taking Kylie.” She hesitated. “He and Paul have a history, and it’s not a good one. It’d be easier if we told him after Kylie is safe at Paul’s. For now let’s just say we’re taking her for a walk. Okay?”

His intelligent eyes filled with questions, but he left them unsaid. “Your play. Your way.”

“Thanks.” She stepped into the kitchen, hoping to God her
play
was the right one.

Paul closed the bedroom door and headed for his study. He had no doubt that Erin would sleep until noon—possibly longer. So far he’d learned nothing. When they’d picked her up last night, it had been purely by chance, her being only minutes from home and standing outside Camryn Bruce’s home. What the hell she’d been doing there, he had no idea. And maybe he didn’t want to know.

He’d barely sat down at his desk in the study, when his phone rang. Maury was out, but the maid would screen it.

Seconds later, his line lit up.

“Hello.”

“Mr. Grantman, there’s a Delores Solari on the phone, she says it’s urgent.”

Paul rolled his eyes. Jesus, he never came back to the lake that he didn’t hear from that horrible woman. You’d think he had a damned GPS up his ass. He’d paid a steep price for a few nights of sex too many years ago to count—proving beyond a doubt a man’s dick not only doesn’t have a conscience, it often doesn’t have any taste. His ill-fated bedding of Solari had cost him both a wife and a pile of cash. He’d been paying ever since.

What she had on him was small potatoes by today’s standards. Hell, three in a bed, a few lousy snaps. Nothing. But he was still paying. He was an important man, a visible man; he didn’t need old dirt being thrown at his name. It was easier to pay, and Delores was smart enough never to ask for too much, and she never wheedled or begged; she abraded, until you paid to get her the hell out of your face.

He huffed out a breath. Delores Solari was the last person on earth he wanted to hear from, especially today.

He’d hoped the call was from Steve Bork, the investigator he’d hired to run a background on Camryn Bruce. Nobody was totally clean, all the time, and if there was anything he could use, Bork would find it. Jason would take it from there, and Kylie would be as good as his—and Erin’s.

He tapped his fingers on his desk.

“Tell her I’m busy,” he finally said and prepared to hang up.

“She said she knew you’d say that, and that if you did, I was to tell you—and I was to use these exact words—that her call ‘wasn’t about the same old crap.’ She insists it’s urgent. She says she’ll set her phone to autodial if you don’t talk to her.”

Shit!
“I’ll take it, Anya, thank you.” He hit line one on his phone with more force than necessary.

“Delores,” he said, gritting his teeth. “How are you?”

“I’m impressed, Paul. You actually said that as if you gave a damn.” “But I’m all right—thank you very much—now that I’ve got through your palace guard.”

Oh, yes, it was the usual darkly sarcastic Delores, he’d known and slept with—to his unending regret. He forced a laugh. “Hardly that.”