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

by EC Sheedy

  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.

  It’s all about Kylie now, she reminded herself, and that’s how Holly would want it. She brushed the tears away, leaned her head back on the seat, and closed her eyes.

  She couldn’t wait to get home. She’d called her father this morning, told him what had happened—that she was bringing Kylie home, but it was as if he’d barely registered what that meant. Just asked how “Grantman took it.” But he did say he’d be there to help her until she got things settled and got herself a good nanny. That “until” surprised her; it was the first time he’d indicated he was thinking of leaving. But as she still had a business to run—even though it was from home—her dad helping out for a short time would be welcome.

  She hadn’t called Gina yet and honestly wasn’t looking forward to it, given Gina’s current . . . strangeness.

  “This seat taken?”

  She recognized the male voice immediately.

  Dan Lambert!

  Chapter 11

  “What are you doing here?” She blurted out, “and where in hell did you come from?”

  He gestured forward to first-class, then took the aisle seat, sliding in carefully so as not to wake Kylie. When he was seated, he touched the little girl’s soft hair, his big hand surprisingly gentle. What he didn’t do was answer her first question; instead, posing one of his own.

  “How did it go with Grantman?” His eyes, disturbing and unreadable, rested on her.

  “Not well.”

  “I’m not surprised.” His lips twisted briefly, into what was either a knowing grin or a curl of aversion.

  She turned, as much as she could considering the confines of her economy-class seat, and fully faced him. “I’m guessing about as well as it will ‘go’ with you, considering you’re no more pleased by Holly’s decision than he is.” She didn’t intend to sound combative, but she did.

  “Me?” He looked down at Kylie, smoothed some of her fine blond hair over the pillow. “Don’t know what you mean.”

  His remark and his face appeared guileless, but her gut said otherwise, and Camryn always trusted her instincts. “Paul sees me as some kind of kidnapper, and, as you obviously expected Kylie would be with you, I’m guessing you feel much the same way.”

  “I do.” He raised his remarkable eyes to hers, and a shaft of light came through the plane’s window, amplifying their greenish-gray color to a sharp silver, but his expression was relaxed when he added, “But if you were going to steal Kylie, stealing her from Paul and Erin Grantman is the lesser of two evils.”

  “And what would be the first?”

  “Stealing her from me.” His gaze never wavered from hers. “She’s my daughter, Camryn. I don’t intend to lose her.”

  “What do you intend?”

  “I haven’t quite figured that out yet.”

  “Well, when you do—”

  “You’ll be the first to know.”

  Having no answer to that, Camryn turned her head and looked out the window. The silence between them filled with airplane sounds; a child crying, the odd hiss of air being forced through the cabin, trays being loaded onto a cart somewhere behind them. She didn’t want to argue, but she did want to set a few things straight—if anything could be set straight in this morass of a situation.

  When she turned to face him again, he was still watching her—as if he’d been waiting. A quiet man, she thought, one who doesn’t waste words.

  “Look,” she began. “You care about Kylie. I understand that. Appreciate it. But you’re her stepfather; there’s nothing in place giving you any legal rights over her. Why take on a fight you have virtually no chance of winning?” Walk away. Please walk away. Paul Grantman is enough to handle.

  “When Kylie wakes up, she’ll call me Daddy. It was the first word she ever said—and she’s been saying it for over two years. Two thirds of her life. Now that may not be legalese enough for you, but it works for me. There’s one other thing. If Holly had lived, had kept her appointment with Maddox, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “But she didn’t, and we are having this conversation. And while we’re on the ‘if’ track, how about this? If Holly had lived, you might be facing another kind of battle—in the divorce court. What would happen to Kylie then?” Those eyes of his went quiet again. Scarily quiet. “How much do you know about my marriage, Camryn?”

  She saw the flash of anger in his eyes, a hint of pain, and a lot of hard-jawed determination. “Enough to know I might have been naive to buy into your loving-father scenario at first blush. Certainly enough to know you’ve been out of Kylie’s life, virtually an absentee father, for the last three months—and that maybe that was at Holly’s request.” He looked at her a long time, then said, “As they say, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.”

  He was wearing gray slacks and a fine white cotton shirt, no jacket, and she saw his chest expand and contract, heard the rasp of his indrawn breath. Then without a word, he flagged down the flight attendant before again turning his attention to her. “Would you like a drink?”

  Camryn ignored his question. “What I’d like is to get things straight between us.”

  The flight attendant arrived before he could answer. He glanced at her. “I noticed you drank a merlot at lunch yesterday. Will that do?”

  “I do not want a drink.”

  “Merlot,” he said to the attendant. “Times two.”

  When she left, Camryn rounded on him. “If you won’t talk about Holly, then we’ll talk about Kylie.”

  He cocked his head.

  “Can I expect you to challenge my guardianship? Will I be seeing you in court along with Paul and Erin?”

  “Yes, to the first question,” he said. “And no to the second. I’m not a fan of lawyers. I prefer taking the shortest distance between two points.” Kylie shifted and stretched between them.

  “Which means?” Camryn asked, careful to lower her voice.

  When Kylie frowned in her sleep and rubbed her nose, Dan again touched her tousled hair. And when one of her pink-socked feet straightened out and dug into Camryn’s thigh, Camryn lifted it to rest more comfortably across her knees.

  For a split moment, man, woman, and child were connected.

  “Whatever it needs to mean,” he said, lowering his voice as she had hers, so as not to wake the sleeping girl between them. The attendant brought their wine, and Dan handed her one
of the glasses. “But for now, I suggest we let Kylie sleep. We’ll sort things out later.”

  She didn’t like his smugness, and she didn’t like the wariness seeding in her chest. She didn’t like the idea that Dan Lambert might prove to be more of an adversary than Paul Grantman.

  “We have nothing to sort out,” she said, determined to set him straight. “And you should . . . go back to your own seat.”

  “I prefer sitting with my daughter.” He gave her an odd half-smile, opened the book he’d brought with him, took a sip of wine, and ignored her for the rest of the trip.

  Gina jerked awake, as if she’d been sleeping for hours and was late for a life-and-death appointment. In truth she’d been sleeping for less than fifteen minutes and dreaming . . .

  Her body was overheated, slick with a sheen of perspiration; she pulsed with sexual need. The dream was too raw, too erotic, and it had been too long since she’d had sex, too long since she’d been touched.

  She closed her legs, swallowed.

  Adam was still here. In the room below hers. Her heart thumped in her chest, wild and excited, terrified. But then her heart was always insane when it came to Adam.

  He’d have to go, of course. Last night and tonight were enough. Maybe the torrid dreams would leave with him.

  She would give him what money she had. Send him away. So far she’d stayed away from him, but if he didn’t go and soon, she might weaken. No!

  Her fingers curled around the sheet’s border. Letting him in was crazy—hiding him from Delores crazier still. But she’d hid him because if Delores saw him, she’d want him. She’d play with him to make Gina mad. Madder than she already was.

  And Sebastian would kill her—or Adam.

  She tossed back the down comforter and swung her legs to the side of the bed. She had to get rid of him. Get him out of the house. Out of her life—where he’d been since she’d lost his baby. She hated him. She had to remind herself of that. She put her hands to the sides of her head, pressed.

  I hate him, I hate him, I hate him . . .