by EC Sheedy
“Whatever the hell you’ve been doing, you’re a mess, and you’re ruining my sofa—not to mention that silk pillow you slept on.”
“I’m sorry.” She wondered vaguely why Delores cared about the carpet. Delores never cared about anything except herself.
The pillow . . . She slid her hand under it, let out a relieved breath. The gun. The gun was there. She pulled her hand back and got to her feet, waited for her knees to steady.
“Get off my goddamned carpet!” Delores spit out.
Gina looked down at Delores, her venomous face, and an old loathing chilled her, froze hard in her throat. Then just as quickly she warmed, calmed. She didn’t hate Delores, not anymore. She didn’t have time to hate her; she didn’t care anymore. Delores was nothing more than a pest, an irritant she’d set aside. She had more important things to think about. Gina breathed deeply, straightened her shoulders. It was as if a sodden quilt had been lifted from her shoulders.
She had Adam now, and her focus needed to be on him.
And getting rid of Camryn Bruce.
Tonight she’d lost control of herself, made a mistake. She wouldn’t make another one. What she had to do now was develop a plan. “I’ll clean up, don’t worry. Go to bed, Delores.” Her tone was mild, perfectly controlled. She stepped off the carpet, padded to the kitchen over the cold tile, and spun some paper towels off the rack over the counter. She was wiping her scraped and dirty feet when she heard her mother’s wheelchair roll up behind her.
“Go to bed? That’s it? No explanation about where you’ve been. Who you’ve been with?”
“I’m a little old for that kind of inquisition, don’t you think?”
“Not while you live in my house, you’re not.”
Gina kept working on her feet. “I told you I must have been sleepwalking.”
“Never heard of those people doing that.”
Gina tossed the dirty toweling in the trash can under the counter. “And what ‘people’ would that be?”
“Agoraphobic-type people.” Delores smirked.
Gina got herself a drink of water, then, sipping it, braced a hip on the counter. “You mean like people in wheelchairs who can walk—if they want to. But won’t if it serves to keep a daughter feeling guilty enough to fetch and carry for the rest of her life?”
“What exactly are you trying to say?”
“Stating a fact, Mother. Sebastian was right. You can walk when you want to walk. I’ve heard you often enough—in your room, that ugly ‘parlor’ you spend most of your day in. Saw you once, too. Standing at the fridge. Your chair was on the other side of the room. The way I see it, about the only thing you can’t handle are the stairs.”
“Think you’re so smart, don’t you?”
“No, I think you’re the smart one—swindling the insurance company into giving you those disability payments.” Gina shrugged, set her glass back in the sink. “But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
“Guess so, considering I’m supporting you with those ill-gotten disability checks.” Delores pushed herself out of the chair and started toward her. Her limp was ugly; one leg was twisted and shorter than the other, causing her to lurch awkwardly, as if every step were a precursor to a fall. Gina’s bullet had done some of the work, her tumble down the stairs afterward had done the rest. “Not to mention I look a hell of a lot better in a wheelchair than like this.” She took one last step and stood beside Gina; she was taller and looked down on her. The accident may have crippled her regal walk, but it did nothing to take the imperiousness from her gaze.
Gina looked at her mother, shook her head. “Sebastian was right. You’re a liar, along with all your other faults.”
“And you’re a simpering, pathetic woman who’ll do anything to have Adam Dunn’s hand down her pants.”
Gina iced up, stilled to alert.
“You honestly didn’t think I’d find out he was here,” Delores said with a sneer. “You really are a fool, Gina.”
“But the stairs—”
“Yeah, you’re right about them. Haven’t managed more than two or three, no matter how I try.” Delores paused, no doubt, for dramatic effect. “But Adam can. And Adam did.”
“Adam came to you?” Gina stepped away from the counter, fisted her hands at her sides. She didn’t like this. Didn’t like the sound of Adam’s name on her mother’s lips.
“Yesterday”—again a pause—“he came to visit me in the parlor, walked right in, but, then, that’s our Adam, isn’t it? We had a real nice talk.” Delores, who’d placed a hand on the wall for balance, pulled it back and leaned her shoulder against the fridge.
She stood framed there, the white of the refrigerator a perfect backdrop for her raven hair. She wore it down this morning, not roughly tied at her nape as she usually did. She’d put on makeup, styled her hair. She’d fussed over herself, and she looked . . . beautiful. And she’d done it for Adam. Through the blood rising in her veins, obscuring her vision,
Gina fixed her gaze on her mother and asked, “What did you talk about?”
“You, mostly.”
“What did he say?”
Delores’s expression turned cunning. “He said you’re helping him with some legal issues—to do with getting his daughter back. Holly’s kid, apparently. Something I didn’t know but probably should have figured out. He says she’s with Camryn?”
Although her last words were more question than statement, Gina didn’t answer. What Delores had told her wasn’t all of it, Gina was sure. Her mother always kept the best until the last. Gina waited.
“Why didn’t you tell me you lost his kid?”
“He told you that?” Gina’s belly clenched, then softened. Damn you, Adam. Damn you to hell.
“Yes, he says he feels pretty bad about it. Although with Adam it’s hard to tell how much of what he says is the truth—like the pious crap about how getting his daughter back will fill ‘that void’ in his life. Fill his pockets is more like it, I suspect. But that’s our Adam.”
Gina sifted through this new information, pressed a hand to her stomach. Did he tell you he disappeared a week after I told him I was pregnant, that he didn’t return my calls after the miscarriage? She shoved the thoughts aside—all they’d do is weaken her resolve. Adam was here now and they’d have Holly’s daughter. There was justice in that. That was all that mattered. “What else did you two talk about?” she asked, calmer now.
“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 somethi
ng 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.
Chapter 21
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.”
