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

by EC Sheedy

  “You okay?”

  “She’s my friend. It doesn’t feel right, not telling her about your coming.” She looked up in time to see the waiter bearing down on them, lunches in hand, and she welcomed the interruption. The business with Gina was complicated, lunch was not. So she decided to concentrate on her salad.

  As if Dan sensed her unease, he remained silent, but midway through lunch, he leaned forward. “Look, chances are your friend had nothing to do with the shooting, but she’s playing host, and maybe a whole lot more, to the man who might have been involved. A man who wants to take Kylie away from you—and me.”

  “If that was an attempt to make me feel better about duping Gina, it didn’t work.” She gave him a level stare. “I don’t like game-playing for any reason. I’m no good at it.” She dug into her salad, then just as quickly put her fork down and added, “Besides, if anyone’s in danger here, it’s Gina. If she’s playing with Adam Dunn, she’ll get hurt. It’s what he does. He uses people and he hurts people.”

  “Not to split hairs, but he uses women. And they let him.” His face was hard. And a brief flash of pain—or anger—showed in his eyes.

  “I didn’t mean …” Camryn knew he was thinking about Holly, that she’d opened a wound. Damn.

  Dan sat back, looked seriously puzzled. “What the hell has that guy got, anyway?”

  “Let’s drop it.” No way on earth could she explain Adam to a man like Dan. They were polar opposites—except in bed.

  “Let’s not.” He leaned forward, and something shifted in his eyes, making them the eyes of an interrogator. “I’d like to know why a man who made love to three best friends, and went on to screw half the female population of Miami, is welcomed back to a woman’s bed as if his screwing around on her was no more than a brief and well-earned holiday.” He sat back, his hard question resting between them like a headless snake. “Is he that good in bed?”

  When the hand holding the fork started to shake, Camryn lowered it to the table and met his gaze. “Yes. He’s that good.”

  He drew in a breath, and his jaw hardened.

  “You want to know about Adam,” she said. “I’ll tell you. There wasn’t a girl in college who didn’t lust after him, not because he was brilliantly handsome—which he was, and is—but because he had what we called the s-e-X factor, a kind of magnetism, indescribable really. But it worked every time. You could almost call it a gift.”

  “Most men would,” he said, his tone ironic.

  She looked away from him a moment, faintly embarrassed at telling such an intimate truth. But he wanted to know, so she’d tell him. “Whatever it was, Adam smiled into your eyes and he had you. It was . . . primal. As if he were elementally sexual in nature.” She shrugged. “Back then, which is when Adam and I were . . . together, he had something else. A complete lack of ego. If you complimented him, he actually blushed. It was as if he didn’t know how good-looking he was, the power he had over women.” She paused, ran her finger along the handle of her fork.

  “I’m guessing he figured it out.”

  “Yes, and when he did, he cheated on me with Holly, on Holly with Gina, on Gina with her mother—and I don’t know how many others.” She looked at him again. “And most all of them would take him back. Time and again.” She paused, a touch of regret softening her words. “Even Holly, I guess.”

  “Jesus.”

  Dan looked disgusted and confused; neither reaction surprised her.

  “I honestly believed Gina would be the exception,” she said. “I mean it’s one thing when a man cheats on you with another woman, but with your own mother…” She wanted to defend her friend, but didn’t know how. She certainly couldn’t dispute the fact that Adam was in the Solari house again despite all the pain he’d caused.

  “They took up with each other a year or so ago. It seems he took a short break from my wife to mess with your other ‘best friend,’ Gina.

  Camryn looked up, shocked. “No. I don’t believe you. She’d have told me.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Camryn. You’d be the last person either Gina or Holly would talk to about Dunn.” He paused. “They knew how you felt about him, that you were the only one who saw through him—and the only one who walked away from him and never looked back—or worse yet, took him back.” He smiled, but it contained no mirth. “Neither my wife, nor your friend Gina were that smart. My guess? What self-respect they had stopped them from telling you how vulnerable they were to Dunn.” He stopped. “Something else Gina might not want you to know was that Dunn left her about the time she was facing charges for poaching funds—considerable funds—from her firm’s trust accounts, most of which probably ended up in his wallet.”

  Camryn covered her mouth, her heart aching. Oh, Gina, this can’t be true. It can’t. Not for Adam.

  “She also miscarried. About a month before she came back here.”

  “Adam’s baby?” Stupid words.

  “Did I run DNA? No. But they’d been tight for months. From what I learned, she wasn’t seeing anyone else.”

  Camryn closed her eyes, remembered their long-ago Barbie vow, three twenty-something women vowing never to let a man—any man—come between them, particularly Adam Dunn. She let out a slow breath. Yet another lesson learned; your friends might not lie to you, but they did withhold. While it hurt to admit it, she knew Dan was right when he said neither Holly nor Gina would have told her they were seeing Adam again. She’d have reeked with disapproval and concern, and they’d have hated that. Knowing all this, she was more afraid for Gina than ever. She had to talk to her. Had to.

  “And you know all this how?” she asked after a long silence.

  “Like I said, my business is security. I have my connections. And whether we like the idea or not, our world, our lives and lies are accessible—if you know where to look. You might say we’re all in the cloud.”

  She nodded, picked up her fork, and poked at her half-eaten salad, all trace of appetite gone. She looked around the increasingly crowded restaurant. “Let’s get out of here.” She reached for her bag.

  Dan gripped her arm. “There’s more.”

  “It can wait.” She took another breath, stood and headed for the door. She had to get out of here, get some clean air. She was aware of Dan tossing some bills on the table but was at the car before he caught up with her. He gripped her upper arms, held her, and forced her to look at him.

  “You think I’m going after Dunn because of Holly.” His fingers tightened. “That might have been true in the beginning, but now it’s about you and Kylie. Dunn is desperate, and desperate means dangerous. He’s in trouble, Camryn. Big trouble.”

  “Adam’s not new to trouble.” She was tired of defending him. If Dan wanted to believe he’d killed Holly, there was nothing she could do about it. Or him. That would be up to the Boston Police.

  “It was a woman—” he started.

  “Surprise, surprise.”

  “A widow, maybe twice his age. He took her for a lot of money, then skipped. Turns out the woman was somebody’s mother, a guy named Lando, one of the biggest and most ruthless drug dealers on the southeast coast. Lando, very unhappy that his mother was ripped off, is on Dunn’s ass.”

  “To pay back the money.”

  “Still think he’s a lover, not a fighter, Camryn?” Dan’s question was straight, his tone wry.

  “I don’t know what to think. Can’t think.” And it was true. Carefree Holly, serious Gina, even Adam—once a shy charmer—they were all new to her, as if she were meeting them, uncovering them, for the first time—and not liking what she found.

  “Dunn was your first, wasn’t he?”

  She felt the heat rise over the skin of her throat. She ignored it. “Yes. College. I was what you’d call a late bloomer.”

  He ran his hands down her arms to her elbows, then reached behind her to open the car door. His face was so close she could feel his breath over her cheek. When his mouth touched her ear, he said. “T
hey say a woman never forgets her first lover, that she compares every man that comes after to that first hot taste.” He pressed his lips, lightly, quickly, against her ear. “I guess I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

  Adam closed his bedroom door behind him, quietly, then glanced at his watch. Almost four, and he’d been in the sack with Gina since noon, when she’d poured herself into his bed and started working him up. Generally, he’d say that was one hell of a way to spend an afternoon, but . . .

  He rubbed his face with one hand, clutched his running sweats and shoes in the other.

  He was exhausted. If anyone had told him there was such a thing as too much sex, he’d have said they were nuts. Gina put the lie to that. The woman was a nonstop sex machine. Rubber Betty on hormones. Hell, if he didn’t get out of the house for a while, give his overworked dick a break, it’d never forgive him. He needed a shower, fresh air, and a good, long run.

  And in that order. No way was he hitting the running trail sex-slicked and reeking of that perfume Gina doused herself in. He wanted the smell of his own sweat.

  But if he wanted to escape without Gina’s bat ears hearing him and her plying him with a million questions, he’d best use the downstairs shower. He listened. There was music coming from Delores’s room, so downstairs would definitely be his best bet.

  He also needed to think, because he was having one hell of a time recasting himself as a murderer—or an accomplice to one. He wasn’t a fan of violence. He’d done a lot of crap in his life, but, hell, he’d never so much as hit a woman, let alone killed one.

  He’d come here prepared to make Gina happy and get some free legal advice in return. Fair trade, he figured, and a long way from pointing a gun and blowing someone’s heart apart. Camryn’s heart. At that thought, his own heart thumped fast and hard. The thing was, he had to admit Gina’s way would cut down the waiting time to get the money. Camryn dead created a direct chute to the cash.

  It wasn’t as if she gave a damn about him. She’d made that plain enough. And there was Lando out there, waiting, tracking.

  A half a mil. I need a half a mil—yesterday—or I’m a dead man.

  Even having said it over and over in his mind, the amount staggered him, paralyzed his thinking. He’d counted on Holly and lost. Now there was only Gina.

  Gina had it all figured out, said she’d do all the dirty work.

  The bloody work . . . Yeah, he needed to think all right.

  He padded barefoot down the hall. His room was at the far end of the second floor where a second set of stairs led to the kitchen. He headed for those.

  Other than the front parlor, the main floor was a huge cavern consisting of kitchen, a family room of sorts—the idea of the Solaris having a family room had him shaking his head—and a mammoth living room with whatever furniture there was shrouded in dust covers—covered in dust. There was a time Delores had entertained, and when she did, she’d done it lavishly—one hundred was a short guest list. The main floor also had two more guest rooms at the far end. He headed for the one farthest from the parlor in case Delores showed up. No way did he want to run into the black widow again. Gina freaking him out with her bizarre murder plan was more than enough to handle. Goddamn Delores the Dreadful on his ass would put him over the edge.

  He opened the door to the bedroom; it creaked as if it hadn’t been open in years. The room was tar-black, and the fine grit of disturbed dust hit his nose, made him sneeze. He flicked on the light switch beside the door, but all he got for his effort was a gray casting from a light bulb set behind a grate recessed in the center of the ceiling. This room was some kind of—he looked around, frowning—cave thing. The walls were an undulating rough gray plaster, and the bed, a four-poster, looked as if it had been mounted on stones like an altar. The windows were draped in black silk. What had once been a waterfall or fountain of some kind took up most of one wall. Beside that was a human-sized cage and a hooked rack with stuff hanging from it.

  He moved closer: chains, leather straps, handcuffs, a couple of riding crops, dog leashes and collars, and … a latex body suit. He recoiled. He didn’t even want to go there. Not his shit. Not at all.

  He squinted through the gloom at some lettering above the bed. LOVE CAVERN. He again shook his head. Love prison more like it. There wasn’t much about sex that Adam didn’t like, wouldn’t try, but leashes and leather—with a Solari woman? Not in this lifetime.

  He spotted the bathroom door and headed toward it— fast. One minute later he was naked, soaped down, and had his face lifted to the hot surge of water coming from the shower nozzle. If he didn’t need a run so badly, he’d stay here until the water ran cold. But this time of year the light left early, so that luxury was out of the question.

  He forked his fingers through his hair, slicked it behind his ears, and opened the shower door.

  He immediately closed his eyes and blew out an irritated breath. What the hell . . . ?

  “Well, well, what a pleasant surprise. My own private Chippendale.” She looked pointedly at his crotch. “Well, maybe not so private.” Glancing up at him, she leered. “You’ve, uh, matured, Adam.” She paused but didn’t take her eyes off his cock. “Nice. Very nice.”

  He had to walk around her to get a towel, which he did in three easy strides. Securing the terry around his hips, he said, in as neutral a voice as he could muster, “While I appreciate your . . . appreciation. I have to ask. What are you doing in here, Delores?” He put his hands on his hips, forced a smile, and reminded himself it wouldn’t be in his interests to alienate Delores until he had his current problem resolved.

  “It’s my house. I’m ‘in’ whatever room I choose to be.” She set her elbows on the armrests of her wheelchair and locked her hands on her lap, welded them tight to each other. “At the moment this bathroom is a hell of a lot more interesting than any other room in the house.”

  Adam leaned against the pedestal sink, eyed the woman in front of him, managed a smile. Hell, wheelchair be damned, she was still a decent looking . . . broad. Yeah, that was the word for Delores. She reminded him of one of those padded-shoulder types from an old movie; skinny eyebrows, hard eyes, and even harder mouth—with a gangster boyfriend. And she sure as hell was in charge of what went on around this creep joint. “I take it you enjoyed the show then.”

  “I could use a rerun.”

  Chapter 24

  Adam studied her.

  Christ, women were all the same . . .

  He loosened the towel, smiled, and watched her face.

  Her breath caught, and her tongue came out to moisten her lower lip. She nodded and looked up at him. “You’re a devil, Adam Dunn, but a damned beautiful one.”

  He retied the towel. “My guess is you came in here for more than just a look at my . . . male attributes. What can I do for you, Delores?” He turned to the sink, picked up a comb, and drew it through his hair, watching her reflection as he did so. This game was important; he didn’t want to screw up.

  She loosened her hands, took a breath. “Well, now, one good look at you and I almost forgot, didn’t I?”

  “You don’t forget anything.”

  A smile briefly lit her face, before sliding off like greasy lipstick. She reversed her chair a few inches. “You’re right. I don’t.”

  “So?”

  “I want to know what brought you back, sniffing around my Gina.”

  “Gina’s a fantastic woman. Why the hell wouldn’t I be ‘sniffing around’?”

  “Not only are you as handsome as sin, darling, you’re a smooth liar. Which makes you an interesting, but very dangerous, man.”

  Adam slid her a gaze from the mirror, then did another long pull of the comb through his hair. “Would you rather I say I came for the sex, because your daughter’s the hottest lay I ever had?”

  She laughed, a cold and brittle laugh that fit perfectly with the cavern on the other side of the bathroom door. “And you’ve had plenty to compare her to, no doubt.” Her face
constricted, got tight and angry. Then sad, or something close to it. “Including me.”

  He cursed inwardly. Stupid! Obviously all that sex he was having with Gina had killed some very necessary neurons, because if there was one thing he’d learned with women, it never paid to talk ratings. Hell, with Delores it could be fatal—but fixable.

  Adam turned from the mirror, took the two steps that would put him in front of her, and stroked her hair, rich and thick like her daughter’s. “That was a long time ago.” He ran his fingers down her face, cupped her chin, bent and brushed his lips over hers. “Maybe you need to refresh my memory.”

  When he pulled away, she gasped for breath, exhaled loudly, then looked at him a long time. When he thought she wasn’t going to answer, she gave him a speculative look, and said. “I think you and I had best get down to business and leave that ancient memory alone . . . for now.”

  He raised a brow. “My loss, baby.” Relieved, he dropped the towel and pulled on his sweats, then sat on the edge of the grotto-inspired tub to put on his sneakers. “But I don’t know what business we have to talk about.”

  “How about the I’ll-kill-my-best-friend-for-you business you’re involving my daughter in.”

  Her words slammed into his gut like a fist. How the hell . . . ?

  “You two actually think I wouldn’t find out?” She sneered, shook her head. “Gina might be a smart lawyer, but she’s a stupid woman. If a fly dies in this house, I hear its last breath. Even you should have picked up on that, ‘baby.’ “Adam couldn’t find a reply, so he concentrated on tying his shoelaces and buying himself some think time. His fingers fumbled with the ties.

  “You listening to me?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Well, listen harder. You want some of Grantman’s money? I can get it for you—and the downside is a lot less bloody than Gina’s harebrained scheme. And a hell of a lot less risky for you—unless you like the idea of being ass-up in a grimy cell block for the next fifty years.” She studied him, smiled. “Somehow I don’t think that’s you, Adam.”