Read Online A Killing Kind of Love: A Dark, Standalone Romantic Suspense by Ec Sheedy - Free Book Online Page B

finally over between us. Maybe tomorrow I won’t get up thinking about her . . . wanting her. Wondering who the hell she’s with—”
    “Don’t! Don’t go there.”
    “I’m not a fool, Camryn.” He shook his head, opened the car door a couple of inches and looked back at her, his expression flint-hard. “It was always Adam. I knew that, and I’m guessing Lambert knew it, too.”
    Camryn frowned, confused. “Adam is old news, Seb.” So old she couldn’t believe his name had even come up. But then Sebastian—all the Solaris—had long memories. But, God, this was reaching back to college. Ridiculous.
    He gave her an impatient, pitying look, then snorted. “God, you’re naive, Camryn.” He opened the door and stepped out.
    She had a mouthful of words, and her door halfway open by the time he got around to her side of the car. He left her no time to say them. Taking her arm firmly, he led her toward the two Ionic pillars fronting the entrance to the crematorium.
    Camryn pushed Sebastian’s odd statement aside. Now wasn’t the time to think about Adam Dunn.
    Today was all about Holly.
     
    Dan sat alone in the first pew on one side of the Lucy Stone Chapel. Paul and Erin Grantman sat across the aisle. An organ played quietly in the background as the pews filled up, and everyone waited for the service to begin.
    With well over a hundred people in attendance, the chapel was full—mostly with Grantman’s business associates. It looked to Dan as if only a handful of mourners were under sixty. Other than her father, Holly had few ties to Boston since her mother died. Boston was always more her mother’s town than hers—or Paul’s. Both of them spent most of their time on the West Coast at the home Paul had built on Lake Washington when Holly was a child. It was where Kylie was born.
    Dan had considered taking her cremains back to Seattle, having the service there, but decided Holly would prefer it here, her ashes in an urn next to her mother’s. So he’d let Paul’s arrangements stand.
    He heard carpet-muffled footsteps coming down the aisle from his left and glanced over his shoulder to see a man and woman walking down the aisle, obviously in search of a seat. He knew the woman instantly. It was Camryn Bruce, Holly’s friend. He remembered meeting her briefly at the airport, and seeing her face in a thousand of Holly’s photographs. He didn’t know the man but assumed he was her husband. As they drew closer, he stood, stepped into the aisle—as did Paul Grantman.
    The woman went directly to Paul and hugged him fiercely. Dan heard her whisper something, but he couldn’t make out the words. The dark-haired man shook Paul’s hand but said nothing.
    Camryn looked back at him, then crossed the aisle to where he stood. “You’re Dan. We met once,” she said in a muted voice. “I’m Camryn, Holly’s friend.”
    He nodded. “Yes, I remember you.” And he did, particularly her deep blue eyes. Eyes now silvered with unshed tears.
    She took his hand in both of hers, moved closer. “I’m so terribly sorry,” she whispered, her hands cold, her gaze fierce with pain.
    “Thank you.” He gestured to the empty pew he’d stood from. “Please.”
    The man with Camryn gave him a cold look before touching Camryn’s elbow and gently urging her into the pew. She took the seat between them.
    When the minister entered to begin the short service, she clasped Dan’s hand again, squeezed it, and gave him a sad, quick smile. Releasing his hand, she clasped her husband’s, and fixed her gaze on the minister, who was relating the story of Holly, age three, telling her mother she was going to the “Holy Woods” to make “mooies.”
    Dan saw Paul Grantman straighten in his seat, saw the line of his mouth tighten as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a large white hanky.
    Dan did not follow suit. He was done with crying, and a public show of it wasn’t his way. He swallowed and brushed his hair back.