LOVE WITH THE PROPER STRANGER

by Suzanne Brockmann

  She more than missed him. She worried about him. Was he feeling sick? Was he relapsing? Where the heck was he?

  A dog was barking, down on the beach.

  Mariah looked up from the book she was trying her best to concentrate on, hoping it was Princess. And John.

  It was Princess all right, but John was nowhere in sight. The funny-looking little dog was dancing in and out of the water, barking at the seagulls. There was no one around her for quite some distance in either direction.

  Mariah laid her book aside and went down onto the beach. She whistled and the little dog looked up, ears alert. "Princess!"

  Princess seemed almost to grin as she trotted toward Mariah.

  "Hey," Mariah said to her, "what are you doing out here all by yourself? Where's John? Where's your master?"

  The dog, of course, didn't answer.

  Mariah was under doctor's orders to take it easy, but a nice, slow walk down the beach...? Now, that couldn't hurt, could it?

  "Come on, Princess," Mariah said. "Let's get you something to drink and let me grab some shoes and we'll go find John."

  Returning his wandering dog was clearly a friendly gesture. It was neighborly – something even just a casual acquaintance would do.

  It was also the best idea she'd had all day.

  *

  Serena Westford was waiting for him in the most elegant of the resort's lounges.

  Miller went slowly inside, letting his eyes adjust. Even at this time of the morning, the room was barely lit. In small bits and pieces, light filtered in through the heavy curtains that covered the windows, giving the room an odd, almost smoky feel.

  Serena sat in the corner, sipping a cup of coffee, her perfect legs gracefully crossed, her dress an angelic shade of white.

  Miller felt a sense of dread as he approached her. They'd met for dinner two nights ago. He'd gone directly from Mariah's house to pick her up, and he'd been late. He hadn't wanted to leave.

  He'd been far too comfortable at Mariah's, far too at home, and he'd cursed himself soundly even for going there in the first place. He'd visited her for several days running – well above and beyond the call of duty. The truth was, duty had nothing to do with his visits. They were for pure pleasure – his own pleasure as well as Mariah's.

  Mariah. She'd been unable to hide the flare of happiness in her eyes whenever he arrived. It was addictive, and he'd found himself visiting her more often than he should.

  He'd been careful to keep his distance since their kiss in the Triple F van. But the minimum distance he should have maintained was at least several miles wide. The truth was, he should have stayed at the resort.

  But he couldn't do it. He couldn't stay away.

  And two nights ago when he'd left to pick up Serena, it had been all that he could do not to pull Mariah into his arms and tell her everything. He wanted to tell her who he really was and what he really was. And he wanted to kiss her until they melted into one, kiss her until time itself stood still.

  Instead he'd left to meet Serena. He'd spent yesterday afternoon with Serena, too, purposely staying away from Mariah's house. They'd shared another early dinner and he'd sat in the resort restaurant, and thought about Mariah while Serena told him about her fictional past, working for the peace corps in Africa. He'd been far less attentive than he should have been. After dinner, they had a drink out on the restaurant's veranda, and he found Serena gazing at him, waiting for him to respond to some question she'd asked.

  He hadn't had a clue what they had just been talking about, and that scared him. He hadn't kept his mind on his job. He'd been standing there thinking about how badly he wished he was with Mariah.

  The power Mariah had over him scared him to death, and at the time he did the only thing he could think of – he took Serena into his arms and he kissed her.

  He'd kissed her hard, trying to banish the ghost of Mariah that seemed to hover permanently in his subconscious. He'd tried to call up some degree of passion, but even though Serena had pressed her sinewy, lithe body against him, even though she'd responded enthusiastically, Miller had been left feeling bitterly cold – and thinking once again of the fire Mariah could start within him with just one look.

  He hadn't liked kissing Serena Westford, but she hadn't seemed to notice. As he approached her now, he hoped to God he wouldn't have to kiss her again.

  But Serena only lifted her cheek for him to brush with his lips, and as he sat down next to her, she poured him a cup of steaming coffee from a silver coffeepot.

  "Good morning," she said. He knew the English accent was a fake, but unlike most Americans who slipped into unauthentic-sounding British accents, Serena clearly had listened quite carefully to tapes, almost as if she was learning an entirely new language. "Did you sleep well last night?"

  "Like a child," he lied. In fact, he'd stared at the ceiling for hours...thinking of Mariah. And when he finally had fallen asleep, it was not his nightmare that had jerked him awake before dawn, but rather an all too realistic erotic dream. He and Mariah, tangled together on her couch, clothing melted away as she opened herself to him and...

  He'd awakened, disoriented, reaching for her, aching with need. But, of course, she wasn't there.

  Serena was gazing at him, her cat green eyes watching him closely. He managed a smile. It was time to move this game up to a new level. "I spoke to my doctor today," he told her, mentally bracing himself, knowing that upon receiving his "good news" Serena was going to kiss him again. "He had the results from my most recent blood test. So far, it looks as if I'm not going to die."

  "Oh, John, that's such wonderful news," Serena said. Sure enough, she leaned forward to kiss him.

  And sure enough, Miller wished he was kissing Mariah instead.

  *

  There was an ambulance waiting outside the resort. The moment Mariah saw it, her heart began to pound, and her mind flashed to the worst-case scenario. The paramedics had come because of John. He'd fallen ill again. He was dying. He was already dead.

  She stopped herself cold. That was ridiculous. It was extremely unlikely. Thinking that way wasn't going to do her one bit of good. Still, she went quickly toward the front desk, holding tightly on to Princess's collar. Through the window, she could see the ambulance pulling away. "Excuse me, can you please tell me which room Jonathan Mills is in?"

  The desk clerk was cheerfully apologetic. "I'm sorry, we can't give out room numbers. But we can ring a guest's room for you, if you like."

  "Yes, please. Jonathan Mills."

  The clerk handed her the telephone. It rang. And rang. And rang. No answer.

  The fear was returning, lodging in her throat, when Princess pulled free.

  "Hey!" Mariah tossed the phone back to the clerk with a quick thanks and ran after the dog. Just because John wasn't in his room, she told herself, didn't mean that he was inside that ambulance.

  Princess slipped out the doors that led to the deck by the pool, and Mariah followed. She hurried down the steps and ran nearly smack into Jonathan Mills.

  He caught her elbows to hold her steady. "Mariah?"

  "John!" She threw her arms around his neck. "Thank God!" He felt so warm and solid and he smelled so good – like sunblock and coffee. He always smelled like coffee. Maybe if he stopped drinking so much coffee, she thought inanely, maybe then he'd be able to sleep.

  He pulled her even closer, held her even tighter for just a fraction of a second. It was so brief, she wondered if she'd imagined it, but she knew she hadn't. He'd held her like that before – almost desperately – all those mornings ago, on her couch. But instead of kissing her, the way he'd done that morning, he quickly moved back, away from her.

  And that was when she saw Serena.

  Looking cool and impossibly young and pure in a white sundress and hat, Serena moved to rest her hand possessively on John's arm. "Mariah," she said. "What a surprise."

  Daniel, John's assistant – the slender young Asian man Mariah had met the day Jo
hn had fainted on the beach – was also standing nearby. At a nod from John, he took Princess by the collar and led the dog away.

  "We were...uh, we were just going to have lunch out here by the pool," John told Mariah. "Would you, um, care to join us?"

  "Mariah's on some kind of macrobiotic diet," Serena told him. "There's nothing on the menu here that she could possibly want."

  John and Serena. They were standing there, looking very much like a couple. Although the truth was that she was too short for him – they didn't look quite right together. Still, there they were. About to have lunch. Together.

  Mariah could easily imagine them having spent the morning together. The morning – and maybe even longer. Maybe even the night before. When had she seen John last?

  Mariah cleared her throat, gazing up into his eyes, knowing that he could clearly see her hurt, knowing she had no right to feel hurt, but unable to hide it. "I found Princess on the beach. Alone. I haven't seen you in a few days, so I was worried. I thought maybe you were sick or hurt or...and I can see right now that you're definitely not, so I guess I'll just...go."

  She backed away.

  "Did you hear the good news?" Serena asked as if she was totally unaware of the tension that seemed to leap and crackle between Mariah and John. "Jonathan got the first of his test results this morning. His doctor is almost certain the cancer's gone." She smiled up at John. "He's going to live to a ripe old age, aren't you, darling?"

  This morning. He'd known this morning and he hadn't even bothered to call. "That's such good news," Mariah managed to say. She even managed a smile, despite the tears in her eyes. "John, I'm so glad for you."

  True, she'd imagined him getting the news and coming to her, not Serena. Still, that didn't make the news any less wonderful. But now he was going to have lunch with Serena, and Serena had made it clear that their table was only for two.

  "I better go," she said. She gazed into John's eyes for just a moment longer. "I'm so glad."

  Miller couldn't believe it. Despite his careful talk of friendship, Mariah clearly had had expectations that were now dashed upon seeing him here like this with Serena. Yet her words were sincere and heartfelt He'd hurt her, probably badly, yet she was honestly happy for him.

  She looked out of place at the resort grill, dressed the way she was in cutoffs and a T-shirt. Her hair was windblown – her soft curls tumbling down to her shoulders. Her eyes were filled with tears – still she was smiling.

  "So glad," she whispered again.

  As Miller watched, she turned and walked away.

  He wanted to follow her. He was dying to follow her. But he couldn't. He couldn't even take a moment and feel like crap for hurting her this way because Serena was watching him. He had to smile and pretend that the expression he'd seen on Mariah's face wasn't making his heart ache.

  His heart was aching.

  A surprising turn of events for a man who wasn't sure he even had a heart just a few short weeks ago.

  "Shall we have lunch?" Serena murmured.

  Miller nodded and gave her another smile. Tonight he was planning to ask her to marry him, and sometime in the next few weeks, she would try to stick a knife into his heart. Even if she succeeded, he suspected it would not be a new sensation.

  *

  "Hi, it's me. Is this a good time to talk?" Mariah asked.

  There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, then Serena's cool voice answered, "If you're wondering if I'm alone, yes, I am. But I'm a little busy right now. I'll call you back."

  The line went dead, and Mariah stared for a moment at the phone in her hand. Instead of hanging up, she pressed redial. But this time, Serena didn't answer. This time, her answering machine didn't even come on.

  That was odd. Serena was nearly obsessive about getting her phone messages. Why she should leave the house without turning her machine on was a mystery.

  But the phone rang before Mariah even started clearing her lunch dishes off the table. She picked it up. "Hello?"

  It was Serena. "Sorry – I had to get out of there. I'm calling from the pay phone in front of the Northbeach pizza parlor. My place is crawling with bugs. I've had an infestation of some kind of disgusting cockroaches. Awful. I'm going off island for the rest of the afternoon and evening. To Atlanta – I have some business to take care of. Can I get you anything from the real world?"

  She didn't let Mariah answer. "God, I can still see those nasty little bugs when I close my eyes. There were so many of them. The exterminator came and said they had to spray some awful poison, and even then, they'd need to come back every few days or so to spray again. I told the rental office that I wouldn't be coming back. Not to that cottage."

  "Will you be coming back?" Mariah asked, hardly daring to hope.

  "Of course. I'll probably stay at the resort for a few days until I can find something less populated by the native insect life."

  The resort. That would put Serena closer to John. How convenient.

  Mariah took a deep breath. "Serena, I wanted to talk to you about John."

  "Jonathan Mills?"

  "Yes."

  "He was so excited when he received those favorable test results," Serena told her. "Just like a little boy. Of course, one set of favorable tests doesn't necessarily mean he's in remission or whatever. He still could die."

  "If you think that, then what are you doing with him?" Mariah asked. "You want a husband who's alive, don't you?"

  Serena laughed. "A husband? Who said anything about a husband?" Her voice changed. "Has Jonathan mentioned anything to you about wanting to get married?"

  "No."

  "Well, see? We're just friends. You're his friend. Can't I be friends with Jonathan, too? Really, Mariah, it's nothing serious. The man hasn't done more than kiss me," Serena pointed out. "He's had plenty of opportunities to come home with me or take me back to his place, but he hasn't." She paused. "Yet."

  John had kissed Serena. Mariah closed her eyes as she fought the wave of jealousy and hurt that threatened to consume her. "It might be nothing serious for you, but..." She knew John pretty well by now. "John's always serious. And he's fragile in a lot of ways. His cancer has made him vulnerable. And he has those awful nightmares."

  "Are you trying to scare me away – or give me instructions on how to hold his hand and warm his milk for him at night when he has a bad dream?"

  "These aren't bad dreams. These are violent nightmares. Hasn't he told you?"

  "Maybe he's afraid he'll scare me away if he tells me all of his dark secrets," Serena said.

  Or maybe when he was with Serena, he didn't spend any time talking.

  "He should realize that I don't scare easily," Serena added. "What are the nightmares about? Being sick?"

  "No," Mariah told her. "A friend of his was a police detective and he was killed in the line of duty. It haunts him."

  "Isn't that interesting," Serena mused. "A police detective, you said?"

  "Actually, John said his friend – Tony – was a cop. Tony was killed on the orders of an organized crime boss."

  "Well, that certainly adds a new dimension to the game."

  "Serena, if this is just a game to you—"

  "Life is a game," Serena said. "You play it, and then you die. No matter what rules you play by, dying is the one given. Everyone dies sooner or later. Some, sooner. If the cancer doesn't kill Jonathan – who knows – maybe he'll be hit by a bus."

  "That's a terrible thing to think!"

  "Oh, please, Mariah," Serena said. "The Pollyanna act gets old after a while."

  "Maybe when you leave today, you shouldn't come back."

  Serena laughed. "Maybe I won't." She paused. "Was that really the most awful thing you could think of to say to me?"

  Mariah gazed out over the ocean, curbing her impulse to say the words that were really on her lips. "No," she admitted. "But we're friends. I don't want to say anything that—"

  "Did you get that negative back from the photo
lab?" Serena interrupted.

  "No. I haven't been off—"

  "Now I've got to come back." Serena sounded annoyed. "Have it ready for me tomorrow, please. I'll come by to pick it up."

  "Tomorrow? I'm sorry, I can't—"

  The line was dead. Serena had hung up without even saying goodbye.

  Chapter 8

  A light was on in Mariah's cottage.

  Miller stood on the beach, gazing up at the house, wishing he'd been able to sleep. He wished he hadn't given up and climbed out of bed. He wished he hadn't roused Princess and brought her out onto the beach. He wished he'd walked in the other direction.

  Most of all, he wished he could erase the memory he had of Mariah's face as she turned away at lunch. But the hurt and disappointment in her eyes had been burned into his brain. There was no escaping it.

  He shouldn't have come out here.

  But something had pulled him in this direction. Something strong. Something he couldn't resist.

  Nothing had gone right tonight. He'd planned to take Serena to dinner and ask her to marry him. But she'd called and left a message, canceling their date. She hadn't told him where she was going or when she'd be back – just that she had to go to the mainland to take care of business and that she'd be back soon.

  His first thought was that she was on to him. Some how, she'd made him. She knew he was FBI.

  She was dangerously smart, and he had screwed up all over the place with this case, starting with his obsession with Mariah and continuing with his failure to stick to his cover story and play the part of the invalid at the Foundations for Families building site. He knew what chemotherapy did to a person, and it was highly unlikely that, had he had the treatments he was pretending to have had, he would've been able to rescue that eight-year-old from the tree, let alone Mariah.

  Yeah, and then there was his telling Mariah about Tony. That was a real stroke of genius. He'd actually told Mariah that Tony was a cop. What had he been thinking?