Love with the Proper Stranger (23 page)

He tried to convince himself that he wasn’t betraying Mariah as he let Serena push him back onto the bed. He tried not to think about what Mariah would assume if she came home to find him here with Serena, entangled in an embrace in the very bed in which he’d made love to Mariah just mere hours earlier.

This wasn’t real. He felt distant, removed both physically and emotionally from this woman who was kissing him so passionately. That distance worried him—surely she’d be able to tell that she left him feeling cold. Surely she’d realize that he wanted to kiss her about as much as he wanted to kiss Daniel. Less.

He’d made one hell of a mistake in assuming that Serena had gone for good. He’d messed things up royally. He’d made love to Mariah this morning, and this afternoon he was going to propose marriage to Serena.

Serena ground herself against him, and, suddenly
giddy, Miller knew the truth. He didn’t want to do this. But what was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to tell both Daniel Tonaka and Patrick Blake that he was taking himself off the case? How could he do that after coming this far? The setup had worked after all—he had the suspect exactly where he wanted her.

Or maybe she had
him
right where she wanted him.

Daniel was sure to understand and forgive him. But Blake wouldn’t. Not after getting to this point. Blake would send him in for that psych evaluation, assuming that Miller had finally snapped. The unit shrink was sure to find him crazy—crazy in love with Mariah.

Miller was just about to push Serena off him when she spoke.

“Please,” she said, kissing his face and his neck as she sat straddling him, her head bent over him, her golden hair finding its way into his mouth. “Please, John. I know that you want me, darling, but please, can’t we wait to do this until after we’re married?”

Miller was astonished. He nearly laughed aloud.
She
was on top of him. She was the seductress, yet her words sounded as if she were an innocent being seduced. She was overpowering, yet she was presenting him with the illusion of being the powerful one. The approach must’ve worked well for her in the past. He’d never once—in any of their conversations—mentioned marriage, yet she spoke of it as if they’d been discussing it for weeks.

He spit her hair out of his mouth.

“Please, darling,” Serena whispered. “We can fly to Las Vegas—be married by tonight.”

It was too easy. He couldn’t turn her down. He’d been after her for too long.

Still, he hesitated. Mariah would be devastated.

Yet to turn Serena down meant that when the photos of her next victim—and there was sure to be a next victim—crossed Miller’s desk, he would know he could have prevented that death. And the next one, and the next one. He would know that he could have stopped her. And he wouldn’t be able to bear that. He wouldn’t be able to handle having failed. He
could
stop her, right now, right here.

“I’ll charter a flight,” Miller said to Serena.

He didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t have a choice.

CHAPTER TWELVE

M
ARIAH COULD HEAR THE
phone ringing and she took the stairs up to the deck two at a time.

Maybe it was John. Maybe he was finally calling to tell her why he’d left a message canceling last night’s dinner plans.

His insomnia was contagious. She’d spent most of last night tossing and turning—sometimes feeling hurt, sometimes concerned, sometimes terrified that she’d been played for a fool.

She scooped up the phone, praying she’d reached it before the answering machine kicked on. “Hello?” she said breathlessly.

“Oh, good. You
are
there.” It was Serena. “Can you come over and see my new place?”

Mariah cursed silently. “Now’s not a really good time because I’ve—”

“I’ve rented that house right up the hill from you,” Serena told her.

“The big one?”

“I suppose compared to
your
place, it might be considered big—”

“Serena, that house is a palace. You’ve wanted to live there since you first came to the island. How on earth did you manage to arrange to move in there?”

Serena lowered her voice. “Oh, I’ve only got it for a
short time. There was a week-and-a-half block in between renters. It’s expensive, but considering that this is my honeymoon—”

“Your
what
?”

“I flew out to Vegas last night and got married,” Serena said with a silvery laugh. “It was rather unexpected.”

Married. Serena was married. Who did she know well enough to marry? Not Jonathan Mills? Dear God, had she gone and married John? Mariah felt a flash of disbelieving heat followed quickly by a blast of cold fear. “Who’s the lucky man?” she managed to ask, somehow sounding casually nonchalant.

Serena just laughed again. “That’s my surprise. I want you to come over and meet him.”

Serena’s new husband couldn’t possibly be John. He wouldn’t do that to her. Mariah refused to believe that he was capable of such a thing. He’d told her he wanted
her
, not Serena. He’d promised her he wouldn’t sleep with Serena. Of course, she hadn’t made him promise that he wouldn’t
marry
Serena….

“Serena, just tell me who he is.”

“If you ride your bike, it’ll take you even less than three minutes to get up here,” Serena said, laughter bubbling in her voice. “See you in a few.”

Mariah stared at the telephone receiver, listening to the buzz of the disconnected line. With a curse, she hung up the phone.

She was going to have to go up there.

Not to please Serena, who clearly wanted to show off the house, but to put her own mind at ease.

She’d go up there, see for herself that the man Serena
had married wasn’t John. She’d see for herself that he was probably some older man with the ability to write million-dollar checks without blinking.

This was good, Mariah told herself as she tied the laces of her sneakers and went out to where her bike was leaning against the side of her house. With Serena safely married, Mariah wouldn’t have to worry about the blonde actively competing for John’s time and attention.

Provided, of course, he came back from wherever he’d gone. And provided he came equipped with a good explanation as to why he’d stolen those photographs.

* * *

“W
HAT ARE YOU LOOKING
at?”

Miller turned to see Serena standing in the door to the elegantly high-ceilinged formal dining room. “Just… checking out the view from the windows.”

She pointed through the treetops. “Look. There’s the roof of Mariah’s little cottage.”

Miller nodded. He knew. That’s what he’d been looking at.

He hadn’t planned on living quite so close to Mariah. But Serena had rented this monstrously huge example of modern architecture on the morning before they were married and had insisted they return here for their “honeymoon.”

He’d intended for them to stay in Nevada. He’d planned to call Mariah from a pay phone in one of the casinos to tell her that he was sorry, but he’d been pulled out of town on business—he wouldn’t be back for a few weeks. He’d hoped Mariah would never have to find out about his charade of a marriage to Serena.

But… Serena hated Vegas.

And when he’d offered to take her on a honeymoon anywhere,
anywhere
in the world, she chose Garden Isle. She was adamant about returning there, and although Miller had put up a good fight, he’d eventually had to give in for fear she’d become suspicious.

That, of course, was assuming she wasn’t suspicious of him in the first place.

“I love this room,” Serena said, circling the banquet-sized table. “We ought to throw a dinner party.”

“Sounds good to me.”

She stepped closer to him and slipped her arms around his waist, embracing him from behind. “Or maybe we should just have our own
private
dinner party.”

He tried to sound sincere. “That sounds even better.” Miller gently pulled free from her arms. “Look, Serena, I called my doctor this morning,” he told her. “He said it could be a few months before I’m… back to normal.” He cleared his throat tactfully. “You know…”

He’d told her last night—their wedding night—that he was still suffering from the side effects of the chemotherapy he’d recently undergone. He’d informed her that one of those side effects was impotence. He’d told her it was a temporary condition, and he’d apologized for not telling her sooner.

She’d offered to see what she could do to arouse him, but he’d quickly made up some story about how he’d been advised not even to try since trying and failing could cycle into a more permanent psychological problem.

She hadn’t been too upset.

They’d spent the night watching old movies on one of those classic-movie cable channels. Miller had stayed awake even when Serena had dozed off. He didn’t much like the idea of waking up with a cold blade of steel in his chest. Or not waking up at all.

He’d slept some on the plane back east, knowing that Daniel was awake and watching out for him.

“I’ve decided what I want for a wedding gift,” Serena told him.

“You have?” This time, he encircled her in his arms, brushing his lips against her forehead. Her perfume was too strong, too floral, too cloying. He forced himself to smile down at her.

“Yes,” she said. “This house. It’s on the market, you know.”

This was good. This was very good. According to her pattern, she would ask him for a check or a transfer of funds into her private account. She would tell him that part of the gift would be the thrill of making the purchase herself from the money he had given her.

“I’ll call the broker first thing tomorrow,” Miller said.

She pulled back slightly. “You know what I would really love?”

“Something more than this house?”

She laughed. “No. But I’d like to negotiate this deal myself. I’d love to be able to write a check for a substantial deposit from my own account.”

Miller kissed her again, as condescendingly as possible. “If that would make you happy, I’ll simply transfer enough money into your checking account.”

She kissed him again.

“Oh, my God!”

There was a clatter in the doorway, and Miller looked up from Serena’s lips and found himself gazing directly into Mariah’s horrified eyes.

Her bike helmet spun on the hardwood floor where she’d dropped it.

“Oh, hello,” Serena said. “Funny, I didn’t hear the bell.”

“There was note on the door saying to come in,” Mariah said, her eyes never leaving Miller’s. Somehow she managed to sound completely calm.

“Isn’t this the most exciting surprise ever?” Serena enthused, taking Miller’s hand and pulling him toward Mariah. “Introducing Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan Mills. Can you believe it?”

“No.” Mariah shook her head. “No, I can’t, actually.” She laughed, and as Miller watched, the sheer hurt in her eyes turned to scorn. “Or, God—maybe I can. Maybe the sad thing is that I
can
believe it. Excuse me, I have to go.”

She scooped her helmet up off the floor and headed for the stairs.

Serena followed her. “Mariah, don’t you want to see the house?”

“No,” Mariah said, her voice echoing in the three-story entryway. “No, Serena, I don’t want to see your house. I’m very happy for you. Just be aware of the fact that your husband doesn’t think twice about breaking his promises, and you’ll be fine.”

“What is
that
supposed to mean?” Serena asked plaintively.

Miller opened the sliders that led to the small deck outside the dining room. There were stairs that led down and connected to the master bedroom’s deck, and
more stairs that went to the ground. He quickly went down them, intercepting Mariah just as she reached her bicycle.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” she said tightly.

He held the handlebars of her bicycle to keep her from moving. “Yeah, well, I have something to say to you.”

She threw her helmet onto the ground in anger. “Oh, yeah? Like what? What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“Mariah, I can’t tell you what this is all about, but please, just trust me, okay? You
have
to trust me—”

She tried to jerk her bike away from him. “I don’t have to do
anything
—and the last thing I’m ever going to do again is
trust
you. You son of a bitch!”

Miller held tightly to her bike, talking fast and low. “Mariah, listen to me. Go away. Leave the island. Go to New York, or I don’t know, back to Phoenix—it doesn’t matter where you go. Just stay away from here for a week or two—”

She interrupted him with a terse phrase that instructed him to do the anatomically impossible as she wrenched her bike away from him. But she paused, looking back at him, heartbreaking hurt in her eyes. “To think I actually wasted my love on you,” she whispered.

Miller watched her ride away, clenching his teeth to keep from calling out after her.

He turned back to the house, catching a flutter of movement out of the corner of his eye. Gazing up at the dining-room deck, he had to wonder. Had Serena been up there, watching them? And if so, what exactly had she seen?

* * *

T
HIS WAS GOING TO BE FUN
. More fun than she’d imagined.

There was something between them. Something strong. From the level of her upset, it seemed pretty obvious that he’d done It to her. Silly cow. Didn’t she know men were pigs?

She deserved to die—to melt along with all of those stupid pictures she shot, day after day.

And he… She was going to make him watch before she separated his ugly soul from his even uglier body.

Yes, this
was
going to be fun.

* * *

M
ARIAH STOOD IN THE BASEMENT
, smashing dishes against the wall.

Maybe this would help. Each plate she threw was an outlet for her anger and hurt. Each plate she threw was accompanied by a bloodcurdling scream of rage.

Her voice was hoarse and her throwing arm was sore, but she kept at it, hoping,
praying
that eventually this raw wound where her heart used to be would begin to scab over.