Unstoppable: Love With The Proper Stranger / Letters To Kelly. Suzanne Brockmann
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photographs of the beautiful Englishwoman—taken, no less, with one of those cheap little disposable cameras. Serena was incredibly photogenic, and in color, even on inexpensive film, her inner vibrance was emphasized. Mariah was careful to keep those pictures hidden.
But yes, that was definitely Serena, caught in motion at the edge of a particularly nice shot of the resort beach, moments before a storm struck. “You must’ve walked into the shot,” Mariah said.
Serena picked it up, looking at it more closely. “I’m a big blur—except for my face.” She lifted her gaze to Mariah. “Do you have any copies of this?”
Mariah sifted through the pile that photo had been in. “No, I don’t think so.”
“How about the negative? You still have that, right?”
Mariah sighed. “I don’t know. It might be down in the darkroom, but it might’ve been in the batch I just brought over to B&W Photo Lab for safekeeping.”
“Safekeeping?” Serena’s voice rose an octave in disbelief. “Forgive me for being insensitive, but, Mariah sweetheart, no one’s going to want to steal your negatives. You know I love you madly, dearest, but it’s not as if you’re Ansel Adams.”
Mariah laughed. “I bring them to B&W for storage. I don’t have air-conditioning here, and the humidity and salt air are hell on film.”
Serena slipped the photo in question into her purse. “You realize, of course, that I’m going to have to kill you now for stealing my soul,” she said with a smile.
“Hey, you were the one who stuck your soul into my shot,” Mariah protested. “Besides, I’ll get the negative next time I’m over at B&W. You can have it, and your soul will be as good as new.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise. Although it occurs to me that you might want to get yourself a more American approach to having your picture taken. You’re not living in Africa anymore.”
“Thank God.” Serena took another sip of her drink. “So. How are you?”
“Fine.” Mariah glanced suspiciously at the other woman. “Why?”
“Just wondering.”
“Don’t I look fine?”
Serena rested her chin in the palm of her hand, studying Mariah with great scrutiny. “Actually, you don’t look half as fine as I would have thought.”
Mariah just waited.
“You’re not going to tell me a thing, are you?” Serena asked. “You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you? You’re going to make me pull every little last juicy detail out of you.”
Mariah went back to work. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the man.”
“What man?”
“The one I saw leaving your house at five-thirty this morning. Tall, dark and probably handsome—although I’m not certain. I was too far away to see details.”
Mariah was floored. “What on earth were you doing up at five-thirty in the morning?”
“I get up that early every morning and go over to use the resort health club,” Serena told her.
“You’re kidding. Five-thirty? Every morning?”
“Just about. This morning the tide was low, so I rode my bike along the beach. And as I went past your place, I distinctly saw a man emerging from your deck door. I’m assuming he wasn’t the refrigerator repairman.”
“No, he wasn’t.” Mariah didn’t look up from her photos.
“Well…?”
“Well what?”
“This is the place in the conversation where you tell me who he is, where you met him, and any other fascinating facts such as whether he was any good in bed, and so on and so forth?”
Mariah felt herself blush. “Serena, we’re just friends.”
“A friend who happens to stay until dawn? How modern of you, Mariah.”
“He came over for dinner and fell asleep on my couch. He’s been ill recently.” Mariah hesitated, wanting to tell Serena about Jonathan Mills, but not wanting to tell too much. “His name is John, and he’s very nice. He’s staying over at the resort.”
“So he’s rich,” Serena surmised. “Medium rich or filthy rich?”
“I don’t know—who cares?”
“I care. Take a guess.”
Mariah sighed in exasperation. “Filthy rich, I think. He inherited a company that makes car alarms.”
“You said he’s been ill? Nothing serious, I hope.”
Mariah sighed again. “Actually, it is serious. He’s got cancer. He’s just had a round of chemotherapy. I think the prognosis is good, but there’s never any guarantees with something like this.”
“What did you say his name was?”
“Jonathan Mills.”
“It’s probably smart to keep your distance. If you’re not careful, you could end up a widow. Of course, in his case, that means you’d inherit his car alarm fortune, so it could be worse—”
”Serena!” Mariah stared at her friend. “Don’t even think that. He’s not going to die.”
The blonde was unperturbed. “You just told me that he might.” She stood up. “Look, I’ve got to run. Thanks for the tea. See you later tonight.”
Mariah frowned. “Later…tonight?”
“My party. You’ve forgotten, haven’t you? Lord, Mariah, you’re hopeless without your date book.”
“No, I’m relaxed without my date book. Oh, that reminds me—can I borrow your car this afternoon? Just for an hour?”
Serena looked at her watch. “I’m getting my hair done at half past two. If you want to drive me to the salon, you can use the car for about an hour then.”
“Perfect. Except I’m not sure I can make it to the party—I’m tentatively scheduled to have dinner again with John.” Except she wasn’t. Not really. She’d asked, but he’d run away.
“Bring him. Call him, invite him to my party, and bring him along with you. I want to meet this friend of yours. No excuses,” Serena said sternly as she disappeared down the deck steps.
Mariah gazed after her. Call him. Invite him to the party. Who knows? Maybe he’d actually agree to go.
HE WAS THE ONE. THE gray-faced man from the resort.
She’d recognized him right away.
The fact that he’d spent the night with that silly cow only served to make him even more perfect.
Tonight she would begin to cast her spell.
Tonight she would allow herself to start thinking about the dinner she would serve him.
Oh, it was still weeks away—maybe even months. But it was coming. She could taste it.
And tomorrow morning, she would go shopping for the perfect knife.
THE MESSAGE LIGHT ON HIS telephone was blinking when Miller returned to his suite of rooms after lunch.
Daniel had the portable surveillance equipment set up in the living room. The system was up and running when Miller came in. Daniel was wearing headphones, listening intently, using his laptop computer to control the volume of the different microphones they’d distributed throughout Serena