Unstoppable: Love With The Proper Stranger / Letters To Kelly. Suzanne Brockmann
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“Will that be all, sir?”
Blake sighed. “I’m not supposed to give you a warning, but after this one’s over, I’m bringing you in for a full psychological evaluation. So go on, get out of here. And try to spend a least some of your time on that resort island with your eyes closed and your head on a pillow.”
Miller had to protest. “Over the past eighteen months my efficiency has increased—”
“Yeah, because you work twenty-two hours each day.” Blake sighed again. “Go to Georgia, John. Catch this killer. Get the job done and make the world safe again for rich, dirty old men. But be ready to be stuck under a shrink’s microscope when you get back.”
Blake turned toward his desk, and Miller knew the conversation was over. He let himself out, aware that his pulse was racing, the sound of blood rushing through his veins roaring in his ears. Psych evaluation. Christ, he didn’t stand a chance. Somehow, over the next few weeks, he was going to have to teach himself to sleep again—or face the new nightmare of a psychological evaluation.
God, he needed another cup of coffee.
He was halfway down the hall that led to the lounge when he heard voices coming from one of the tiny windowless cubicles assigned to the less experienced agents. He heard what’s-his-name’s voice. Taylor. Steven Taylor’s voice.
“He’s a time bomb, about to explode. You know that as well as I do. You wouldn’t believe the rumors that are circulating about John Miller. Talk is that he’s on the verge of some kind of breakdown.”
“Do you always listen to rumors?” It was Daniel, and there was a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Not usually, no. But the man looks terrible—”
Daniel’s voice was gentle now. “He’s a living legend, Steve. He’s the best there is. He looks terrible because he’s got insomnia. It gets worse when he’s between investigations. But believe me, he’ll be fine. Don’t request a transfer—you’ll be able to learn a lot from this guy. Trust me on this one.”
“Humph.” Taylor didn’t sound convinced. “Did you see the way his hands shook? No way do I want to be under the command of some flaky insomniac James Bond has-been who’s on the edge. No, I’m outta here. Haven’t you heard that his partners have a way of dying on him?”
Miller stepped into the room. “If you’ve got a problem with me, Taylor,” he said coldly, “come and tell me to my face.”
A flush of embarrassment darkened Taylor’s cheeks as he gazed at him in surprise. His eyes lost their focus for a second or two, and Miller knew that he was replaying his words in his mind, recalling all the harsh things he’d said that Miller had no doubt overheard.
Time bomb. Flaky insomniac. James Bond has-been.
“Excuse me, sir,” Taylor said, making a quick exit out of the room.
That was one agent he was never going to see again. Miller turned to Daniel Tonaka. “Mind stepping into my office with me?”
Daniel didn’t look perturbed, but then again, Daniel never did.
Miller went out into the corridor, leading the way back to his office. He went inside, then turned and waited for Daniel to join him.
“What’s up?” Daniel asked evenly.
Miller closed the door and immediately lit into him. “If I hear you discussing my personal life with another agent ever again, you will be transferred off my team so fast, you won’t know what hit you.”
He’d truly caught Daniel off guard, and a myriad of emotions flashed across the young man’s face. But he quickly recovered. “I was unaware that you believed your inability to sleep was a secret around here.”
“I know damn well that it’s no secret,” Miller said coolly. “But it’s not your business to discuss.”
Daniel nodded and even managed to smile. “Okay. I can respect that, John. And I apologize for offending you.”
Miller opened his office door. “Just be ready to leave first thing in the morning.”
“I will.” Daniel paused and smiled again before he went out the door. “I’m glad we had this little time to talk and straighten things out.”
Miller didn’t let himself smile until he’d closed his office door behind Daniel. I’m glad we had this little time to talk… Hell, other men would’ve wet themselves. Taylor sure as hell would’ve—it was just as well he wasn’t going to be hanging around, getting in the way.
Miller tossed his briefcase onto a chair and the photos Taylor had taken onto his desk. The blurred picture of Serena Westford had been on top, but it slid off the pile, and Mariah Robinson’s laughing eyes peeked out at him.
Tomorrow he was going to be in Garden Isle, Georgia, and he was “accidentally” going to bump into Mariah Robinson. For the first time in weeks, he felt wide-awake with the buzz of anticipation.
Chapter Two
THERE WAS A DOG ON THE beach, frolicking in the surf in the predawn light.
There was a dog—and a man.
It wasn’t such a rare occurrence for a dog and its master to be on the beach outside of Mariah’s cottage. The stretch of sand was nearly seven miles long, starting down by the resort, and ending at the lighthouse on the northernmost tip of the island. Ambitious runners and power walkers often provided a steady stream of traffic going in both directions.
No, finding a dog and a man on the beach wasn’t odd at all, except for the fact that it wasn’t yet even five o’clock in the morning.
Mariah had risen early, hoping to get some photos of the deserted beach at sunrise.
There was still time—she could ask them to move away, off farther down the beach. But the man was sitting in the sand, his back slumped in a posture of exhaustion, his head in his hands. And the dog was having one hell of a good time.
Mariah moved closer. The wind was coming in off the water, and neither dog nor man was aware of her presence. She settled herself on her stomach in the sand and propped her camera up on her elbows as she focused her lens on the dog.
It was a mutt and probably female. Mariah could see traces of collie in the animal, along with maybe a little spaniel and something odd—maybe dachshund. Her coat was long and shaggy—and right now almost entirely soaked. She had short legs and a barrel-shaped body, a long, pointed nose and two ears that flapped ungracefully around her head. She may not have been eligible to win any beauty contests, but Mariah found herself smiling at her expression of delight as she bounded in and out of the waves. She could swear the dog was full-out grinning.
Her master, on the other hand, was not.
He stood up slowly, painfully, as if every movement hurt. He moved as if he were a hundred years old, but he wasn’t an old man. His crew-cut hair was dark without even a trace of gray, and the lines from the glimpse she saw of his face seemed more from pain than age.
As he straightened to his full height, Mariah saw that he was tall—taller even than she was by at least a few inches. He wore sweatpants and a windbreaker that seemed to fit him loosely, as if he’d recently lost weight or been ill.
Together, man and dog made a great picture, and Mariah snapped shot after shot.
The dog bounded happily up to the man.
“Hey, Princess. Hey, girl.” His voice was carried on the wind directly to Mariah. “Time to go back.”
His voice was low and resonant, rich and full.
Dog and master were silhouetted against the red-orange sky, making a striking picture. Mariah moved her camera up to snap another photo, and the dog turned