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Unstoppable: Love With The Proper Stranger / Letters To Kelly
Suzanne Brockmann
New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Suzanne Brockmann brings readers two beloved stories of men who will stop at nothing to get the women they love….LOVE WITH THE PROPER STRANGERFBI agent John Miller was on the trail of a notorious female serial killer, and he couldn’t blow his cover to anyone. Not even the beguiling Mariah Carver, who had unwittingly entangled herself in a web of deadly deceit. The daring lawman couldn't deny his feelings for Mariah, but he was poised to wed another woman: the ruthless Black Widow, who marries—then murders—her victims.… LETTERS TO KELLYFor years, a trumped-up charge—and a Central American prison cell—kept Jax Winchester from claiming the girl he loved. Now he was a free man. Or was he? He was still a prisoner, in a jail of his own making. The way out this time? Keep that promise he’d made to Kelly O'Brien all those years ago—and claim her for his own.…
New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author SUZANNE BROCKMANN brings readers two beloved stories of men who will stop at nothing to get the women they love….
LOVE WITH THE PROPER STRANGER
FBI agent John Miller was on the trail of a notorious female serial killer, and he couldn’t blow his cover to anyone. Not even the beguiling Mariah Carver, who had unwittingly entangled herself in a web of deadly deceit. The daring lawman was poised to wed another woman: the ruthless Black Widow, who marries—then murders—her victims….
LETTERS TO KELLY
For years, a trumped-up charge—and a Central American prison cell—kept Jax Winchester from claiming the girl he loved. Now he was a free man. Or was he? He was still a prisoner—in a jail of his own making. The way out this time? Keep that promise he’d made to Kelly O’Brien all those years ago—and claim her for his own.…
Praise for the novels of
New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author
Suzanne Brockmann
“Zingy dialogue, a great sense of drama, and a pair of lovers who generate enough steam heat to power a whole city.”
—RT Book Reviews on Hero Under Cover
“Brockmann deftly delivers another testosterone-drenched, adrenaline-fueled tale of danger and desire that brilliantly combines superbly crafted, realistically complex characters with white-knuckle plotting.”
—Booklist on Force of Nature
“Readers will be on the edge of their seats.”
—Library Journal on Breaking Point
“Another excellently paced, action-filled read. Brockmann delivers yet again!”
—RT Book Reviews on Into the Storm
“Funny, sexy, suspenseful, and superb.”
—Booklist on Hot Target
“Sizzling with military intrigue and sexual tension, with characters so vivid they leap right off the page, Gone Too Far is a bold, brassy read with a momentum that just doesn’t quit.”
—New York Times bestselling author Tess Gerritsen
“An unusual and compelling romance.”
—Affaire de Coeur on No Ordinary Man
“Sensational sizzle, powerful emotion and sheer fun.”
—RT Book Reviews on Body Language
Unstoppable
Suzanne Brockmann
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Love with the
Proper Stranger
Suzanne Brockmann
For Mary Gray, Kirsten McDonough, Sylvia Micalone
and all of the other wonderful Workcamp volunteers who have
allowed me to help raise a hammer and
build houses alongside them, even if only in spirit.
Contents
Prologue (#u2e865fdf-4c4d-5bcf-96b6-fa40f9a02edb)
Chapter One (#u56bd383a-00d1-5c76-b8b4-1982ebd78e98)
Chapter Two (#u50c2e3f8-79d8-57ff-8776-e305f1131d40)
Chapter Three (#ua668ca40-5d4c-5a50-a14c-af7aa4f7a69d)
Chapter Four (#u52928583-2462-5fc0-abf3-3685012c2034)
Chapter Five (#u0e209610-2f4b-5332-a3ba-cd3c9d483159)
Chapter Six (#uc96bdc38-2d52-5352-84b7-1705ca0b2db6)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
SHE LACED HIS COFFEE with opium.
He wasn’t supposed to drink coffee this late at night. The doctor had told him not to. But she knew how much it pleased him to cheat the doctor’s rules just a little every now and then.
He smiled as she brought it to him, smiled again as he took a sip. He liked it sweet.
The opium wouldn’t kill him. It was part of the ritual, part of the game. She’d given him enough to confuse him, enough to slow his wits, to keep him docile and in control as she prepared for her checkmate.
She kissed the top of his balding head and he smiled again, breathing a deep sigh of contentment—the king, relaxing after a hard day at the office, secure in his castle alongside his beautiful queen.
Tonight, this king would die.
TONY WAS BREATHING HARD. John Miller could hear him clearly over the wire, his voice raspy and loud in the radio headset. Tony was breathing hard and Miller knew he was scared.
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m FBI,” Tony said, giving up his cover. Miller knew without a doubt that his partner and best friend was in serious, serious trouble. “And if you’re as smart as your reputation says you are, Domino, then you’ll order these goons to lay down their weapons and surrender to me.”
Domino laughed. “I’ve got twenty men surrounding you, and you think I’m going to surrender…?”
“I’ve got more than twenty men on backup,” Tony lied, as Miller keyed his radio.
“Where the hell is that backup?” Miller’s usually unshakable control was nearing a breaking point. He’d been ordered to sit tight and wait here outside the warehouse until the choppers arrived in a show of force, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He wouldn’t wait.
“Jesus, John, didn’t you get the word?” came Fred’s scratchy voice over the radio. “The choppers have been rerouted—there’s been an assassination attempt on the governor. It’s code red, priority. You’re on your own.”
No choppers. No backup. Just Tony inside the warehouse, about to be executed by Alfonse Domino, and John Miller here, outside.
It was the one scenario Miller hadn’t considered. It was the one scenario he wasn’t ready for.
Miller grabbed the assault rifle from the floor of the van and ran toward the warehouse. He needed a miracle, but he didn’t waste time praying. He knew full well that he—and Tony—didn’t have a prayer.
“I QUIT.”
The board of directors looked at her in stunned silence.
Marie Carver gazed back at the expressions of shock on the familiar faces and knew that those two little words she’d uttered had granted her freedom. It was that easy. That simple. She quit.
“I’ve made arrangements for my replacement,” she told them, careful not to let her giddy laughter escape. She quit. Tomorrow she would not walk through the front doors and take the elevator up to her executive office on the penthouse floor. Tomorrow she would be in another place. Another city, another state. Maybe even another country. She passed around the hiring reports her secretary had typed up and bound neatly with cheery yellow covers. “I’ve done all the preliminary interviews and narrowed the candidates down to three—any one of which I myself would have utmost faith in as the new president of Carver Software.”
All twelve members of the board starting talking at once.
Marie held up her hand. “Should you decide to hire an outside candidate,” she said, “you would, of course, require my approval as the major stockholder of this company. But I think you’ll be impressed with the choices I’ve given you here.” She rapped the yellow-covered report with her knuckles. “I ask that you hold all of your questions until after you’ve read this. If any concerns remain unanswered, you can reach me at home until six o’clock this evening. After that, I’ll remain in touch with my secretary, whom I’ve promoted to Executive Assistant.” She smiled. “I appreciate your understanding, and will see you all at the next annual shareholders meeting.”
She gathered up her briefcase and walked quickly out of the room.
THE OPIUM WAS working.
His pupils had retracted almost to a pinpoint and he was drooling slightly, blinking sleepily as he watched her dance.
This was the part she liked. This was where she showed him what he would never again have the chance to experience, to violate.
True, this one had been gentle. His soft, old hands had never struck her. He’d been careful not to hurt her. He’d given her expensive presents, fancy gifts. But the act itself would always be an act of violence, always despicable, always requiring punishment.
Capital punishment.
Her dress fell in a pool of silk at her feet, and she deftly stepped out of it. His eyes were glazed, but not enough to hide his hunger at the sight of her. He stretched one hand out toward her, but he didn’t have the strength to reach her.
And still she danced, to the rhythm of the blood pounding through her veins, to the anticipation of the moment when he would gaze into her eyes and know without a doubt that he was a dead man.
FREEDOM.
It hit Marie like the coolness of the air that swept through the open door at the end of the hall. It felt fresh and clean, like that very spring breeze, bringing hope and life and renewal. Through that open door she could see her car, sitting out in the parking lot, ready for her escape.
“Mariah.”
There was only one person on that board of directors who could slow her departure. Susan Kane. Aunt Susan. Marie turned, but kept moving, backward, down the hall.
Susan followed, her long, batik-patterned dress moving in the breeze, disapproval in her slate-blue eyes. “Mariah,” she said again, calling Marie by her childhood nickname. “Obviously you’ve been planning this for some time.”
Marie shook her head. “Only two weeks.”
“I wish you had told me.”
Marie stopped walking then, meeting the older woman’s sternly unwavering gaze. “I couldn’t,” she said. “I didn’t tell most of my own staff until this morning.”
“Why?”
“The company doesn’t need me anymore,” Marie said. “It’s been three years since the last layoffs. We’ve turned it around, Sue. Profits continue to rise—we’re thriving. You know the numbers as well as I do.”
“So take a vacation. Take a leave of absence. Sit back on your laurels and relax for a while.”
Marie smiled ruefully. “That’s part of my problem,” she said. “I can’t relax.”
Susan’s face softened, concern in her eyes. “Is your stomach still bothering you?”
“Among other things.” Like, for instance, the fact that Marie was thirty-two years old and since her divorce four years ago, she had no life outside of the office. Like, the fact that she still worked long overtime hours to increase profits, to expand, to hire more people, even though the failing computer software company that her father’s sudden fatal heart attack had thrust into her lap had long ago become a Fortune 500 business. Like, the fact that each morning she found herself walking into the new, fancy office building into which the company had recently moved, and she wondered, what exactly was the point? What purpose did she serve by being here, by stressing herself out enough to develop stomach ulcers over the mundane, day-to-day operation of this business?
One day she was going to wake up, and she was going to be sixty years old and still walking into that building, still going home much too late to that sad excuse for a condo, still living out of boxes that she still hadn’t managed to unpack.
And she’d look at her life, and all those meaningless, wasted years would stretch back into her meaningless, wasted past.
Because the truth was, even though she’d dutifully gotten her degree in business as her father had wanted, Marie had never wanted to run this company.
