Love with the Proper Stranger Read Free

closer to his vest over the past few years.
    He was aware of the speculation about his lack of close friends within the bureau, the whispered conversations that concluded he was incapable of emotion, devoid of compassion and humanity. After all, a man who so obviously didn’t possess a heart and soul couldn’t possibly feel.
    Some of the younger agents would go well out of their way to avoid him. Hell, some of the
older
agents did the same. He was respected. With his record of arrests and successful investigations, he’d have to be. But he wasn’t well liked.
    Not that a robot would give a damn about that.

    Daniel stepped farther into Miller’s office. “Working on the Black Widow case?”
    Miller nodded, gazing down at the open file on his desk. He’d been studying the photos and information from the latest in a string of connected murders before he’d fallen asleep.
    And dreamed about Tony again.
    He sat back down in his chair, grimacing at his stiff muscles. Christ, everything ached. Every part of him was sore. He desperately needed sleep, but the thought of going home to his apartment and sinking into his bed and closing his eyes was unbearable. The moment he closed his eyes, he’d be back outside that warehouse. He’d dream about the night that Tony died, and he’d watch it happen all over again. And for the four thousandth time, the choppers would never come. For the four thousandth time, Miller would arrive too late. For the four thousandth time, blowing Domino’s ass straight to hell
still
wouldn’t make up for the fact that Tony’s brains were smeared across the concrete.
    God, the stab of guilt and loss he felt was still so sharp, so piercing. Miller tried to push it away, to bury it deep inside, someplace from which it would never escape. He tried to put more distance between himself and this pain, these emotions. He could do it. He
would
do it. He was, after all, the robot.
    Miller took a swig from a mug of now-cold coffee, trying to ignore the fact that his hand was still shaking. “The killer did her last victim about three months ago.” The coffee tasted like something from a stable floor, but at least it moistened his mouth. “Which means she’s probably preparing to make another go of it. She’s out there somewhere, hunting down husband number eight.At least we think it’s number eight. Maybe there’ve been more we just don’t know about.”
    “What if she’s decided she’s rich enough?”
    “She doesn’t kill for the money.” Miller picked up the picture of Randolph Powers, knife blade protruding from his chest as he gazed sightlessly from his seat at the dinner table. “She kills because she likes to.” And she was getting ready to do it again. He knew it.
    “I haven’t had time to look at this file,” Daniel admitted, sitting down on the other side of the desk, pulling the report toward him. “Are we sure this is the same woman?”
    “Exact M.O. The victim was found in the dining room, cuffed to the chair, with the remains of dinner on the table.” Miller ran his fingers through his hair. God, he had a headache. “Opium was found in his system in the autopsy. The entire house was wiped clean of fingerprints. The only photo was a wedding portrait—and the bride’s veil was over her face. It’s her.”
    Daniel skimmed the report. “According to this, Powers married a woman named Clarise Harris two and a half weeks prior to his death.” He glanced up at Miller. “The honeymoon was barely over. Didn’t she usually wait two or three months?”
    Miller nodded, rummaging through his desk drawers for his bottle of aspirin. “She’s getting impatient.” Jackpot. Miller twisted off the aspirin bottle’s cap—empty. “Damn. Tonaka, do you have any aspirin in your desk?”
    “You don’t need aspirin, man. You need sleep. Go home and go to bed.”
    “If I wanted free advice, I would’ve asked for it. I think what I asked for was aspirin.”
    The deadly look Miller