The Agent Next Door (2 page)

John nodded. “My last place was an
apartment.”

“Ah...moving up in the world?”

He paused. “Something like that.”

“That's nice,” Marianne said, as if her
approval mattered. “Where did you move from?”

“Oakland.”

“So I take it you're a single fella.”

“I am.”

“Marianne...” Erin’s cheeks burned.

“What?” Marianne snipped at her. “How else am
I supposed to get to know my neighbors? You want answers; you ask
questions. Isn’t that right, Mr. Ryman?”

“Sounds right.” A hint of a grin played at
the corner of his mouth. Erin would have missed it if she hadn't
been looking right at him. It barely flickered there for a fraction
of a second before it was gone, replaced by the same implacable
expression that she found so disconcerting.

Erin drew in a deep breath and tried again.
It was obvious that trying to control what came out of Marianne's
mouth was a futile endeavor. Her only hope was to try to get her
out of the way, even if only for a few seconds.

“I was only going to ask if you wouldn't mind
going inside and refilling my iced tea.”

“Ah, I get it. You want a little time alone,”
Marianne said with a wink. “I knew you'd come around.”

Erin exhaled slowly, and looked down at the
pavement. Even though she was mortified, she should be thanking the
old lady. Her outrageous words were ensuring the one thing that
Erin desperately wanted—from this point forward, John Ryman would
go out of his way to avoid her.

That
was
what she wanted, wasn't
it?

Erin extended her arm so that Marianne could
step down off of the bench. “Well, you better make your move fast,
honey. I don't plan on being gone long.”

Erin wore her strained smile for as long as
it took for Marianne to walk through her front door. Then she
turned toward her new neighbor and gave him her most apologetic
look.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said.

His chin tilted down a fraction of an inch.
“About what?”

“Marianne. She gets a little over excited
sometimes. Most times,” Erin amended.

“She doesn't bother me,” he said, and,
strangely, he looked like he meant it.

“Still, you might want to run while you have
the chance.”

“Why would I do that?”

Erin blinked. Once. Twice. “I just figured
you were busy.”

“I can stay a little longer.”

But why on Earth did he want to? That was the
real question.

Erin decided to risk a little honesty.
“Because if you’re still here when Marianne gets back, she’s only
going to take it as encouragement.”

“I can handle your friend.”

“Yeah,” Erin said with a smile. “That’s what
everyone thinks at first.”

“I don't scare easy.”

That Erin believed. He looked like he could
stare down the devil himself and win.

“That's because you don't know Marianne.
She's very…persistent.”

“And you?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you the persistent type?”

Erin blushed as she shook her head. A little
chuckle slipped from her lips. “No. I'm more the hide-in-the-ivy
type.”

“Good to know. I’ll have to keep an eye out
for you.” A brief smile flashed across his face—a real one, this
time—lifting the corners of his eyes and softening all his hard
edges. Erin’s heart started hammering against her breastbone, and
this time it had nothing to do with fear. She might have only known
him for a few minutes, but she had the feeling that a smile from
John Ryman was a rare thing.

Erin found herself smiling back. She risked
stepping up to the edge of her white wooden porch.

“I guess I should introduce myself properly.
I'm Erin Holliday.” She put out her hand before remembering just
how dirty it was. She pulled it back, wiped the worst of the black
soil off on her jeans and tried again.

He grasped her hand without hesitation.

“It’s a pleasure, Erin.”

She felt the tingles from his touch run up
her arm. Even after she slipped her hand from his, the jittery
feeling inside her didn’t fade. Erin silently cursed her body’s
traitorous attraction to him, and not just because she’d spent the
last twenty years of her life staying away from men like him.

Nurturing a crush on John Ryman was
pointless. She had a feeling there had never been a more extreme
pair of opposites. Even in jeans and a tight gray T-shirt he looked
perfectly put together. She on the other hand was struggling to
keep her belly sucked in and breathe at the same time. It wasn’t a
battle she was winning.

Erin gave a little nervous laugh. “It’s nice
to meet you too.”

“What did I miss?” Marianne's voice sounded
behind her. A moment later she was at Erin's side. “What are you
laughing at?”

“Nothing,” Erin said.

“Yeah, right. I knew I shouldn't have left
you two alone. I wasn’t gone but a couple of minutes, and you've
already taken the opportunity to sweep Mr. Muscles here off his
feet.”

“Marianne!” A sudden blush rushed into Erin's
cheeks. Marianne, more than anyone else in the world, had to know
she would never flirt with a man like her new neighbor. And she
hadn’t been. Had she?

Marianne put the glasses of ice tea down on
the table in the far corner of the patio, and sat down in the
sand-colored Adirondack chair next to it.

“I notice you’re not rushing to contradict
me, Mr. Ryman,” Marianne said.

John shrugged, his brows rising and falling
with his shoulders. At least he was polite enough to placate an old
lady. That was in his favor. Still she gave her friend a hard
look.

“So, did you get around to inviting your new
neighbor to the barbecue?” Marianne asked.

Dear God, no. It was one thing to find that
she could manage polite banter with her ridiculously hot,
dangerous-looking neighbor; it was a whole other thing to spend an
entire evening with him.

Erin swiveled around. She tried to give a
subtle shake of her head, but Marianne stared right past her. Erin
knew better than to think that her friend’s eyes were going the way
of her ears. Marianne could see just fine. She was just ignoring
her pleas.

“A barbecue?” John asked behind her. Erin
froze.

“So Erin didn’t tell you that you picked the
best day of the year to move into our little neighborhood?”

“It must have slipped her mind,” he said.
That sounded like disappointment. It sounded like it, but it
couldn't be. There was no way.

“I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.” Erin
turned and gave him another apologetic look. “The Michalsons live a
few houses down, and every summer they host a big backyard barbecue
for the whole neighborhood. But I’m sure everyone would understand
if you’re too busy with the move, or just not interested.”

“Not interested?” Marianne called out behind
her. “What kind of man isn’t interested in a barbecue?”

“I like barbecues,” he said.

She kept giving him outs and he kept refusing
to take them. Of course, she couldn't force him to take her
help.

“Of course, you do,” Marianne said, sounding
pleased with herself. “It’ll be nice having another single person
there. Have you ever taken two women out on a date at the same
time?”

John slowly shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Ha!” Marianne laughed loud enough to scare
the blackbirds from their perch in the sycamore tree in the center
of Erin’s yard. “Looks like it’s your lucky day then. We’ll come by
around seven to pick you up,” Marianne said.

“Sounds great,” he said.

Erin shook her head, and leaned toward him.
“I don't know what you’re thinking, but she only gets worse with
encouragement,” she whispered.

“I'll take my chances.”

“Don't say I didn't warn you.”

Another smile pulled at the corner of his
mouth. Erin’s eyes were drawn to it immediately. Familiar warning
bells rang in her head. What the hell was she doing?

“You’d better go pay attention to those
movers,” Marianne called out behind them. “I hear they like to
swipe stuff while the owner isn't looking, and, going by the size
of that truck, you didn’t have much to start with.”

John raised his hand toward Marianne, and,
after giving Erin a nod of his head, turned and strode across the
street. He didn't look back. Not once. Leaving Erin to wonder how
what had seemed like a perfectly normal day had so quickly been
turned on its head.

Chapter 2

He’d bought a house that was too damn
big.

John silently made the admission to himself
as he sank down into the leather cushions of his couch with his
small tumbler of scotch. It had taken only a couple of hours to
move the bulk of his possessions into the spacious suburban house
and sixty seconds to realize just how inadequate they were going to
be in filling up all the empty space.

Not that the barrenness bothered him. He was
used to living a spartan existence, spending all of his adult life
in either barracks or single room apartments. He didn’t need
much.

But that was the problem. He was done with
just getting by. It was a decision he’d made a couple months back
as he’d helped one of his closest friends and former Navy brothers
risk everything to save the life of the woman he loved.

After that, John had decided to try for
something he’d never been willing to dream of before—a little
stability in his life. A real home was the first image that popped
up in his mind. He’d never had a place of his own.

But things had changed. He was with the
Department of Homeland Security now, and, after years of being
dropped into every high-risk spot on the planet and successfully
completing every mission he’d been tasked with, he had been
promoted to a steady post with a regular office.

Put more simply, he had a desk job.

Even after a couple of months, John still
wasn’t sure what he thought of his new position. But it had allowed
him to buy this place, a calm and quiet refuge, as far away from
the pain and suffering of the world as he could imagine.

John stretched his long arms across the back
of the couch. His moment of peace didn’t last long. A second later
there was a knock at the door. He sat up from his half-reclined
position and glanced across the wide expanse of his new living room
to the clock on the front of the cable box.

Six fifteen.

He wasn’t expecting the ladies from across
the street for another forty-five minutes, but he didn’t doubt it
was them. Who else would it be?

Usually John prized timeliness, but he was
surprised to find as he stood that he wasn't annoyed by the early
interruption. In a strange way he was almost relieved that he
didn't have to wait any longer.

His head had been filled with images of his
new neighbor’s sparkling blue eyes and big blonde curls spilling
out from underneath a baseball cap, not to mention all the curves
that a man could ever ask for.

But it wasn’t just Erin Holliday’s physical
attributes that had distracted him as he’d tried to settle into his
new home. There was something special about her, something that he
was having a hard time pinning down.

She’d made him smile, something that wasn’t
exactly a daily occurrence. She’d glowed even though she’d been
covered in dirt and old, ratty clothes. There was a sparkle in Erin
Holliday that she couldn’t hide no matter how hard she tried. And
she did try. That much was obvious.

He didn’t need any of his specialized
training to see that she was wary of him, if not downright
frightened. He couldn't blame her. If anything, it was a sign of
her perception and intelligence. The truth was, he was more
dangerous than she could imagine.

But despite her reservations, she'd stayed
and talked to him, even tried to save him from the discomfort she'd
imagined he'd felt at Marianne's attentions. She was as sweet as
the tangled garden she'd assembled on her patio. In a way, Erin
Holliday was a symbol of why he’d moved to Emerald Glen in the
first place.

By Bay Area standards, it was a small town.
While new construction pushed at the city lines, there were still
plenty of rolling green hills and pastures. The neighborhoods were
close and friendly. Neighbors talked, sometimes too much. People
took care of each other. There hadn't been a single murder in the
town of Emerald Glen in over two years. Sure, it had its share of
minor crimes. It was no Shangri-La, after all. But it was a far cry
from all the violent locales he was used to being shipped to.

John put his glass down on the table in front
of him and stood. He walked past the few remaining boxes that
dotted the hallway, swung open his front door...and looked
down.

Marianne Wilson stood on his doorstep. Her
tight, white curls barely made it to the center of his chest. A
blue nylon bag hung at her side. John glanced down the pathway
behind her.

“She’s not here,” she said.

John tried not to make too much of the sudden
flash of disappointment that rushed through him.

“It’s nice to see you again, ma’am.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Marianne said. “So, Muscles,
are you going to invite an old lady in or are you going to leave me
out here in the cold?”

John raised a brow. The sun was just barely
starting to head toward the horizon and it was still a good
eighty-five degrees outside.

“Of course.” He took a step to the side and
held the door open. Marianne slipped past him, and headed straight
for the living room. She’d disappeared around the corner before he
could close and lock the door. He found her stretched awkwardly on
his couch, her tiny feet kicking out, trying to reach his coffee
table. John walked over, and, with one hand, pushed the
metal-framed table closer.

Marianne smiled widely as she scooted her
back to a more comfortable position on the couch and crossed her
feet in front of her. “Thanks, Muscles.”