The Agent Next Door (5 page)

He didn’t want to leave, but deep down inside
he knew that he should. She needed to get on with her day, and he
needed to get to bed.

He stepped toward her. “I haven’t been a very
good neighbor so far, have I?”

“What are you talking about? You were willing
to chase robbers off my porch at the crack of dawn. If that’s not
being a great neighbor, then I don’t know what is.” A smile lifted
her cheeks and lit up her face.

“I keep running out on you.”

She raised her free hand to her chest as he
closed the distance between them. He affected her. She might not
admit to it, but she felt it. He could see it in the nervous
flutter of her fingers, in the way her breath sped up the nearer he
came.

“I’m used to it,” she said with a
self-deprecating smile.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“How?”

“Let me take you to dinner tonight.”

Her brows shot up. “You don’t have to. You
don’t owe me anything.”

“I know. I want to.”

How long had it been since he had asked a
woman out on a proper date? One with white tablecloths and china?
How long had it been since he’d wanted nothing more than to sit
across a table and stare at a beautiful face bathed in
candlelight?

“O-okay then,” Erin said, her voice faint.
“I’d like that.”

“When will you get back?”

“Around five.”

He took another step, close enough to catch
the earthy scent of dark soil that still clung to her. “Then I’ll
pick you up at six-thirty.”

Erin craned her chin up to look him in the
eye. “Sounds good.”

He looked down at her mouth, soft and pink
and inviting. All he would have to do is lower his head an inch or
two and their lips would meet. He’d taste how sweet she really was.
He’d wrap his arms around her and mould her body against his. He’d
lose himself inside her.

And he would do all those things, but not
right now. Erin deserved better than a rushed tumble in her living
room. He could bear to wait and take his time and show her just how
much she was really worth.

But only if he got away from this initial
temptation first.

“I hope you have a good visit with your
mother. I’ll see you tonight,” he said.

He heard a rush of breath leave her lungs as
he passed her on his way to the door. “Y-yeah. See you then,” she
said.

John let himself out without looking back.
The crisp morning air that greeted him didn’t do much to cool the
fire that burned inside him. The strange thing was he wasn’t sure
he wanted it to.

***

It was a date. She was going on a date. There
was no use denying it, or pretending tonight was something other
than a date. Erin thought as she rushed to curl her hair.

John hadn’t asked her over to his place for
take out so that she could help him get to know the town. He had
asked her out to dinner. Because
he wanted to
.

That was the part that had kept Erin’s head
spinning all day. As she drove through the central valley, the
memory kept coming back to her—the look in his eyes as he said
those words, how close his mouth had been to hers. Dear Lord, she’d
truly believed for the briefest of moments that John was going to
kiss her.

She smiled at the thought again, just like
she had been all day. Even her mother had noticed.

“So what’s his name?” she’d asked Erin a
couple seconds after Erin had sat down in the cold steel seats
bolted deep into the concrete floor of the prison’s visiting
room.

“Whose name?” Erin had asked back.

“The guy who has you grinning like an
idiot.”

“There’s no guy, mom.”

Erin wasn’t sure why she lied. Maybe because
she still feared that she had misread the situation, that she was
setting herself up for a terrible disappointment. In that case, the
less people who knew about it the better. Especially all her
mother’s friends on Cell Block A.

A knock sounded from the front door. In a
panic, Erin looked up at the clock. It was barely six o’clock. She
still had another half hour to get ready. Of course, that’s what
she had thought last night too. Was this guy habitually early for
everything?

At least she was dressed this time, Erin
thought as she scurried down the stairs…and she had all her makeup
on. Thank God for small favors.

Erin took a breath to compose herself and
opened the door.

No one was there. Just a shoebox-sized, plain
brown box sitting on the welcome mat.

Erin poked her head out the door, but didn’t
see a delivery truck. The only movement in the neighborhood was a
shiny black SUV pulling out of the cul-de-sac.

The box felt heavy for its size. She wasn’t
expecting any deliveries. She hadn’t bought anything online in
days. At least, she didn’t think she had.

Erin was just about to turn back inside when
she saw John step outside his door. He was carrying a black garbage
bag, dragging it out to the curb. He was wearing nice black slacks,
but still had on a charcoal T-shirt.

So he wasn’t the always early type. That was
a relief.

He threw open the lid of his garbage can and
tossed the bag inside. It was an ordinary, everyday task, but, damn
if the man didn’t look amazingly hot doing it. Erin stared a moment
too long, her eyes fixed on the way his arm muscles stretched out
the sleeves of his fitted shirt. She didn’t have time to duck back
inside before John looked up, his gaze locking with hers.

Crap.

She’d been caught staring. Again.

“H-hey,” she called out across the
street.

“Hey.”

“I was just getting ready for dinner when
someone knocked on my door.” Erin’s brows pulled together as she
looked down at the box. “That’s weird. You didn’t leave this for
me, did you?”

He shook his head. “No. Why?”

“No reason. I’m sure it’s nothing. It’s just
that there’s no delivery truck and there’s no label on the box.”
She turned the package over in her hands. “No name. No address.
Nothing.”

“Erin, put the box down and get over
here.”

Erin looked up at the sharp command. John was
running across the street so fast she didn’t have time to
react.

“Put. The. Box. Down.”

“Why?” Erin asked as he sped across her lawn.
Now her heart was pounding hard, and it had nothing to do with the
proximity of his lips.

“Just do it.”

Erin tossed the box behind her into the house
and ran down the steps toward John. He wrapped his arms around her
middle and turned her around, so that his body was between her and
her house.

“What the hell is going on?” Erin shouted
loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. But no one heard,
or, if they did, they didn't care, because half a second later a
deafening explosion rent the air.

A wave of pressure pushed them forward. Erin
hit the ground hard. John landed on top of her, his big body
shielding her from the fragments of glass and wood that rained down
around them.

Erin tried to pull in a breath to scream, but
it wouldn't come. Panic flooded her, pushing out all other
thoughts. After another couple hysterical tries, the air finally
poured in, filling her lungs in a painful rush.

She was okay. The fall had knocked the wind
out of her lungs. That or the blast.

The blast.

Erin tried to lift herself up, but John was
too solid. He wouldn't let her move so much as an inch. She pushed
at his chest, but it did no good. He was too strong. After another
few seconds, he rolled off and she was able to lift herself to a
sitting position.

She wished she'd stayed down.

Her house was gutted.

Everything along the front—the walls and
windows, the front door and the patio—was gone. Nothing but a
gaping hole that reached all the way back to the kitchen
remained.

Erin’s mouth fell open. She couldn't believe
it. This had to be a dream. No, not a dream, a horrible
nightmare.

A second later John knelt in front of
her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She heard his words—she even understood
them—but her lips refused to form the words that swirled in her
head. Of course she was fine, because this was nothing more than a
terrible dream. It had to be.

John ran his hands over her shoulders and
sides. He was checking for injuries Erin realized.

She didn’t feel any pain, but she did feel
his touch. She felt the firm stroke of his palm through the fabric
of her clothes. It felt strong and solid…and very real.

Erin filled her lungs. Her ribs ached from
the stretch. She must have bruised them when she hit the ground.
With every breath the comforting haze of denial was becoming harder
to maintain.

She tried to focus on John instead, but the
sight of him only brought reality closer. His shirt was torn in
several places. A fine layer of dust covered his shoulders. A
trickle of blood ran down the side of his face.

“You're bleeding.” Her voice was quiet and
shook so badly that she barely recognized it, but at least it was
working again.

“It's nothing,” he said.

Just beyond John’s shoulder, Erin saw a
flicker of orange flames.

“F-fire,” she said, raising her finger to
point at the plumes of thick, black smoke that spiraled into the
sky.

John pulled his phone from his pocket as he
stood. He took a step away as he began to talk to the person on the
other end—911, no doubt. He kept his voice too low for her to hear.
Not that it mattered. She was obsessed by the sight in front of
her.

The flames caught quick. Erin pulled her
knees in tight to her chest, and watched as they devoured the
fragmented wood and shattered furniture that littered the remains
of her home.

Erin glanced around in a dream-like haze. Her
eyes caught on the shrapnel that littered her lawn. Bits of twisted
metal hung from a tree branch above her head. There were
tan-colored pottery shards and flowers blown out as far as the
street.

Her plants. Her pots.

Dear God.

There were people in the street now as well.
A crowd was starting to form along the edges of the court as
neighbors became brave enough to step out of their houses. Murmured
voices were a low hum around her. She couldn't do much more than
catch a flying word here and there.

What happened?

Erin's house.

Fire.

Erin looked around for Marianne, but her
friend wasn’t there.

Of course not
, Erin thought. It was
Sunday evening. Marianne would be with her ladies card club.

Erin tried to stand, but her legs shook so
badly that they threatened to collapse beneath her. She wobbled,
but then a man’s arm wrapped around her, steadying her. She looked
into John's warm brown eyes.

There was someone by his side. A cop.

“The police are here, Erin,” he said.
“They’re going to make sure that you’re safe while the paramedics
check you for injuries. Do you understand?”

She nodded, even though it was only half
true. The checking for injuries she understood. The need to be kept
safe, that part she didn’t get.

John handed her over to the officer.

“Wait,” Erin said as John turned back toward
her house. “Where are you going?”

“There are still some things that I have to
do here. I’ll come and check on you as soon as I can. I
promise.”

Things? What things? Erin opened her mouth to
ask, but the policeman turned her toward the waiting ambulance
before she could form the words. He certainly didn’t seem to think
there was anything strange about John calling the shots.

The paramedics sat her down and wrapped a
blanket around her shoulders. They took her blood pressure and
flashed lights in her eyes. They made her breathe oxygen from a
tank. She didn't think she needed it, but they insisted. Something
about hyperventilation and needing to bring her heart rate down.
Someone else said something about shock.

Erin only half heard them. She pulled her
gaze from the sight of the burnt beams and flaming plaster that
used to be her house. Her sanctuary.

It was gone.

Everything that she'd fought to build,
everything that had shown how far she'd come, everything that
proved that she wasn't tied to her past, had been destroyed in a
blink of an eye.

A cold that Erin couldn't shake gripped her,
twisted fingers around her heart, and tears started falling from
her eyes—slow at first, then in torrents as big sobs shook her
shoulders.

It was all gone.

Another five seconds and she would have been
gone too. The blast would have killed her, leaving pieces of her
hanging in the branches just like the remains of her house.

But she hadn’t died. Because John had told
her to throw down the box. To run. He'd saved her life.

Erin’s head snapped up. John was standing on
the corner of her lawn talking to the fire chief and another man, a
cop probably, an important one judging by the suit.

One look told her that John was the one in
control of the situation. He was the one talking. They were
listening and nodding. He didn't seem the least bit shaken up.

Of course, he wasn’t. Because he'd known it
was going to happen.

Chapter 4

John hit the accept button on his phone the
moment it started buzzing in his hand. There was only one call he
was waiting on.

“Ty,” he said, bringing the phone to his ear.
John raised a hand to the men in front of him, excusing himself,
and took a few steps away.

“John.” Ty Brannigan’s voice was loud in his
ear. Loud...and concerned. “What the hell is going on? I just got
orders to head up a security detail for you.”

“House bomb.” John kept his voice low. Even
with all the chaos swirling around the remains of Erin's house,
there were still a lot of people around, and the last thing he
needed was for a rumor to get started. For people to get nervous.
He'd already talked to the fire chief and made some phone calls to
both his superiors and local officials. The truth couldn't get out
about what had really happened here tonight. Not yet, at any
rate.