The Agent Next Door (8 page)

Not something. Someone.

Suddenly everything came back to her. Last
night. She'd come to the living room. They'd talked, just a little,
then she'd fallen asleep...on John Ryman.

Oh crap.

But he'd stayed. He'd stayed and slept with
her. Why? Had she just been that pathetic last night? Had he felt a
stab of conscience? There was no way in hell that she was going to
stick around to find out the answer.

She wrapped her fingers around his wrist
where it curled between the curve of her hip and the cushion of the
couch. But he didn’t budge. If anything his grasp grew tighter.

“Go back to sleep,” his voice came from
behind her, so deep that the vibrations rumbled through her chest.
“It's still early.”

Erin closed her eyes, but not from
sleepiness. Embarrassment flooded her. It looked like it was too
late for a clean getaway.

“There are things I have to do.”

He made a low groan behind her, and she
became aware of just how close they were on the narrow couch. The
length of her body pressed against his, her back to his chest,
their legs pressed tight, her backside nestled against his...yeah,
she definitely needed to get up.

He didn't say a word, but, three seconds
later, he unwrapped his arm from around her waist. She expected to
feel a flood of relief. Instead, all she felt was cold.

Erin sat up, but didn't stand. She should be
grateful. Last night she’d feared that she would never sleep again,
but ten minutes with John and she'd nodded right off. It had to
have been some sort of stress-induced exhaustion.

It had to be.

He patted her on the hip, and in one smooth
move, rose from the couch. “I'll get the coffee started.”

He was in the kitchen before Erin could lift
herself up to her feet.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she should have
gone back to sleep. Now that she was up, the reality of the day was
back in full force. She could have benefitted from a little more
time in the comfort of his embrace.

What was she thinking? Of course, she
couldn't. It was kind of him to work whatever magic he possessed to
let her sleep last night, but now she was awake, and it was up to
her to find the strength to face the day.

Erin ran through the list of things that she
needed to get done—call the insurance company, contact all her
clients, let her friends know that she was still alive, avoid the
FBI. Maybe if she concentrated hard enough on those things she
could keep her thoughts away from John.

Or the hardened criminal that wanted her
dead.

Either one.

And she would do all of these things…right
after she had a cup of coffee.

As if on cue, John came out of the kitchen
holding two plain white mugs. He set one down in front of her. She
looked down at the dark brew.

“Milk? Sugar?” she asked.

He shook his head slowly. “Sorry. I wasn't
expecting company.”

Erin drew in a deep breath, letting her
shoulders rise and fall. Oh well, she could survive a little
bitterness.

She lifted the cup and took a sip. It was a
hell of a lot stronger than anything she ever made at home, but it
helped her eyes open.

“Thank you,” she said.

John inclined his head.

John snatched the remote and turned on the
television. The morning news flickered to life. A reporter was
talking in front of a pile of scorched timber.

Erin recognized the scene immediately.
Suddenly, she didn't need the coffee so much anymore. She rushed to
the window and pulled up a corner of the blinds.

Three news vans lined up in a row across the
street. Reporters hugged the yellow caution tape that cordoned off
her property. One reporter had roped one of the neighbors into
talking to them.

Erin threw the blinds back down and turned
back to the television.

“Turn it up,” she said.

“—a freak gas leak caused the blaze. The
Emerald Glen Fire Chief assured us that the problem has been
resolved and no other houses in the neighborhood are in
danger.”

Erin swiveled her head toward John.

“There was no gas leak,” she said, stating
the obvious.

Not even a flicker of surprised showed on
John’s face. “No, there wasn’t.”

“So why did the fire chief say there
was?”

“Because I told him to.”

Erin went still. “Why?”

He took another sip of his coffee. “Because
panic is always the most dangerous threat.”

Erin jumped at the sound of a knock at the
front door, and a splash of hot coffee landed on her hand. She
hissed in a breath at the burn. John raised a brow, as if she’d
just proved his point for him.

It took a moment for Erin to find her voice.
“If that’s a reporter, tell them I don’t want to talk,” she
said.

John nodded and turned for the door. Erin
wrapped both hands around her mug and pressed her back against the
wall listening for the creak of hinges.

“So where is she, Muscles?”

Erin felt a rush of relief as Marianne’s
voice carried through the house. “In here, Marianne,” she called
out before John could answer.

Hard heels clicked against the solid wood
floors, and rushed toward her. Tears welled up in Erin’s eyes the
moment Marianne appeared around the corner.

John followed close behind her, but he
stopped in the archway to the living room, giving the women plenty
of space.

“Oh, my darling,” Marianne said, rushing
toward her with her arms open. “You poor thing. I didn’t know until
I turned on the news this morning.”

Erin wrapped her arms around Marianne, being
careful not to squeeze as hard as she wanted to. She was afraid
she’d shatter the woman’s bones. But the truth was, she was
overwhelmed by how happy she was to see her.

Marianne might be a nosy old thing. She might
not have any grasp on the idea of confidentiality, but she was also
the dearest friend Erin had. More than that, she was also a shining
symbol of normalcy, a reminder that not every shred of her life had
blown apart last night.

“Are you all right?” Marianne asked, looking
up at her face.

Erin nodded as she brushed back the tears.
“I’m okay. Really.”

Marianne looked far from convinced. “You
sure?”

“I’m better now that you’re here,” Erin said,
finally loosening her grip on her friend.

“Well, of course you are.” Marianne patted
her hand. “But maybe we better sit down while you tell me all about
it.”

“Okay,” Erin said, as Marianne led her back
over to the couch, as though this was her home instead of
John’s.

“Hey, Muscles,” Marianne said. “How about
offering an old lady a cup of coffee?”

John didn’t say a word but turned toward the
kitchen. Marianne waited until he’d disappeared from sight before
turning back to Erin.

“So, spending the night at Casa de la
Muscles, eh?” Marianne dug her elbow into Erin’s side.

“Wh-what?” Erin sputtered.

“I’m impressed.” Marianne winked.

“No. It wasn’t like—”

“And here I didn’t think you had it in you,”
Marianne went on. “Truth be told, I didn’t think either of you did.
I was starting to think that I was going to have to figure out a
way to lock you both in the same room.”

Erin shook her head. “No. My house had just
exploded.”

“Way to make the best out of a bad
situation.”

“Marianne, nothing happened.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

Marianne sagged back against the couch
cushions. “That’s disappointing.”

“I guess I was too busy worrying about losing
my every earthly possession to pull out my best moves.”

“It’s understandable.” Marianne shrugged her
shoulders. “It’s just a damned waste of potential is all.”

“Sorry. The most action this couch saw last
night was me falling asleep on his shoulder.”

Marianne’s brows lifted. She sat up straight
again. “You fell asleep
on
him.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“So you slept with him?”

“I slept
next
to him. There’s a
difference,” Erin whispered. John had to be coming back any moment
now, and there was no way she was getting caught in this
conversation when he did.

“Is there?”

Erin’s eyes went so wide she feared they
might fall out of her head. “Yes, there is.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Marianne waved a
hand between them. “Still, it’s a start.”

“There’s no start. Marianne, I lost
everything last night.”

“Oh, my darling girl, of course you did,”
Marianne said, her tone and expression changing dramatically when
John walked back into the room with her coffee. She didn’t even
look his way as he bent over to place the mug on the table in front
of her. “About that. What exactly happened?”

Erin looked at John as he stood. Their eyes
held for a long heartbeat.

“Gas leak,” Erin said. “Just like they said
on the news.”

Erin turned back to Marianne to find her
friend eyeing her suspiciously. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah. Of course I am. The Fire Chief said it
was a freak accident.”

“Sure sounds it.”

Erin shifted in her seat as Marianne’s gaze
flicked between her and John.

John, for his part, didn’t show any pangs of
conscience over the lie. He kept his mouth shut and his gaze steady
as he took up his old position in the archway.

“One minute everything was fine and
then…boom. If I hadn’t been talking to John on the lawn when it
happened I would have been blown to pieces along with it,” Erin
said, hoping that the allure of a thrilling story would be more
compelling than the details behind it.

This one time, she was right. Marianne turned
toward her. “Oh, you poor thing.”

“We were both thrown a good six feet,” Erin
said. “It’s amazing that neither one of us was hurt.”

“It
is
amazing,” Marianne said. “It
really makes you feel lucky to be alive.”

“Sure does.”

“Makes you think that you shouldn’t let the
rest of life pass you by,” Marianne went on. Erin felt her heart
drop in her chest. “That you should grab what you really want with
both hands and take what pleasure you can out of this world. Don’t
you agree, Muscles?”

Erin let out a long breath between tight
lips. Would she ever learn?

“Yes, ma’am,” John said flatly.

“Good,” Marianne said, clapping her hands in
front of her. “Now that we’ve got that straightened out, I figure
that you and I have a lot of shopping to do.”

Erin’s brows pulled together. “Shopping?”

“Yes. If you’ve lost everything, then I
figure we’ve got one heck of a shopping day in front of us.”

“But, I—” Erin looked at John. He stared
back. The message in his eyes was clear—she wasn’t going anywhere
without him. “There’s so much that I have to do this morning.”

“Like what?”

“Call the insurance company.”

“What do you plan to call them with? Based on
the fact that every time I called you this morning the call went
straight to voicemail, I’m guessing that your phone wasn’t in your
pocket last night.”

“No. It was in the house.”

“And I’m also going to go way out on a limb
and guess that Muscle’s closet isn’t stocked with your dress size.”
Marianne shot John a look.

He shook his head slowly.

“And then there are groceries,” Marianne went
on. “I know you’ve never been fond of the cookies I keep in my
pantry, so we’ll need to stock up on your brand if you’re going to
be living in my guest room.”

“Erin will be staying with me,” John
said.

Marianne’s brows arched slowly. “Is that
right?” she asked.

“It is.” His voice was firm.

“All right, then,” she said. She didn’t fight
him. She didn’t even push for a reason. She just smiled as if she
were pleased with herself. “Then we’ll skip the grocery store.”

Chapter 6

I’m so glad you’re okay.

We’re thinking of you.

If you need anything let us know.

The texts had been coming in one after
another ever since Erin had purchased a replacement phone. It
seemed like every time she slipped the thing into her pocket a text
alert would sound and she’d have to pull it out again. There was
such a swarm of messages it was amazing that she managed to get
anything done.

But if Erin had any thoughts of spending the
day immersed in piteous replies, Marianne had other plans. She’d
spent the entire day dragging Erin from store to store, and John
along with them.

He’d been silent as he drove them to the
mall, only checking the rear view mirror to make sure that the
black sedan with tinted windows following them since they left the
neighborhood was still there. It didn’t take a genius to figure out
who was inside. The car screamed FBI.

Erin had to admit, John had been a trooper.
They’d been at the mall for over six hours now, and she hadn’t
heard a peep out of him. He’d waited patiently while she’d shopped
for a new phone. He never complained as she’d flicked through racks
of skirts and jeans and shirts. He didn’t even flinch when Marianne
dragged her into the lingerie section and piled her arms high with
every lacy bra and panty set she could find.

Erin had though. She’d blushed down to the
marrow of her bones, and said yes to all of it just to get out of
there as quick as possible.

At least now she was safe. Well, safer.
Locked in a tiny dressing room with half a dozen dresses hanging on
the hook beside her, she was at least alone. She knew John was
right outside. He hadn’t been more than ten feet from her side at
any point since they’d left the house. She figured that the FBI
agents who followed them had to be out there somewhere too. And
then there was Marianne ready to knock on the door and toss her
another pair of pants.