The Agent Next Door

Chapter 1

I t looks like Number Thirty-two is finally moving in. There’s a truck in the driveway and a moving van pulling up now.

Erin Holliday lifted her head from the flower pot in front of her and looked up at Marianne Wilson. Her octogenarian neighbor was up on her tiptoes, doing her best to peer over the five-foot high boxwood shrub that edged Erin’s porch…and failing. Marianne teetered to one side, and dug her hands deep into the leafy top to keep her balance.

Erin winced at the sight of all the shiny new leaves being crushed in her friend’s tiny, though by no means frail, hands, but she didn’t say a word. She could bear to sacrifice a few branches for the sake of keeping Marianne upright.

Not that her protests would have mattered anyway. If Marianne had made up her mind to spy on the new neighbors moving in across their shallow cul-de-sac, then nothing Erin could say was going to stop her. At least this way she was at least partially shielded from sight.

I was wondering when that was going to happen, Erin said, turning her attention back to the pot of orange and yellow Gerbera daisies in the center of her crossed legs. She pushed down the top of the soil, moulding it into place. It’s been empty for weeks.

Almost two months, Marianne corrected her. Erin didn’t doubt her accounting. Marianne could probably tell her the exact date the house had sold.

Erin looked up at the grating sound of her weathered wrought iron bench being dragged from the corner by her front door. Ivy tendrils that had long ago wrapped around the scroll work arms snapped as they were torn from the wall.

Marianne!

What? her friend said without lifting her head. Would you rather I climb up on this ridiculous bush. I don’t even know why you planted the damned thing here. You can’t see a thing over it.

Exactly.

I like the privacy, Erin said.

Marianne harrumphed loudly as if that were the most ridiculous thing that she had ever heard.

Erin watched as Marianne hoisted herself up on her new perch. Her head and shoulders showed high above the flat top of the shrub. She twisted around and gave Erin a victorious grin.

Great. There would be no talking Marianne down from there now, not when there was juicy gossip to be had. And in this neighborhood, a new face was about as juicy as things got. Fortunately, that was how Erin liked it, but she had a feeling that Marianne was always hoping that something a little more exciting would happen.

But it never did. Not in the Silicon Valley suburb of Emerald Glen, and certainly not on Shannon Court. Every few months someone in the surrounding neighborhood would pack up and a new family would move in.

For the most part, Erin liked her neighbors, steady wage workers for the surrounding tech companies and their families. They were polite people, calm and quiet, just waiting to move up in the world.

Do you know who is moving in? Erin asked, hoping to keep Marianne occupied for a little while longer.

Not really. The Goldmans didn’t have much information about the people who bought the house from them, Marianne said.

Erin smiled as she pulled her spade from the bag of soil at her side. So there was a limit to the woman's gossiping powers. I wonder why it took them so long to move in.

We’ll find out soon enough. The movers are opening up the back of the van now. Marianne’s voice went up an octave, her excitement shining through.

It was turning out to be a lovely summer Saturday. Erin had a new batch of flowers to replace those that had withered in last week’s sweltering heat wave. The sound of kids playing somewhere in the neighborhood drifted across the courtyard. Later, the Michalsons were going to have a barbecue, but she had plenty of time before then to finish up all her yard work. Even the weather was obeying. It was warm but bearable in the dappled shade of her wood-planked porch. All in all, it was a perfect day to sit out and listen as Marianne babbled on about the shape and size of every box and piece of furniture as it was hauled from the moving truck.

It's not a very big van, Marianne started. Erin gave a generic sound of interest, as she pulled a cluster of impatiens from the plastic container. Certainly not big enough to fill that whole house. I hope there’s another one on the way, because that dinky van can’t possibly have—

Erin lifted her head. Nothing ever shut Marianne up. Nothing. But there she was, her palm clasped over her mouth.

Oh, my, Marianne whispered between her fingers after a moment had passed.

Erin put the pot down by her side. What is it?

Oh, my. Marianne repeated.

What? What? Erin uncrossed her legs, grabbed onto one of the rungs of the ivy-covered trellis at her side and hoisted herself off the ground. She cursed under her breath as she rose. She'd been sitting there so long that her foot had fallen asleep. The second she put her weight on it, electric pinpricks shot up her leg. She hobbled over to the bench as best she could.

Erin peered across the street, expecting to see a Swarovski chandelier, or a collection of dungeon equipment, or a live donkey—anything that would merit such a stunned reaction. But there was nothing.

What is it?

Marianne shook her head. Not a what, a who.

Huh?

Are you blind? Check out your new neighbor.

Marianne held out a boney finger in the direction of a man walking down the path.

Erin’s jaw fell open. Oh, Lord. That couldn't be her new neighbor. It just couldn't.

He was big, wide at the shoulders with arms that stretched the limits of his plain grey T-shirt. His jeans fit his muscular legs perfectly. His hair was dark and military short. His features were as large and strong as the rest of him.

He's a handsome devil, isn't he? Marianne said as he strode purposely from his front door to the edge of his drive.

As much as Erin hated to admit it, Marianne was right, especially about the devil part. The stranger across the street was unnaturally good-looking, and there wasn’t any use in pretending otherwise. Not that it mattered. One look, and Erin could tell that he was trouble. She saw it in the strong line of his shoulders, the confident cock of his head, his steady, unworried gait—this was a man that was used to being in control. The kind that always got his way. The kind she’d spent the last twenty years of her life trying to avoid.

So why couldn’t she turn away? It was almost as if the man demanded attention.

An electric tingle started down Erin’s spine, radiating clear down to her fingertips and toes. The sizzles? Erin shook her head, desperate to clear it. This guy couldn’t give her the sizzles. She wouldn’t allow it.

He came to a stop at the edge of his wide green lawn, looking over Shannon Court. Just before his gaze reached her house, Erin ducked down on the bench below.

Are you all right? Marianne asked.

Just fine, Erin said.

Marianne must not have been too concerned. She turned immediately back toward the street. She raised her arm above her head and waived in a wide arch.

Quit it, Marianne. He's going to see you, she said.

I certainly hope so. Marianne’s eyes lit up. The crinkles that surrounded them lifted.

Damn. Erin should have known better than to put ideas in her friend’s head.

Marianne started to jump up and down on the bench. Yoo-hoo! Number Thirty-two!

Stop it. You're going to fall. The last thing she needed was for Marianne to break a leg in her exuberance.

Marianne shot her a sour look. Well, you're no fun today. I don't see why you care. If you're not going to stake your claim on him, then I'm going to try.

Seriously, Marianne. Quit it. He doesn't look like the kind of man that you want to mess with.

"Speak for yourself, doll. That man is exactly the kind I’d like to mess around with."

Erin hung her head. Why did she even try?

Oh! He's looking this way. Marianne's voice went an octave higher.

Can’t imagine why, Erin muttered.

That's right! Over here. Marianne smiled down at her. He’s coming over.

Of course he was.

Erin sunk down from the bench to the floor and started to scoot over to the corner of the porch.

What in the world are you doing?

Nothing. Just getting back to work, Erin said, wedging herself as deep as she could into the shadows of the ivy-covered trellis.

Marianne’s brows pulled together in a tight V. She slowly shook her head. Sometimes I worry about you, child.

She didn’t have to worry for long. A second later, a deep voice sounded from the edge of the boxwood.

Hello.

The knot that had formed in Erin's chest clenched tighter around her heart. His voice sounded just like she'd imagined it would. Strong and unflappable. Unbidden adrenaline rushed through her body. She did her best to still the shaking that crept into her hands, but it was hard. They refused to stop trembling.

She had to get a grip. It was too late to bolt now, and there was no way in hell she could leave Marianne alone with this guy. There was no telling what she would do. It was amazing that a woman with so little common sense had managed to make it to eighty-two.

Hi there, neighbor, Marianne said, as a shadow fell over the fence and on to her patio. Erin leaned back a little farther in the shelter of the ivy. I'm Marianne Wilson.

John Ryman. His voice was steady and low.

We were wondering when we were ever going to see you.

We?

Erin and I. Erin's the one hiding in the ivy.

The breath stopped in Erin's throat. Once she got it back, she leaned out a few inches, and tried to laugh. The sound came out high and tinny, every bit as desperate as she felt.

I'm not hiding, she said. I’m gardening.

She risked a glance up in the man's direction. His expression gave nothing away. If he thought it was strange that she appeared from a shroud of ivy, he didn't show it. His lack of reaction only made her feel worse. He was in control. She wasn’t.

He didn’t help her nervousness by looking away. His eyes stayed on her a few seconds longer than they should have. It shouldn’t have surprised her. She probably would have stared too. She had to look like a hot mess in these ragged, dirty clothes and her hair poking out from under the edges of a ball cap. But, really, who dressed up to garden?

Then again who hid in trellises when strange, large men walked by? Crazy people, that’s who.

Hi, she said, cursing her shaky voice.

Hello, he said, before finally turning back to Marianne. Is this your granddaughter?

Marianne barked out a high laugh. Erin? Oh, heavens no.

We're neighbors, Erin said, shaking her head furiously. This is my house. Marianne lives across the way on Fairview.

Alone... Her friend added, batting her eyelashes.

Erin nudged Marianne in the side with her elbow. The woman didn’t even flinch.

That's a mighty small moving truck you’ve got there, Marianne plowed on.

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