The Man Next Door

by Gina Wilkins

  But she wouldn’t worry about that now, she vowed, reaching for her laptop and the stack of textbooks next to it. Somehow she would figure out a way to convince her family—and anyone else she might run into back home—that she was not the same person who had moved away all those months ago.

  She dreamed of Teague that night. And when she woke, flushed and vaguely aroused, she realized that her subconscious was paying little attention to her efforts to keep her attraction to him under control.

  Okay, she thought, splashing cold water onto her face. So she was only human. And she hadn’t let any man get too close to her in more than a year. It was only natural that she would be intrigued by the good-looking agent down the hall.

  A little fantasizing never hurt anyone, she assured herself. The only real danger was in trying to turn fantasy into reality.

  “Okay, Samantha, play it through one more time and then you can be done for today.”

  The seven-year-old girl on the piano bench next to Dani’s chair protested with a whine. “Do I have to play it again?”

  “Samantha, do what Ms. Madison says,” the child’s mother chided from a small couch on the opposite wall of the small studio.

  Heaving a huge, long-suffering sigh, Samantha placed her fingers on the piano keyboard and lumbered discordantly through a first-year-student tune called “Playful Puppy.” Dani thought that had there actually been a dog in the room, it would have been covering its ears with its paws and howling in pain. She almost wished she had that option herself.

  “Very good, Samantha,” she said with a big smile when the piano went mercifully silent. “Now, I know Thanksgiving is only three days away, but you be sure to practice when you can this week, okay? Your mommy will continue to put a star on your chart every time you practice, and when you have ten stars, I’ll give you another sticker for your sticker book.”

  “I already have five stars,” Samantha informed her.

  “Very good. Then you’re already halfway there.” Dani wondered how Samantha kept accumulating practice stars without actually making any improvement in her playing. She had a sneaky suspicion that Mommy was being a bit generous with the star awarding. “Practice hard, okay? We have a lot of fun songs to play once you’ve mastered this one.”

  Which might be about the same time the kid got her driver’s license, she added silently.

  Samantha’s mother wore an anxious smile that showed she was aware that her daughter wasn’t exactly a piano prodigy. “Maybe she didn’t practice quite as long as she should have,” she confided, just a hint of defensiveness in her voice. “But she’s so busy with her dance classes and soccer games and riding lessons, not to mention all the birthday parties she gets invited to attend. It’s hard to find the time for everything.”

  “I understand,” Dani replied sympathetically. “That’s a busy schedule for a seven-year-old. You may have to choose a couple of activities that she enjoys the most and drop the others for a while.”

  “She just enjoys everything so much,” the doting mother fretted. “I hate for her to miss out on anything.”

  Since Dani suspected that Samantha would be perfectly happy missing out on piano lessons, and was taking them only because her mother insisted, she merely nodded and showed the couple out. She made a mental note to give the child another month or so to display any enthusiasm at all for piano, and after that she would talk more seriously with the mother about making some decisions.

  Sighing lightly, she packed her teaching materials into the big canvas tote she always carried and locked the little studio she rented by the month. She had canceled her lessons for the remainder of this holiday week, so she wouldn’t be back for a whole seven days. She needed the break.

  Located in an old school building, the studio was one of several rented by local music teachers. As she left the building, she could hear other pianos playing, in addition to guitars, wind instruments, a banjo and—she winced—either a whole bunch of cats fighting or a group of first-year violin students trying to play a tune in unison.

  Okay, so it wasn’t the private music school she wanted to someday own and operate, she thought, climbing into her SUV. What she made on her part-time lessons after paying rent here was just enough to pay her bills, and that was living frugally. But she enjoyed most of her students, and she was pursuing the degree that would give her an advantage if she did someday open her own music school. So it wasn’t so bad.

  Best of all, she was making her own way, on her own terms. She hadn’t asked Rachel, or anyone else, for any favors or advice since she’d moved here. There had been a time, she thought with a wry glance at her silent cell phone, when she had called her sister at least twice a day with requests—no, more like demands—for Rachel’s assistance with one thing or another.

  She stopped by the grocery store on the way home, buying just enough to make a few relatively healthy meals-for-one for a couple of days. She would be leaving for Atlanta Wednesday, so she didn’t need much.

  The store was crowded for early on a Monday evening; she assumed people were already shopping for their Thanksgiving meals. She needed a few things at “Ubiquitous Mart,” as she called the massive discount chain, but that could wait. She was getting tired, hungry, and she had a paper to write that was due in class the next day.

  It was dark by the time she finally parked in her spot. That realization made her think of Teague, and his annoying warnings about being cautious after dark, as if she weren’t smart enough to take care of herself. The parking lot was well lit, and she’d never felt uncomfortable, even coming in late. She couldn’t afford an apartment complex with security or gated entrances, but she’d done her research and had chosen a building in a safe location and with an excellent safety record. Besides, if an FBI agent had chosen to live here, it must be reputable enough. She had never seen even one shady character lurking around.

  The direction her thoughts had taken must have made her antsy. She found herself looking around as she juggled her tote bag and groceries to use her key card in the outer door. It was a bit unusual, but not entirely unprecedented, that no one else was in sight. Sometimes she just happened to come home when everyone else was having dinner or watching TV or something.

  The elevator was empty. She checked carefully before stepping inside, just to be sure. The hallway was also vacant when she stepped out, and that was no surprise, either, since Mrs. Parsons was out of state, Hannah probably had her head buried in her textbooks and Teague was…heaven only knew where.

  She carried her things into her apartment, dumped everything on her kitchen table and then realized she had left her purse in her car.

  “Damn it,” she muttered, her shoulders sagging with weariness as she considered leaving the purse where it was until morning.

  She straightened with a sigh of resignation. She had to go back down. Leaving the purse in the car was just begging for a break-in, and she didn’t want to go through the hassle of replacing her driver’s license and credit cards. Not to mention the cash. Forty-five dollars. That was a lot to her these days.

  Carrying her keys in her left hand, she crossed her living room and stepped out into the hallway again. She glanced at the stairwell, told herself she really could use the exercise, then pushed the elevator button anyway. Apparently, she was still feeling edgy. The thought of going down that empty stairwell alone made her a bit nervous.

  She shook her head as she listened to the elevator rumbling up toward her. She really was in a strange mood tonight. She blamed it on Teague, she thought with a half smile. Even when he wasn’t here, he made her jumpy.

  The elevator doors slid open and she moved forward, automatically assuming it was as empty as the rest of the building had seemed that evening. She stopped with a gasp when a large, male figure stumbled out. Instinctively, she tried to move out of the way, dodging with one of the moves she’d learned in her self-defense classes. And then he grabbed her.

  She drew a deep breath to scream, hoping ther
e would be at least someone in the building to hear her. Her attacker fell heavily against her…and then began to slide downward. Still poised to run, she glanced down at him, then choked when she recognized him. Not that it was easy to do, with all the blood and bruises covering his face.

  “Teague?”

  He was on his knees now, and she fell to hers beside him, studying his battered face in horror. “Teague!”

  His only response was a groan before he collapsed to the floor.

  Chapter Five

  Dani’s first response to Teague’s collapse was panic. She reached for her cell phone, then muttered a curse when she realized it was in her purse, still locked in her car. They needed a doctor, she thought. Quickly.

  Glancing up, she jumped to her feet and pounded on the closest door. “Hannah! Are you in there? I need help.”

  After a moment the door flew open. Hannah peered out anxiously. “Dani? What’s—Oh my God.”

  “He’s hurt,” Dani said unnecessarily, since Hannah had already seen Teague lying there. “Can you help him while I call an ambulance?”

  “Me? Uh—”

  “You’re a medical student, aren’t you?”

  Her amber eyes huge in her suddenly pale face, Hannah shook her head frantically. “I’m a first-year medical student. We haven’t actually seen patients yet, only simulated situations. Pretty much all I’ve learned so far is how to take blood pressure, listen to lungs and do a breast exam.”

  “Then I’ll sit with him while you call an ambulance.”

  “No.” With an obvious effort, Teague lifted himself onto one forearm. Dani hadn’t even realized he was conscious. “No ambulance. And no breast exam, either,” he added with a sickly smile for Hannah.

  Dani hurried back to him when he made a move to stand. “What are you doing? Lie back down and let us—”

  “No. I’m okay. Help me up.”

  “She’s right, you know,” Hannah said, even as she moved to his other side. “You should let us call someone. Or at least let us drive you to the emergency room.”

  “No.” There was no mistaking the resolve in his voice as he pushed himself to his feet with their help. “I have a pathological aversion to hospitals. Just help me to my apartment and I’ll see my own doctor tomorrow, if necessary.”

  “You’re just going to lie in your apartment alone until you wake up in the morning—if you wake up in the morning,” Dani summed up in exasperation.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve been beaten up before. I know what to do.”

  Beaten up. The words made her stomach clench. But she would wait until later to ask about details. “Help me get him into my apartment,” she said to Hannah. “I’ll nag him about seeing a doctor after I make sure he’s not going to pass out again.”

  “I didn’t pass out,” he muttered, swaying on his feet. “And I’ll be fine in my own apartment.”

  “Can you get there without assistance? And get your key into the lock on the first try?” Dani demanded.

  He looked toward his doorway, and she suspected it was swimming in front of his swollen, bruised eyes. “Uh—”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She looked at Hannah again. “My place.”

  It was an indication of how much pain Teague was in that he didn’t try to argue further.

  Propping him up on either side, Dani and Hannah got him into Dani’s living room and onto her couch.

  “I have a first-aid kit,” Dani said, moving toward the bathroom. “Watch him until I get back.”

  Hannah looked at Teague, who was resting his head against the back cushion, as if she wasn’t at all sure what she was supposed to be watching for, but she nodded. “Okay.”

  Dani returned a few minutes later carrying the first-aid kit and a damp washcloth. “You haven’t treated any patients?” she asked Hannah, who was sitting now by Teague, patting his pain-clenched fist.

  Scooting away from Teague, Hannah shook her head. “Sorry. The first year is almost all class and lab work. We have standardized patients occasionally—actors who let us do simple exams on them—but I won’t see real patients until my third year.”

  “I can wait,” Teague muttered without opening his eyes.

  “No, you can’t,” Dani answered repressively. “And this is no time to be kidding around. Your face is a mess. Heaven knows what the rest of you looks like.”

  “I’ll let you see—if you and Hannah return the favor.”

  Hannah giggled.

  Dani sighed. “Just shut up and let me clean your face.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Standing, Hannah offered, “I’ll run over to my apartment and make some chamomile tea. My granny swore it would cure anything from the common cold to broken bones.”

  “My mother believes the same thing,” Dani murmured, smoothing the washcloth over Teague’s bloody face. “I have some in my kitchen.”

  “I know where everything is in mine,” Hannah replied, moving toward the door. “And I left something in the oven I need to check.”

  Left alone with Teague, Dani concentrated on his injuries. Most of the blood seemed to have come from a cut on his forehead, just above his left eye. The eye itself was bruised and swollen, as were his cheek and chin. His nose had bled; it looked as though he had wiped it with the sleeve of his torn, dirty, long-sleeved black pullover. There were other bruises and small cuts on the right side of his face, though he’d escaped a black eye on that side.

  He winced when he drew a deep breath. Broken ribs? Cracked, at least. She didn’t know if he had a concussion, or any other broken bones. Internal injuries? There was no way to tell without a professional examination.

  “You have to let me take you to a doctor.”

  “No. I’ll see someone tomorrow.”

  “You don’t need to wait until tomorrow. You need someone now. Please, Teague, let me—”

  He lifted his eyelids to look her firmly in the eyes. “Dani. I’ve told you. I don’t want to see a doctor right now. Trust me, I don’t have a death wish. If I thought there was any need, I would go. But I’m going to be okay. It’s mostly superficial.”

  “You probably have a broken rib.”

  “Probably a couple of cracked ones,” he agreed, “but I can tape them up. I’ve done so before.”

  “You could be bleeding inside. You could have a concussion.”

  “I’m not bleeding inside. I’ve likely got a mild concussion, and my left ankle is twisted. I don’t think it’s broken. I can wrap that, too.”

  “Why are you so determined not to go to the emergency room?” she asked, genuinely confused.

  He hesitated and then confessed, “I did something really stupid. Made a dumb error in judgment that got me beaten up by some gang members I was investigating. A couple of my associates showed up and helped me get them into custody, and I sort of downplayed how bad I was hurt until I managed to get away. I don’t want an official report made. I’ll take some of the vacation time I’ve got accumulated next week, after which I’ll be recovered enough to go back to work. So no big deal.”

  It must have taken every ounce of strength he’d had to bluff his way through the arrest, she realized, noting that there was absolutely no color in his face now that wasn’t either a bruise or a spot of dried blood. “You drove yourself home?”

  He shook his head. “My buddy dropped me off. Another drove my car. I told them I could make it up to my apartment by myself.”

  “And then you collapsed off the elevator,” she finished with a disapproving shake of her head. “They should have taken you to the E.R., even if you argued with them.”

  “I told you, they’re my friends. I’d have done the same for them.”

  “Stupid, stubborn men,” she grumbled beneath her breath.

  He smiled and closed his eyes again. “Whatever.”

  She did the best she could with antibiotic ointment and plastic bandage strips, making him hold a bag of frozen peas to the left side of his face. Hannah returne
d with a ceramic teapot; Dani fetched three cups and they all had some, since Hannah asserted that they could probably all benefit from the soothing properties of the chamomile tea.

  Dani noted that Hannah searched Teague’s face almost constantly. Hannah might claim that she was only into the bookwork part of becoming a doctor, but she was obviously itching to do something to help him. Dani had noticed that same look on her brother-in-law’s face when he’d seen someone in pain.

  “That was really good, Hannah, thank you,” Teague said after drinking about half his tea. He set the cup on a coaster, making a visible effort not to wince with the movement. Failing.

  “I should go back to studying,” she said, hovering beside the couch. “I still agree with Dani, though, Teague. I think you should probably see a doctor tonight.”

  “I appreciate your concern,” he replied gently. “You’ll make a great doctor. One I wouldn’t hesitate to call upon—and that’s saying something, because I don’t like many doctors, on the whole.”

  She grimaced. “You’re assuming I’ll survive gross anatomy and genetics, of course.”

  “You will.”

  Dani walked Hannah to the door, where they both glanced back at Teague, who was lying back with his eyes closed again.

  “He really shouldn’t be alone tonight,” Hannah said in a low voice.

  “He won’t be. I’ll make him stay here so I can wake him up every so often.”

  “If he starts acting really disoriented or something, call me, whatever time it is. We’ll get him to the E.R. if we have to hogtie him, okay?”

  “It’s a deal.”

  “I heard all that, you know,” Teague said when Dani closed the door behind Hannah. He hadn’t moved, nor opened his eyes, and she hadn’t even been sure he was still awake. “I’ll be fine in my own apartment. I’ll set the alarm to wake me every couple of hours.”