The Man Next Door. Gina Wilkins

past fourteen months avoiding any complicated entanglements with men, most especially the dangerous-looking ones. And her FBI neighbor sat firmly at the very top of that list.

      It had taken her more than twenty-seven years and a long, humiliating list of mistakes, but she had finally learned her lesson, she thought with a sense of accomplishment. Dani Madison was on her own, independent, self-sufficient, cautious and wisely cynical. It was going to take more than a rolling swagger and a pair of gleaming silver eyes to change her back into the naive and affection-hungry girl she had been before.

      Dani hadn’t particularly wanted her date to walk her to her door the next Friday night, but he insisted on doing the gentlemanly thing and seeing her safely inside. Maybe he hoped she’d have a last-minute urge to invite him in, but that wasn’t going to happen, she thought as they stepped off the elevator. Anthony was a nice guy, in an accountant-next-door sort of way, but he set off no sparks in her at all.

      Not that she was looking for sparks, really. A pleasant dinner with conversation that ranked somewhere above the entertainment level of the average television program was all she wanted from her escorts these days. Anthony had certainly provided the former, treating her to a meal in a very nice Italian restaurant. As for the latter—well, their dinnertime discussion had been only marginally more interesting than the latest episode of the medical drama she’d have watched had she stayed at home alone that evening.

      Agent Sexy stepped out of his apartment down the hall just as she and Anthony reached her door. Too aware of her neighbor strolling toward the elevators, she smiled up at her companion and said briskly, “Thank you again for the meal, Anthony. I had a very nice time.”

      He glanced wistfully at the doorknob in her hand. “I’ve had a good time, too. I hate for the evening to end so soon.”

      “Yes, well, I have an early class in the morning and I have some preparation to do for it.”

      The apartment door next to Dani’s opened a crack and a curious face peered out past the security chain. Dani knew old Mrs. Parsons had heard noises and was checking to see what was going on. The elderly woman was pleasant enough, but boredom made her intensely interested in everything that went on in the apartments around her. Seeing Dani looking back at her, she smiled sheepishly and closed the door again.

      FBI guy had pushed the elevator button and was waiting patiently for it to arrive. If he was even aware of Dani and Anthony standing only a few yards away, he’d given no sign of it. Nor did Anthony seem to notice the other man as he nodded resignedly in response to Dani’s excuse for not inviting him in. “I understand. Maybe we can get together sometime next weekend? Go to a movie or something?”

      “I’m not sure of my plans for next weekend. Why don’t you give me a call later in the week.”

      Anthony’s expression fell even more. Maybe he’d read the lack of enthusiasm in her expression a bit too well. “Okay. So, uh, see you, okay?”

      She tried to add a bit of warmth to her smile. She didn’t want to hurt the guy’s feelings. She just didn’t want to lead him on, either. “Good night, Anthony.”

      He leaned over to give her a somewhat awkward kiss on the lips, which she allowed to last only long enough for courtesy’s sake. And then she drew away and opened her door. “Good night,” she said again.

      “Good night, Dani.”

      The elevator doors opened just as she stepped inside her apartment. She heard Anthony call out, “Hold the car, please.”

      She closed her door without waiting to see if her neighbor had complied with the request.

      High maintenance. Definitely the type who expected men to cater to her wishes. Exactly the kind of woman Teague preferred to avoid, even if they happened to be beautiful—which that sort generally was.

      Having ridden the elevator down with his attractive neighbor’s latest dejected suitor only the night before, Teague was even more convinced now that asking her out would be a bad idea, despite the temptation to do so every time he passed her in the hallway.

      He wasn’t proud of the fact that he’d chosen to wait for the elevator rather than take the stairs only because he’d been curious about how her evening with her hopeful escort would end. Or that he’d found some satisfaction in watching her send the other guy on his way.

      Physical attraction, he assured himself, strolling into his office at FBI headquarters in western Little Rock Saturday morning. That was all there was to it. Any red-blooded male would be interested in Danielle Madison—for he’d learned that was her name. Apparently, she answered to the nickname of Dani, which was what her date had called her when he’d told her good-night.

      He’d only bothered to find out her name for the sake of idle curiosity, of course. It was wise for a man in his line of work to have general information about those who lived close to him. So, while making an effort to discover Dani’s name, he’d learned those of the others nearest to him, as well.

      There were four apartments on either side of the bank of elevators in the center of the apartment building, two apartments on each side of the hallway. His place was across from Edna Parsons, a widow who rarely left her apartment. The apartment next to his had been occupied for the past couple of months by a studious-looking woman in her midtwenties who seemed pleasant enough but wasn’t home much more than he was. The few times he’d seen her, she’d carried a heavy-looking backpack, so he assumed she was a student. Her name was Hannah Ross.

      Directly across from Hannah lived Danielle Madison, the striking brunette he had mentally dubbed “The Princess” when he’d moved in and spotted her for the first time.

      Hanging his jacket on the back of his chair, he settled at his desk and booted up his computer. He had a lot to do that day, entirely too much to waste any more time thinking about Danielle.

      Maybe he should call one of his casual women friends this weekend. He’d been working too hard lately, hadn’t even had a dinner date in a couple of months. Like now, doing paperwork on a Saturday after being in on a sting operation until just after midnight the night before.

      That probably explained why he’d spent so much time thinking about his neighbor. A simple matter of hormones too long ignored.

      He couldn’t help chuckling, though, when he remembered how doleful that guy in the elevator had looked after being literally kissed off by Danielle. What a schmuck.

      “So, what’s so funny? You’re the only guy I know who’d spend a Saturday in the office grinning over his paperwork.”

      Looking up in response to the lazy drawl, Teague watched as his friend and associate Mike Ferguson slouched into the room. Slouching was pretty much Mike’s primary posture choice. Tall and lanky with a mop of curly hair that couldn’t decide whether it was brown or blond, he leaned, slumped, sprawled or flopped, but rarely stood at full attention. He claimed it was a lingering rebellion from his years in the military.

      Teague shrugged in response to Mike’s question. “Oh, I was just thinking about this girl I know. Well, sort of know. Actually, I don’t know her at all.”

      “But she still makes you smile over paperwork?” Mike dropped into a straight-backed chair—the only place to sit in the minuscule office other than Teague’s desk chair—and grinned quizzically at him. “Sounds like someone you’ll want to get to know.”

      “Nah. High maintenance. Only dates drooling lap dogs.”

      Mike shuddered. “Spare me from the princesses.”

      “Yeah. That’s what I call her. To myself, of course.”

      “She’s hot?”

      “Let’s just say that sprinkler systems go off when she walks down the hall.”

      “Man.”

      “Yeah. Real waste.”

      “Maybe just one date?”

      Teague chuckled