Not Another New Year’s (24 page)

Hannah felt that dark ball of pain inside of her begin to break up, dissolving under the cathartic power of the truth. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been enough for Duncan, she realized. They…they hadn’t been enough together.

Tanner had hinted at it, but she’d refused to listen. She’d wanted to accept none of the blame.

But the truth was, between Duncan and herself there had not been enough honesty or passion. There had not been enough of what she felt with, and for…Tanner.

Oh, God. Tanner.

Tanner.

Saying good-bye to Caroline was like saying good bye to an anchor that had been chained to her ankle for the past eight months. She strolled away from the playground, lighter, yet now with another obligation to meet before she left Coronado forever.

She owed Tanner an apology. Or maybe it was that she owed herself one, and she had to say it in front of him. All this time, as he’d pointed out, she
hadn’t
been thinking enough of herself. But she could do that now. Not only because she understood what had happened between herself and Duncan, but because when she’d finally confronted Caroline to force the other woman to see her, what she’d finally seen was herself.

Now she knew. Hannah knew she was desirable and valuable and beautiful and in de pen dent. She could recognize things she wanted and go after them. Tanner had shown her that (Tanner had
been
that), and though he might not love her, he still deserved to know that she didn’t believe he’d used her anymore. That, at least in her eyes, he’d always be a hero for helping her discover this new and improved vision of herself.

Taking a shortcut through the parking area would get her back to Tanner’s quicker. It was a rectangular lot, with a U-shaped travel lane, with the only entrance at the end of one of the legs of the U, and the exit on the other leg. She didn’t pay much attention to the sedan cruising the lot until it stopped beside her. A window rolled down.

“Desirée!” a voice called from the dim interior.

Stifling a sigh, Hannah looked over. She was a
damn fine person in her own right and she was more than slightly annoyed at again being taken for someone else.

Then those last words sank in. As did the black car’s damaged front bumper. As did the threatening demeanor of the swarthy, thick-necked man now climbing out of the backseat.

He made a grab for her. “Let’s go, Desirée.”

D
ays ago Tanner had told Hannah that a Secret Ser vice agent was required to think on his feet. But as he cruised through the streets of Coronado, he couldn’t seem to think at all. Panic tasted like copper on his tongue—until he realized he’d bit the inside of his cheek and the flavor in his mouth was his own blood.

Thank God his blood, not Hannah’s.

The jangling anxiety was borrowing trouble, of course. Big trouble. But he’d been trained to imagine worst-case scenarios, and with Dezi having been the undisputed target of someone out to harm her, and with her “dead ringer,” Hannah, wandering around the same vicinity all alone now…

He wouldn’t be able to breathe until he had her next to him.

Always.

That was a weird thought. He shook it away, but it came back, sitting primly like a schoolteacher at her desk in his brain, burrowing like a wanton lover under sheets in his heart.

Like Hannah.

Hannah for always.

But it was the completely wrong time for him! He was hours away from returning to the Secret Ser vice and getting his life back under his own control. Conceding anything to anyone else—God, giving his love away to Hannah—was just not what he was looking for at the moment.

He caught a glimpse of a slim, dark-haired figure and his head snapped around. Was it her? No, too young.

His pulse, ratcheted high in anticipation, didn’t sink back down, instead staying at a fevered thrum. He’d considered calling the police, but what could he say? The girl in my bed walked out on me? There’s outside odds she might be spotted by some foreign national or foreign-paid-for goons who’ll mistake her for someone else?

He
didn’t want to believe there was a reason to believe that might be true. His other option had been phoning Geoff Brooks. But Tanner couldn’t think how sharing with Hannah’s incapacitated uncle his own far-fetched fears—oh, God, he so hoped they were far-fetched—would do anyone good.

Turning a corner, he scanned the sidewalks of the downtown area. Most likely he’d find her picking up souvenirs in a shop or sipping take-out coffee in the park.

The park. He made the next right, retracing his route. The last time he’d gone looking for her, he’d found her at the park on Orange.

Damn, but the place was crowded. The kids in Coronado were back in school, and people should be back at work after their holiday breaks, but there were enough retirees and mothers with strollers to make it hard to pick out a lone woman with a duffel bag, a killer bod, and maybe some tears in her eyes because of how she regretted leaving him rejected and dejected.

Is that how he felt? Dejected? Rejected?

Wasn’t this the wrong time for that too?

With a light foot on the gas, he circled the block to take another pass. If he didn’t find her this time, he’d have to accept that she’d hailed a cab or called a shuttle and was already on her way to the airport and away from him.

As he turned the corner, he had to brake for traffic, and he used the time to peer up ahead, looking beyond the parking lot since Hannah was on foot and not behind a wheel. Then an arc of movement caught his eye.

There! In the parking lot that was still a dozen car lengths away. A dark sedan was stopped in the aisle, one door open, one man outside it trying to pull a woman toward him by her…

Duffel bag.

Trying to pull
Hannah
toward him and the yawning mouth of that car.

Like it had in hundreds of assault-on-principal training sessions, time stopped, Tanner’s heartbeat slowing down with a single whoosh. Adrenaline
flowed into his bloodstream, tightening his focus and every muscle in his body. He heard a distant, high whine in his head and his sense of smell heightened—he could pick out the diesel exhaust from a nearby bus, the sticky sweetness of a grape Slurpee in the hand of a five-year-old on the adjacent sidewalk, the scent of his own soap as he broke out in a light sweat.

Now biologically prepared, time moved again, but slowly, like a succession of freeze frames.

Convenient, that, because it gave him the opportunity to take everything in. Hannah was still resisting the man trying to yank her into the sedan. The sedan was pointed toward the exit, ready to speed off once its prey was captured. Now the man let go of Hannah’s duffel strap to grab her arm.

Her face registered more alarm, probably realizing this wasn’t another robbery, but a kidnapping, or worse. Her mouth was moving as if she was yelling, but no one was heeding her cries. Her gaze darted around, as if she was looking for…

Oh, God, he hoped she was looking for him. He hoped she knew he was here and would never let anyone, ever, hurt her again.

The traffic in front of him moved, and he edged the car—though the world was still moving at that anti-warp speed—to block the parking lot’s exit. Then he was out of the Mercedes, its keys in his hand, his attention on Hannah, his sole ambition to show himself worthy of her trust and confidence, the Secret Ser vice motto.

Not that he gave a shit about the Ser vice now. What an ignorant, shallow asshole he’d been, whining for a
year inside his own head about how he wasn’t a hero. Even being jealous of Hannah’s dead Duncan because he wore medals on his ghostly uniform while he himself had nothing but his life.

And Hannah. He’d had Hannah and almost lost her to his ego, which didn’t want anyone or anything coming between it and fulfilling some ridiculous family rep that no one with a brain would care about over having her alive and in his arms.

“Hannah!” he shouted.

Her head swung toward him. At the fear in her eyes, time jump-started.

He raced toward her. In one move he wrenched her out of the goon’s clutches and leaped toward the enemy. The man was taller and more solid than he was, but the goon wasn’t in love.

The man went down on his back with a grunt, and Tanner shoved his forearm against his throat. Then he threw his keys at Hannah. “Get out of here, sweetheart. Get away and call 911.”

Glancing back to make sure she obeyed, his peripheral vision only caught the brief glint of sun against the blade of the knife.

Hannah couldn’t catch her breath. It didn’t matter, she didn’t think she needed it, because panic was fueling her body as she dove for the passenger door of Tanner’s car. The damn thing was locked, so she practically high-jumped over the hood and dropped into the driver’s seat.

Now what? Now what?

The keys were in one of her shaking hands.
Get out of here, sweetheart,
he’d yelled.
Get away and call 911.
She was going to leave him? The front passenger door of the bad guy’s sedan was open now too, hiding from her the action between Tanner and the man who had tried to…to…what ever it was he’d wanted.

Get out of here, sweetheart. Get away and call 911.

Her gaze jumped to the keys in her hand. She was supposed to drive?

He knew she didn’t drive. Deborah’s death had understandably spooked her parents, and when it came to their youngest, their remaining daughter, they’d encouraged her reluctance not to get behind the wheel after the required driver’s training stuff. With their cooperation, she’d been a passenger all her adult life.

But Tanner had asked her to drive. Tanner, who had shown up to rescue her just as she was screaming his name with every cell in her body.

Gritting her teeth, Hannah shoved the key toward the ignition. She missed, had to make another stab, then started the car. It purred.

But she couldn’t put it into gear. The stupid duffel bag was in the way of the gear shift. With a quick movement she ducked her head under the strap and chucked it away from her. Then she put the car into Drive.

She looked over at the parking lot again. She still couldn’t see Tanner. Her heart was slamming against her breastbone so loud she couldn’t hear anything but that echo of the last words he’d spoken to her.

Get out of here, sweetheart. Get away and call 911.

Swallowing the huge lump of fear in her throat,
she pressed her foot against the gas. The car leaped forward, someone honked, she shifted her foot to the brake pedal and pressed so hard the tires shrieked and her neck whiplashed.

Her wet palms slid on the steering wheel, but gritting her teeth, she tightened her fingers on the leather and moved her foot once again to the accelerator.

This time she was able to edge somewhat smoothly into traffic. She accelerated only a few feet before she had to stomp on the brakes again in response to the car abruptly stopping in front of her. Hannah peered anxiously over her shoulder.

Her heart thundered even louder when she saw that Tanner was on his feet, blood running down his arm, his mouth a grim line. The first thug was a lump on the ground at his feet, another guy was backing away, his hands half up, his gaze directed on the—

Oh, God. The knife in Tanner’s hand.

She made a strangled sound of distress just as another car cut through the traffic behind her. It was one of those big, black, mile-high things that rappers drove in hip-hop videos. Except it didn’t look like that was Nelly, Fifty Cent, and Ludacris pouring out as it braked, blocking the parking lot exit.

The three who were heading toward Tanner and the three who were getting out on the other side to follow behind them didn’t look like they were ready to make a music video either. They looked ready for murder.

Hannah emitted that panicked, strangled sound again.

What should she do?

Should she leave Tanner behind?

Get out of here, sweetheart.
He’d said that, hadn’t he?
Get away and call 911.

But…but…no. She couldn’t follow orders this time. She wasn’t passive pleaser Hannah anymore, taking suggestions as if they were commands.

It was time to get out of that damned passenger seat and be the real driver of her own life.

She shifted the car into Reverse. Pushed down on the accelerator. The car shot back, and she jerked the wheel left at the same time, jackknifing the back end toward the curb.

Crunch.

Ooops. Jackknifing the back end toward the curb and directly into that big black car’s front bumper.

Except that might be good.

Because all the major players looked over at the crashing sound. And Tanner saw his chance. He tore through the wall of bodies between him and the Mercedes, taking advantage of their distraction. At the last instant she remembered the lock and leaned over, pulling it up just as his fingers wrenched open the door.

He threw himself inside.

She stared at him, stunned at her own success. Then she opened her mouth to say something (declare her love?) and—

The rear window of the Mercedes shattered.

Her body jerked in shock.

“Shit,” Tanner said. He pushed down on her shoulders. “Get down, get down, they’ve got guns. And for God’s sake,
drive!
”

Sirens were sounding in the distance, but Tanner didn’t want to wait for the cavalry. Not when the black hats had knives, guns, and an unnatural fixation on his woman.

“Drive, Hannah!” he urged her again.

“But I can’t see.”

He didn’t ease up on her shoulders, even as he reached over to put the car into gear himself. “Press the gas and turn the wheel left.”

Horns honked, he felt the Mercedes bounce off another vehicle as if they were playing bumper cars, and then he risked another peek over the dashboard. “Left, left, left!” he yelled. “Hit the gas and go left!”

Hannah’s inner Mario Andretti complied to his order and she accelerated, whipping them onto a side street. Then, her eyes barely peeking over the steering wheel, she took another turn.

And another.

“Good, good.” His tongue had thickened and his right arm was going cold. A police car passed them, sirens blazing, heading in the opposite direction. Grimacing at the clumsy heaviness of his torso, he half turned so he could watch the road behind them. “No one’s following.”

Hannah had a death grip on the steering wheel. “Do you think the police have caught them?”

“Yeah.” He had no idea. Holding back a groan, he used his left hand to fish inside his front pocket. Then he dropped his cell phone in Hannah’s lap, hoping she wouldn’t notice he had blood on that hand too.

“Look, if you get back on Orange at the next intersection and head toward the bridge, you’ll find the
hospital. There are signs that lead you to the emergency room.” Black dots were doing water gymnastics on the inner surface of his eyelids. “Call…call 911 if you get lost.”

And then
he
was lost to the black dots as they coalesced into complete darkness.

Tanner came awake to the smell and sounds of hospital. He was too tired to open his eyes, so his other senses registered what they could: that plastic, puke, and paperwork scent, the muted clap of rubber soles on squeaky linoleum, the raspy texture of hospital linens beneath his hand, the disgusting taste of old saliva in his mouth.

He needed a piece of gum or a breath mint, he thought. Maybe Finn—

No. He wasn’t in the hospital to visit Finn. That was last year and Finn had been released months ago. So who was he visiting and why had he fallen asleep in a hospital bed? Someone was going to be mad…

Hannah.

Hannah.

His mouth was too dry to speak, so he gathered his will and peeled open his eyes. It was daylight and damn bright in the hospital room. He had to squint as the sun moved through the windows, dazzling him, yet illuminating a standing figure looking out through the glass.

Hannah.

His pulse settled back and he let his eyelids fall to half-mast. It was all right, then.
She
was all right. They’d both made it.

He worked his tongue around, trying to loosen it up as fresh saliva flooded his mouth and he swallowed to lubricate his throat. Hannah continued standing at the window, and he let his eyes close again, drifting for a moment.

He’d been doing that for the last year, drifting on the tide of last January’s calamity, feeling powerless and resentful and as if he should have been able to stop Ayesha from being killed, from Finn losing his eye, from he himself being looked upon as a fool.