Not Another New Year’s (6 page)

“Aren’t you going to get out and knock on the
door?” Desirée asked as Hannah didn’t stir from her seat.

She swallowed around that great lump that was threatening to strangle her. Confronting the person on the other side was her secret desire and the real motivation behind her solo trip. “I…I want to.”

“Well, then do it.”

Hannah sighed. Desirée made it sound so simple, when knocking on that door was something that she’d been fantasizing about for months, ever since one of her friends happened to let slip the name of the town. Though she’d tried to talk herself out of it for a solid week, eight days after hearing “Coronado,” she’d been Googling with the limited information she had.

Some mouse clicks later, and with the Taft Street address tattooed on her brain, she’d known what she had to do.

What she had to do right now.

Taking a deep breath, she popped open the door and stepped onto the cracked sidewalk. The short front walk felt as long as a church aisle, and she was more nervous than any bride. Her fingers were so cold they felt stiff as she curled them into a fist to knock on the front door.

She couldn’t hear footsteps on the other side over the loud
wump-wump-wump
of her heart.

The wait for a response seemed interminable.

Maybe it truly was interminable, because Desirée tooted her horn, and when Hannah looked around, the other woman mimed knocking again. Hannah did.

But it was the door of the small house next door
that opened. A little old man peered out at her, cracking his rusted screen to get a better look.

“You need something?” he croaked.

A new year, a new me, so many things, Hannah thought. She said, “I’m, uh, looking for Caroline?”

“Oh.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t live there anymore.”

“She moved?”

“Yep. A month or so back.”

Disappointment churned the coffee in her stomach. Hannah placed her hand over her belly. “You don’t happen to know where she went, do you?” She still had time off before school started again. If she could get a location, and then ID and credit cards and clothes, she could still track down the other woman. It was that important.

“I don’t know her new address,” the man said. “I’m sorry.”

Hannah smiled—because that’s what pleasers like her did, even when they wanted to cry. “Don’t worry about it. Thanks anyway.” Shoving her fingers in the pockets of her jeans, she turned toward Desirée and the waiting car.

“But she’s somewhere nearby,” the old man called out.

Hannah spun back. “What?”

“She’s somewhere around town. I’ve seen her at the park a few times since she moved. I saw her there just two days ago, as a matter of fact. I think she goes early in the mornings.”

“The park. In the mornings.”

“That’s right,” the man said. “The park on Orange.”

Hannah gave him another smile—a genuine one this time—and waved at him as she settled into the passenger seat of the BMW. “She’s moved,” she reported to Desirée. “But she’s somewhere in town. Her old neighbor saw her just days ago.”

“Then you’ll find her,” Desirée said, jumping on the gas so that the BMW leaped back into the street. “You can’t let the opportunity go by.”

No, Hannah couldn’t, she realized.

Despite the disasters of the last fifteen or so hours, she couldn’t leave just yet. Confronting Caroline—inspecting, comparing, coming to some sort of understanding of where Hannah had gone wrong and what special power the other woman possessed (at least in Duncan’s eyes)—had become even more important than getting on with her life.

T
anner tipped back his favorite chair at his favorite table in his favorite corner of Hart’s. Though the front door was unlocked, the sign posted on it still read closed, and he followed suit with his eyes, allowing himself to absorb the peace and quiet. Though he’d been bored out of his gourd these last months working for his brother, at the moment he welcomed the stillness.

He needed it to come up with a plan. Though he might be out of practice, he didn’t doubt that he would. Secret Ser vice duty wasn’t all dark suits, dark glasses, and taking down dangerous guys. They spent hours on advance work, scrutinizing the where and the how of potential threats to a protectee. Then there were the AOPs—“attack on the principal” drills—to prepare and rehearse.

Security ran from the sublime to the mundane. When the Secret Ser vice was charged with someone’s protection, there were hundreds of details to attend to, including coordinating and securing all the protectee’s transportation, mail, and luggage. Hannah Davis wasn’t the president of the United States, but Tanner couldn’t afford to give her any less attention than he would the person who held the highest office in America.

When he and Finn had been assigned the White House detail, they’d watched with stoic calm as the president did everything from eating ice cream with his kids, to screaming at his staff, to taking catnaps at his desk. Surely, Tanner could retain that same professional detachment when dealing with one farm-fresh schoolteacher.

He pictured Hannah with a spoon and a hot fudge sundae. She’d pluck the cherry from the mountain of whipped cream first, opening her mouth to suck off a smear of fluffy white. It would leave a dab of cream on the deep bow of her upper lip, and from his position in the corner he’d see her pink, wet tongue curl out to—

“There he is!”

His eyes popped open and his chair wobbled on two legs a second before crashing down on all four. He grabbed the edge of the small table sliding away from him and yanked it back to cover the half-hard result of his little impromptu fantasy.

“Christ, Dez,” he grumbled, narrowing his eyes at the two women who’d entered the bar. “That’s twice in one day. Haven’t you heard of knocking first?”

Desirée looked unrepentant, Hannah a bit anxious.
Tanner was struck by their superficial similarity again, especially with Hannah in obvious Desirée-wear: a pair of white sailor-type pants, tight at the hip and wide at the ankle, worn with flat red shoes and a blue, hooded jacket on top.

Lust flared inside him again, and he nearly groaned out loud. What was it about her? Or maybe it was that outfit. During his formative adolescent years he’d hidden a
Playboy
pinup beneath the American flag tacked to the wall opposite his bed. No wonder red, white, and blue got a rise out of him.

In a nervous movement, Hannah smoothed her palms down the front of her thighs. Just like that, he remembered the flowery scent of her skin as he ran his tongue down her long legs. Christ. Here he went again, hardening into that one-gun salute.

Clearing his throat, he forced his gaze off her and onto Dez. “Everything all right?” he asked.

“Sure.” But she looked a little twitchy now too. “Where’s, um, Troy?”

“Troy is right here,” his brother boomed out, swinging shut the bar’s front door. “The real question is, why are you?”

Her chin jerked up. “I—”

“How many times do I have to throw you out, princess, before you get the message you’re not wanted?”

Dez flinched. “I hear you loud and clear, Troy.”

“She’s doing me a favor, bro,” Tanner interjected. “Lay off, all right?”

Troy stalked farther into the room, his eyes only for Desirée. Hannah backed off to give him space,
and her movement caught his gaze. He halted, blinking. “Hello.” He sent Tanner a puzzled look.

“Why don’t you serve yourself and Hannah a soft drink or something, Dez,” Tanner suggested. Maybe he’d have better luck uncovering that plan he needed if he talked it over with Troy.

“Groovy,” the woman answered. “Come with me, Hannah.” She headed toward the bar on the other side of the room.

“Don’t mess with anything,” Troy called out.

She smiled sweetly at him over her shoulder. “Just your mind, big man. Just your mind.”

Tanner kicked out a chair. “Sit down.”

His brother obeyed, dropping heavily into place, then adjusting his position so he could keep an eye on the women. “What the hell are you doing, Tanner? Isn’t that the honey you waltzed out of here with last night on the way to a New Year’s shagathon?”

Honey. Yeah. She’d tasted so damn sweet. He cleared his throat again. “More like she’s my carrot.”

Troy frowned. “Say what?”

“I made a little mistake in my choice of anonymous, one-night shagees. I didn’t discover until this morning she’s the niece of Geoff Brooks.”

Troy looked blank.

“You know, the Secret Ser vice’s Special Agent in Charge of the San Diego office, Geoff Brooks? My former boss?”

“Ouch,” Troy said. “But—”

The television over the bar blared to life, shifting his attention from Tanner. At the other side of the room Desirée had filled a couple of glasses with ice
and liquid and she now was using the controls to switch the TV station from ESPN. Basketball lost out to some soap opera, complete with soaring violin music and entwined limbs on satin sheets.

“Who gave you permission to touch the remote?” Troy yelled over the noise.

Dez gave him another of her saccharine smiles and raised her voice as the music climaxed. “We’ll make a deal, okay? Next time you’re over at my place, I’ll let you play with my vibrator.”

Tanner shot his brother a look. “
Next
time?”

Troy’s face was ruddy, though it wasn’t clear whether it was in reaction to the pointed question or Desirée’s mention of the personal appliance. “Forget that,” he responded in a gruff voice. “I gave her a ride once. And we were talking about you. What does it matter that your honey—”

“Hannah.”

“—Hannah is something to Brooks?”

Tanner pretended he could smile about it. “Before he left on his ski vacation last week, he asked me to do him a favor while he’s gone. I agreed to be her tour guide.”

His gaze wandered to the bar again. Standing with her back to him, Hannah had her elbows on the bar and her head tilted toward the overhead TV. Her long dark hair hung low on her back, halfway to that tempting—
forbidden
—peach of her ass.

“Then grab a cocktail napkin and draw her a map,” Troy suggested. “It’s not like she can get herself lost on Coronado.”

Tanner grimaced. “She already lost her luggage and her purse.” He explained to his brother what
had happened to her at the airport, and made a mental note to check in with the Lindbergh Field authorities the next day. “Dez offered her clothes and a temporary place to stay.”

“So your obligation’s complete.”

“It’s not quite so easy as that.” Nothing had been in months. His life used to be how he liked it—interesting, meaningful work, a woman when he had the itch, family around when he had time for a home-cooked meal or when he felt like kicking back and drinking beers with his brothers. Then, in the blink of a camera’s eye, he’d lost control of it.

“I told you Hannah’s my carrot.
If
I take good care of the female package Geoff left in my trust,
then
he’ll take good care of me.”

Though unspoken, he and his boss had made that agreement. With Tanner’s penance almost a year old, if he made Hannah Davis’s trip successful, then he would get his heart’s desire.

Troy narrowed his gaze and his eyes gleamed like his shaved head in the overhead lights. “Brooks is finally letting you back in the Secret Ser vice, then. It’s about time.”

“Give him some credit. He could have accepted my resignation right after the assassination attempt.”

“Instead he put you on indefinite leave, when we both know who was at fault for that kiss seen ’round the world.” Troy sent a look toward Desirée that should have scorched the linoleum.

“Hey, that could be my wife you’re setting on fire with your glare,” Tanner said, then tried not to laugh at his brother’s classic double take.

“Huh?”

“Desirée asked me to marry her this morning.” Now that he thought about it, maybe he could use Dez’s guilt to get him something he really wanted—that how-to-handle-Hannah plan. If he demanded, surely Dez would be his partner in the tour business for the next ten days. If he was never alone with Hannah’s pouty red mouth and those incredible long legs, then maybe he could forget about his hunger to have them both wrapped around certain of his body parts.

“Well?”

Tanner blinked at his brother, who was red-faced again. Was that steam coming out of his ears? “Well, what?”

“Are you marrying the princess?”

“Am I—
no!
” For God’s sake, he was just days away from getting his life back under his own control. He wouldn’t screw up that in dependence for Desirée, or any woman, for that matter. “This isn’t the time in my life for romance, that’s shit for sure.”

Troy sat back in his chair with a satisfied air. “Just checking.”

“Do I look stupid? She’s beautiful and rich, but—”

“Also shallow and spoiled and in need of some discipline.” Troy nodded to himself, and Tanner didn’t forget that his older brother had spent years drilling brand-new Marines.

He cleared his throat. “Troy. Bro. Dez is not one of your raw recruits. You can’t—”

A crash jerked both their heads toward the bar. Beside it had stood a six-foot stack of plastic racks holding clean barware, ready to be put away. Now
half were knocked over, and dozens of broken glasses were shattered at Desirée’s feet.

She looked up, her eyes wide and fastened on Troy’s face. “I’m sorry. I was demonstrating to Hannah a new dance move I saw at a club the other night and…” Her shoulders shrugged.

Troy shot up, his chair legs screeching against the clean floor like fingernails on a chalkboard. He flicked a glance toward Tanner. “What were you about to say? That I can’t whip her into shape? Well, I sure as hell can try.”

Then he stalked toward the bar, the room heating up as he approached. Tanner followed his brother, taking in Hannah’s expression, which looked as wary as his might be if he didn’t know his brother so well.

Crossing his arms over his wide chest, Troy came to a halt before the mess of broken barware, his legs splayed wide, his burning gaze trained on Desirée.

She swallowed hard but stood her ground. “I can pay for the damage,” she said quickly.

“Oh, you will, princess,” Troy said, his voice deadly soft.

Hannah looked up in some alarm as Tanner reached her. He tried to reassure her with a smile as he wrapped his hand around her wrist. His orders via her uncle, showing her a good time in good ol’ Coronado, certainly shouldn’t start off with what ever knockdown, drag-out Troy had in mind for Desirée. It wasn’t going to be physical, of course, but it probably wasn’t going to be pretty either.

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” he said.

And only once they were out the bar’s door and
into the January Southern California sunshine did he remember he’d already blown his plan.

They were alone again. And he was going to have to keep control of himself if he was going to regain control of his life.