He rushed them, nearly leaping over Patty in his eagerness.
Tanner was already drawing her backward. "Get the hell away from us," he told the man. His hand found Hannah's, squeezed. "Run, sweetheart. Run run run."
Chapter 18
With Hannah in tow, Tanner sprinted toward the parking lot at the other end of the block.
"What is it?" Her breathless voice made him slow his pace. "Who is it?"
"Later." He zigged around a couple stretched out on a blanket, then zagged around two dogs tangled in their own leashes. Glancing behind him, he saw the fat clown with the camera getting hung up on the pooches. Yeah, good, go down on your intrusive, ugly face.
With his Mercedes in sight, he poured on a little more speed. Hannah tripped, and he tightened his grip and tightened his arm, keeping her upright. They had to get in the car and get out of here. More tabloid attention would only further screw his chances with the Secret Ser vice. He could read the goddamn screaming headlines now: Agent Dumps Dez For Different Darling!
How he'd hate to see Hannah's lovely face front-paged on a tabloid.
Continuing to move, he fished in his front pocket for his keys. They didn't cooperate, so he slowed as he neared his back bumper. His fingertips found metal. Yanking his ring free, he stepped toward the passenger side. "Come on, sweetheart."
A car shrieked to a stop behind his. Focused on fitting key to lock, Tanner only then realized Hannah wasn't right beside him. He yanked open the door, cursing as he saw her leaning against the back bumper, one shoe in her hand, her startled gaze fixed on the dark sedan and the second paparazzo sliding his torso out the window to get a photo.
"Head down," he ordered her, then leaped forward and pushed against her neck so the guy wouldn't get a clear shot of her face. With her hair hanging down toward her knees, she let him pull her to the passenger seat and shove her inside.
Then he slammed her in and rolled across the hood of the Mercedes to get to the driver's door. Hannah unlocked it for him and he dove in, relocking it behind him.
"Get down, get down," he told her. "Pull your hair over your face."
The car hummed to life and he jerked it into Reverse. Hannah gasped.
"Head down," he ordered again. "They'll move, don't worry."
He gunned the engine, letting the assholes know he meant business. Then he let off the brake and shot back, just as the dark sedan jolted forward with mere inches to spare.
Tanner spun the wheel left and then threw the car into Drive. It jumped at his command, avoiding the last-minute cutoff maneuver of an open Jeep in which Paparazzo Clown Number One was riding shotgun.
Christ. They always hunted in packs, like jackals.
He turned onto Orange and then made another quick right, then left, intent on losing any who dared follow. Two turns later he glanced at his companion.
Curled over her knees, she had her hands on top of her head in a classic duck-and-cover position. He remembered her fear of car accidents.
His adrenaline high crashed.
"Sweetheart. Hannah." He spoke in a calm, sure tone, though inside he suddenly felt as shaky as his fingers as they reached over to touch her hair. "It's okay now. You can sit up and buckle your seat belt."
He checked in the rearview mirror and took yet another turn. In seconds they were traveling eastward across the Coronado Bridge. Some days the island was just too small. "We've lost them."
She slowly sat up and reached for the seat belt harness. "Lost who?"
"Tabloid photographers. Freelance guys. They show up every few months, trying to catch Dezi and me together."
"Then maybe you should have let them take our photo. It could've squelched the rumors about you two."
"No. Not only would you like being the center of attention a lot less than you're thinking, but...but...just no." She was his private woman. His. Alarmed at the thought, he shook it out of his head.
Her little sigh had him glancing over again. "Damn," he muttered, hating the paleness of her features. On the other side of the bay he whipped into the first fast food drive-through he spotted and ordered a supersized, sugar-laden Coke.
He shoved it at her and then pulled into a parking space so she could drink and not stress about his driving. "Swallow that down, sweetheart. It will make you feel better."
But what was going to make him feel better?
He'd