Reluctant Runaway Read Online Free Page A

standing over them. “George Whitcomb as George Washington,” the guy had said when he introduced himself. Tony hefted Max and stood up. He took two steps, and a fist slammed his shoulder. He looked down.
    Max’s face glowed like a fire engine. “Put me down, you lummox! People are starin’.”
    “They’re storing because you fainted.”
    “Texans don’t faint.”
    “Then you did a world-class imitation.” He set her on her feet.
    “Tony-y-y how can you be so cold?” Desi scooted by, glaring.
    “Hey, I’m the one who caught—”
    She skewered him with her eyes, then turned her back on him and hugged her friend. The women buried their faces on each other’s shoulders.
    Desi and Max whispered together. Something was off here. Not because one wore the kind of dress over the sort of figure that made a man forget his name and the other crashed theparty in a sweatshirt, blue jeans, and furry bedroom slippers. Get a load of those!
    But no, that wasn’t the issue. It’d take total chaos to send down-to-earth Maxine Webb into hysterics and do-or-die Desi into shock.
    Tony stepped forward, but Whitcomb/Washington swooped in and herded the women toward a door. The ladies went without argument. Tony followed, invited or not. The aide took them to a small room furnished with a sofa and a couple of stuffed chairs.
    The white-wigged aide waved toward the furniture. “Shall we all sit?” He might be a pompous little housefly, but he had a way with social crises.
    Desi settled Max onto the sofa. The redhead doubled over and rocked back and forth. Bits of phrases reached Tony’s ears.
    “I can’t handle this … not again … family curse.
    The Queen of Sheba beamed at the pseudo first president of the United States. “May we have a moment? We have a few things to sort out here.”
    “Yes, of course. Not a problem.” The aide cast a glance at Tony. He frowned back. King Solomon was
not
about to budge.
    Desi nodded in Tony’s direction. “He can stay.”
    Nice of her.
    “Very good.” Whitcomb/Washington dipped his head and went to the door. A Secret Service agent Tony hadn’t noticed before stepped from the shadows.
    The aide leaned toward him. “ … breach of security. Find out how … ” The men slipped away.
    Sooner or later, pointed questions would come. Wild-eyed women in street clothes didn’t barge into a White House bash without knocking the pins out from under everyone.
    Max sat huddled, silent now. Desi stared at her with a helpless expression.
    Desiree Jacobs helpless? Anger spurted. Whatever caused the problem wasn’t acceptable. He’d have to fix it.
    She looked up at him. “In the ballroom, Max told me she got some bad news tonight. A loss in her family—”
    Ice bit his gut. “Not one of the kids!”
    “No, but it involves a—”
    “I’ll tell.” Max sat up, tears streaking her face. “I acted like a nut coming here, but I couldn’t think … ” She shook her head. “I didn’t know who else I could trust. Just you two.”
    That trust sat heavy. Max had been through a lot. Enough to cure most people of trusting anybody.
    The Texan pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I kept sayin’ to myself, ‘If I can get to Desi and Tony, everything will be all right.’ But that was silly.” Her green eyes dulled. “No one can fix this. It’s a family curse. I thought I’d ducked the disaster, but it got me. And now my niece has run off, leavin’ a baby … ” Max’s voice broke. “Her four-month-old son is without a mama, and her husband has no clue where his wife is.”
    Tony frowned. Nice wad of information. But that “family curse” thing?
    “Curse!” Desi plopped down beside Max. “What kind of hoodoo are you talking?”
    “Oh, not some horror flick stuff.” The redhead slumped. “This thing is a bitter joke with us. We call our track record with marriage ‘the family curse.’ “
    Tony narrowed his eyes. “The rate of failed marriages is around 50 percent. How far off