Reluctant Runaway (2 page)

Low-voiced grumbles answered her, foreground and background.

Grinning, Desi switched off the walkie-talkie and loped—er,
limped
for the elevator.

If Supervisory Special Agent Anthony Lucano of the Boston office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation wanted to walk into the White House ballroom with her on his arm, she didn’t intend to disappoint him. And she sure didn’t want him to catch a whiff of her derring-do tonight. That would be asking for trouble in paradise.

Clad in nothing but her shower towel, Desi brushed a final stroke of genuine Egyptian kohl onto her left eyelid. An awkward activity with one hand, but Max had the other trapped on the bathroom vanity counter, doing a warp-speed job on Desi’s fingernails.

Good thing her shoulder-length hairstyle was wash-and-go. All she needed with her costume was the gemstone-studded headdress. The attached set of false bangs matched her sable-brown hair. She lifted the piece from the hotel bathroom vanity and held it to her head. The bangles dripping from the sides swayed and sparkled, highlighting the shades of green and gold in her hazel eyes.

Ooooh, Tony was gonna love this.

Max glanced up from her bent-over position. “Give me a sec, and I’ll pin that on.”

Desi set the headdress down and picked up one of a set of amber hairpins that had belonged to the mother she’d lost to a car accident when she was a baby. Her father, world-renowned security expert Hiram Jacobs, gave the pins and other jewelry heirlooms to Desi shortly before his murder four months and two days ago.

Daddy, did you already know you were a target?

Her vision darkened. To lose a parent in an accident hurt, even though she’d been too young to remember. To have one stolen by a killer …

Hot pain seared through her insides.

“Hey! Hold still.” Max clicked her tongue. “What have you done to your fingertips? Looks like you lost a fight with a blackboard.”

“A brick wall. And I won.”

“Ai-yi-yi!” Max screwed the top on the polish bottle. “Let’s get you into that neck-snappin’ dress. One look at the Queen of Sheba and the guy’ll need a brain transplant to think straight.”

Desiree laughed. If only she could cheer Max up so easily. “Better not distract him too much. The poor man wants his gray matter working. The director of the FBI will be there, and Tony’s got a sweat on to make a good impression for his office. Budget time and all that.”

Max lifted a corner of her mouth. “He could stand on his head and whistle Dixie. He’s got to be flavor of the year after haulin’ in a top al Qaeda operative, alive and kickin’.”

“You’d be surprised how fast such things are forgotten in Washington. But it’s significant that his office chose an agent who’s only thirty-five and just climbing into supervisory level to attend such a highbrow function. He’s getting favorable notice, all right.”

In a flurry of fabric, Desi let Max help her into the shimmering emerald gown of watered silk. The high-waisted style copied Anne Baxter’s costume when she played Nefretiri in Cecille B. DeMille’s tour de force
The Ten Commandments
.

“Sit down by the table, and we’ll add the crownin’ touch.” Max waved the headdress.

Desi saluted and took a seat. Fingers played in her hair, not once jabbing her scalp with a fastener.

“A fine piece of work if I do say so myself.” Max stepped back. Then she knelt and picked up the shoes that matched Desi’s gown.

“Hey, you don’t have to treat me like Cinderella. I can put those on myself.” Desi snatched at the footwear.

Max avoided her and grabbed Desi’s right heel. “As I thought. You’ve got a big toe turnin’ black-and-blue.”

“I swear I’ll tell all when we’ve got time.” Desi bent the digit
and winced. “At least I chose to wear the Persian slippers instead of the strappy sandals.”

Max sniffed. “You’ll have to throw in a funky hip sway to convince anyone that your limp is a fashion statement.”

“Call me Forrest Gump.”

“Run, Forrest, run!” Max chuckled like her old self.

Desi would take ten jammed toes to get another reaction like that.

Feet encased in the slippers, she rose and Betty Boop-wiggled across the room. She glanced over her shoulder. Max lay on the floor, clutching her sides and wheezing.

Man, she’s lost weight
. Max used to fit the cliché
pleasingly plump
. Now …

They’d talk about it later. “How’s that?” She batted the false eyelashes that made her lids feel sultry.

“Works … for me … You’ll just have to … fool Tony.”

Not going to happen. The man was born with an extra set of eyes and trained to use them. She’d have to fess up sooner or later. Later would be fine. He hated when she walked into danger. Ironic. Considering his occupation, she’s the one who should lecture about risks.

“I wish you were going along tonight.” She helped Max up.

“Why? So I can distract the big boy from your bad deeds?”

Desi stuck out her tongue. “No, so you can get out of this hotel for something besides work. We’re in the capital of the U.S. of A. for crying out loud.”

“Like we’ve never been here before?”

A chill breathed over the room. Their eyes met. Too true. They’d shared the same glass of fear and loathing on the trail of Hiram Jacobs’s murderer.

Max began to pick up discarded clothes. “I need to call home and find out how Mom’s doin’ with the kids. When I
called this mornin’, she told me Grandpa Steve was comin’ over to take them out to a matinee.”

She bracketed the words “Grandpa Steve” with two pairs of finger swipes. They grinned at each other.

“The Lord has a colossal sense of humor.” Desi laughed. “Who’d have thought Tony’s Godzilla of an ex-partner would take a shine to a pair of little kids? Even kids as cute as yours. That bullet in the chest must have been a wake-up call for the Man with the Iron Heart.”

Max shook her head. “He’s been a miracle for us, steppin’ in when … ” She cleared her throat and went back to housekeeping.

A rap sounded at the door.

“Showtime!” Max opened the door with a flourish.

Tony’s tall frame filled the entrance. Desi’s breath quivered in her throat.
Oh, mercy!
King Solomon never looked so fine.

Who would have guessed she’d swoon over her twenty-first-century agent-man in a beard and Middle Eastern robes? The Hebrew amulet that hung from a chain around his neck matched the color scheme of her headdress. Max must have advised him on that. An understated gold circlet framed wavy black hair cut too short to be period perfect. But who cared?

Desi stepped forward. A white smile split the dark beard. His brown eyes widened into a stare that set a pedestal under her feet and turned her limbs to warm taffy so she could tumble off her exalted perch straight into his arms.

Max smirked, and Desi could almost hear her thought—
Neck-snappin’, oh yeah!

Tony stepped over the threshold, his thoughts also clear. By sheer willpower, Desi put a hand on his chest and stopped him.

“Rain check.” Her voice came out husky. “My lipstick looks better on me for now.”

His muscled ribs expanded under her palm, then relaxed.
Tony smiled and offered his arm. Desi curled a hand around his elbow, and they paraded past a grinning Max into the hall.

“Have fun, kiddies.”

Tony lifted a hand in a backward wave.

Desi glanced at her friend.
Thank you
, she mouthed. Then she looked up at the man beside her. Way up. The top of her head broke even with his square shoulder. The sharp planes of his profile made him more a rough-hewn Marlon Brando than a refined Robert Redford. She inhaled a deep breath of her date’s sandalwood scent.

Tony chuckled as they neared the elevator. “I intend to collect on that rain check.”

“And I intend to let you.”

His gaze darted toward the floor and then back to her face. “Are you hurt?”

Drat, the man was sharp. “Close encounter with a wall in the dark.”

Tony’s sideways glance promised more than a heated embrace. She knew that set to his jaw. He meant to worm the facts out of her or eat his badge.

Let the battle of wits begin. Desi grinned on the inside. When she was with him, even if she lost she won. If they weren’t both committed to respecting each other and God, they’d be deep into a torrid, steamy affair by now. Maybe someday they could have a torrid, steamy marriage.

Desi’s cheeks heated, and she turned her face as they entered the empty elevator. There she went, thinking the M word again. Mere months ago, she and Tony had been adversaries. Then they became allies. Now much more. But she couldn’t assume he wanted a permanent commitment. Besides, she still knew little about him—except that she adored him. The guy was an expert at avoiding personal topics, about
himself, that is. For sure, they had things to work on.

The M word could wait.

Tony’s arm circled her waist, and he lifted her chin, a knowing crook to his mouth. She narrowed her eyes. Should she slap away the smirk or yank off his crown and muss his hair?

He nuzzled the tender skin under her left ear. “A little something to tide me over.”

His false beard tickled, and the air in Desi’s lungs turned to helium.

“You smell great.” Tony lifted his head, dark gaze intense. He rubbed the side of her jaw with his thumb. “You know you drive me nuts figuring out what crazy business you’ve been up to.”

So he’d guessed she’d done a caper tonight. Too bad she couldn’t promise never again to take chances. He’d have to accept her for who she was and what she did for a living, or they wouldn’t make it as a couple.

He smiled, laugh lines creasing his tanned face. “You couldn’t shake me off your trail before, my queen. And you won’t succeed now.”

Desi stood a few feet away and studied Tony as he visited with Director Richard Harcourt of the FBI and a senior presidential aide. The director made a formidable Roman Emperor Constantine and the aide a dapper George Washington.

“They’re grooming him,” said a voice in her ear.

Desi turned to meet the amused hazel eyes of a blunt-mannered man she’d met at the hors d’oeuvres table. His massive build and shiny moon face fit a Jabba the Hutt impersonation better than the Darth Vader costume.

“Hamilton Gordon?”

The man nodded double chins. “Very good, my dear.
Almost as skilled as a federal agent at matching faces and names. The talent will serve you well if you’re going to stick with him all the way to the top.” He inclined his blond head toward Tony’s group. “I own a corporation, and I know the signs when the powers-that-be have plans for someone.” He winked.

Desi’s gaze darted to the group of men. Did the director have an acquisitive gleam in his eye? Constantine put a hand on Solomon’s shoulder, and the king leaned toward the emperor. Director Harcourt stood inches shorter, but no observer with a grain of sense could misinterpret the picture of a superior showing interest in his subordinate—except someone too distracted by the flutters of her heart. She’d missed the obvious.

What did this development mean? To her? To Tony? Her roots, not to mention the headquarters of her business, were in Boston. Comprehension sent gooseflesh up her bare arms. An FBI agent didn’t control his destiny. Tony could be transferred to the Washington office, the most coveted post in the Bureau, in a heartbeat. But the professional coup would mean a long-distance romance for them. The odds of such a romance lasting were dismal, especially when half of the couple thought communication was a one-way street.

Her stomach clenched.

As if sensing her turmoil, Tony whirled, but his stare went past her shoulder. Desi looked around. Hamilton Gordon was gone. A red-eyed Max staggered toward them, face pale, freckles standing out like pepper in porridge.

“Max!”

“T-trouble,” her friend croaked and crumpled forward.

  Two

T
ony dashed past Desi’s open-mouthed stare just as Max went down. For a second he thought he was too late, but he managed to catch Desi’s friend before she hit the floor.

Desi knelt beside him. “Oh, Max!”

“Bring the woman this way.”

Tony looked up to find the White House aide 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 the
party 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 is your family?”

“With my niece’s disappearance? Try 100 percent. Dean and I used to be an exception, but now I don’t have a marriage except in name. Everyone else is widowed or divorced, sometimes
more than once. Same song, second verse, for generations.”

Tony whistled. If he were hot on a case, he’d call that consistency a strong chain of evidence. But evidence of what? He sat in a chair by the sofa. “Start from the beginning, and give us—”

“—the facts, ma’am, nothing but the facts.”

Tony shot her a look. Guys had a few “looks” in their arsenal, too. Desi clamped her mouth shut; Max gave a husky chuckle. The mood in the room lightened. Probably Desi’s intention. Smart lady.

The smile faded from Max’s face. “Here’s the scoop then.” She folded her hands on her lap like a witness on the stand. “I was in bed, and the phone rang around midnight. No problem. I wasn’t asleep. Not unusual these days.” Her gaze lowered. “But I wondered who’d call at that hour. Thought maybe it was you or Des, but it was my sister Jo from Albuquerque, bawlin’ her eyes out.” Max moaned. “I hurt so ba-a-ad for her.”

Okay, derail the tears and get back on track. “So Jo’s daughter is gone?”

“Right. Her name is Karen, Jo’s only child. I’ve prayed hard over that girl. She used to run with a rough crowd, an outlaw motorcycle gang. Then she met Brent Webb. He coaxed her to visit his church singles group. She found a new bunch of friends, broke away from the gang, put her life in the Lord’s hands, married Brent, and—”

“Wait just a New York second!” Desi sounded as confused as he felt. “Is this Dean’s brother Brent Webb?”

Max nodded.

“Your niece is married to your husband’s brother?” Desi’s voice rose a notch.

“It’s not illegal or immoral.” Max glared.

Desi shook her head. “No, but a tad on the odd side. How come you never told me?”

Max’s stiffness melted. “I meant to. You were out of the country on that Madrid job when this whirlwind romance grafted the family trees. By the time you got home, the elopement wasn’t at the top of my mind anymore. Then things got crazy with the FBI castin’ suspicions on HJ Securities about art theft and … ” Max shrugged.

Tony rubbed his chin. “You say your niece ran off, but you’ve also termed it a disappearance. Did your niece leave of her own accord, or is foul play suspected?”

“The police don’t know
what
to think. Karen’s purse is gone, but all her clothes are hangin’ in the closet. Their clunker of a second car is missin’, but the baby was still in his crib. How could any mother run off and leave her newborn alone in the house?”

No answer he cared to share on that one. He’d seen too much of the seamy side. “If she left on her own, why would she have done it? Do you blame yourself?”

Desi stared at him like he’d lost his mind, but tears flowed down Max’s face.

“You think the scandal about Dean wrecked your niece’s marriage.” He made his words a conclusion, not a question.

Max hugged herself. “I don’t know. Maybe our mess gave someone … ideas.” Her voice came out muddy “I can’t take this again.” She dropped her arms to her sides. “Maybe Dean’s family has a curse, too. Native American artifacts were stolen from the New Mexico Museum of Art and Anthropology, and a guard is in the hospital. Karen and Brent are suspects. She’s a receptionist, and he’s an archaeology graduate student interning at the museum. Her running off seems suspicious to the police. And if she didn’t run … if she was taken … it still looks as if she knew—”

A movement caught Tony’s eye, and shock jolted through
him. He cut Max off with a lift of the hand and leaped to his feet. “President Curtis.”

Dressed as King Arthur, the lean, shrewd-eyed president of the United States stepped toward them. George Washington trailed at his heels, and Emperor Constantine strode behind. Flat-faced Secret Service agents took up posts by the door.

Max’s mouth hung open, and Desi’s eyes went huge. The women rose in slow motion.

“Agent Lucano. Miss Jacobs. Mrs. Webb.” The president’s gaze halted on Max, who looked like she’d be happy to melt into the upholstery.

Tony stuck out his hand. “Mr. President. It’s an honor.” Whatever salvo the commander in chief meant to fire, he’d take the first hit.

President Curtis returned a firm grip. “The honor is mine. Your quick thinking last June saved countless lives. Rick has breaking news about what al Khayr meant to try. He can take you aside and tell you.” He glanced at the FBI director and then at the women. “But now, I crave an audience with these fair ladies.” A weathered cheek creased into his trademark one-sided smile.

Max’s face went as bright as her hair. Desi flushed, but held out her hand, palm down. President Curtis chuckled and bowed over it.

Desi laughed. “Your costume wears you well, Mr. President.”

“Likewise, Ms. Jacobs.” Both sides of the president’s mouth lifted, a look not often seen in media appearances.

Tony’s chest filled. His Desi could charm the stripes off a zebra.

President Curtis studied her face. “So this is the woman who KO’d one of the most dangerous men in the world.”

Desi went as pink as Max.

“My Secret Service detail talked about little else for days.” The president leaned closer. “They think I don’t know what interests them beyond guarding me.” He shot a glance at the agents by the door. The barest ripple betrayed a reaction.

“And Maxine Webb.” The president took one of her hands and patted it. “I received a detailed report of the matter. You were wounded for your country. If I had an award to give for your valor and pain, you’d have it. Will you accept the thanks of a grateful nation?”

Max blinked like she was waking up. “Mr. President, I’m overwhelmed. Truly My shoulder doesn’t hurt a speck. Honest.” She rolled it back and forth. “But how can you say—I mean, you shouldn’t be
thankin’
me. My hus—”

“I’m aware of your circumstances, Mrs. Webb. Like I said, you sustained loss in service to your country, and we’re indebted to your honesty and courage.”

As if a lifeline of oxygen flowed from the president’s grip, Max seemed to inflate. What was that change on her face?

Tony’s voting stance for the next election did a 180. He might not agree with some of this president’s positions, but only a great leader would take the time to return an ordinary citizen her self-respect on a silver platter.

“Now suppose you tell me what brought you here tonight.” The president spoke in that tone of warm command familiar from public broadcasts.

This should be good. Tony moved closer.

Max and Desi started to talk at once. They stopped, glanced at each other, and laughed.

From the corner of his eye, Tony caught a motion from Director Harcourt. Blast! He followed the director to a corner away from the women and the president.

“A major attack on this country has been stopped.”
Harcourt kept his voice low. “Sarin gas was to have been released in the Manhattan subway system, with a simultaneous bombing at the Statue of Liberty. The attack would have happened last spring if you hadn’t caught Abu al Khayr.”

“I had a little help.” Tony jerked his chin toward Desi.

Harcourt smiled. “A resourceful helper.” His face sobered. “Al Khayr’s people are also resourceful. They regrouped and were poised to strike again. Fortunately, the delay gave us time to figure out their intentions and make arrests. The whole cell is now in custody.”

“Congratulations, Mr. Director.”

“You and I know it’s the street agents with their ears to the ground who make these things possible. I want you to sit on a panel to reorganize the Terrorist Activities Task Force. You’ll be sifting through personnel jackets, interviewing candidates, and evaluating operational procedures and communications interfaces. I need street agent input.”

Tony stared. A double-edged opportunity if he ever heard one.

Stuffed-shirt committees tended to find his ideas too off the wall. But could he pass up the chance to influence the way things were done in the Bureau? What about his current position as Squad Supervisor? No way did he want to be cooped up in a meeting room when he could direct operations in the field. And did this assignment mean he needed to leave Boston?

He glanced at Desi, half a room away. Could he stand to lose her because he’d been reassigned two states away? Would he kill his career to stay near the woman he loved?

Tony met Harcourt’s gaze. “What’s the time commitment? And will I need to relocate?”

“The panel convenes in two weeks. You meet here in Washington twice a month for six months, usually for a few days
at a time, once in a while for a week straight. In between, you’ll receive material to study at your local office. There’s a cash bonus, but it’ll come out of your hide in effort outside your regular duties. Travel expenses provided. No one is required to relocate for this temporary assignment.”