Runaround
Runaround Copyright © 2018 by Jennifer M. Voorhees
All rights reserved.
Congress Cataloging- in- Publication Data has been applied for.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address Jay Crownover LLC 1670 E. Cheyenne Mountain Blvd. Box# 152, Colorado Springs, Colorado 80906.
Cover design by:
Hang Le
www.byhangle.com
Photographed by and Copyright owned by:
Wander Aguiar Photography
www.wanderbookclub.com
Editing by:
Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting
www.allusiongraphics.com
Copyediting by:
Bethany Ssalminen
www.bethanyedits.net
Interior Design & Formatting by:
Christine Borgford, Type A Formatting
www.typeAformatting.com
Recovered
GETAWAY SERIES
Escape
Shelter
Retreat
THE SAINTS OF DENVER SERIES
Salvaged
Riveted
Charged
Built
Leveled (novella)
THE BREAKING POINT SERIES
Dignity
Avenged (crossover novella)
Honor
THE WELCOME TO THE POINT SERIES
Better When He’s Brave
Better When He’s Bold
Better When He’s Bad
THE MARKED MEN SERIES
Asa
Rowdy
Nash
Rome
Jet
Rule
Contents
RUNAROUND
Also by Jay Crownover
About Runaround
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Can two people perpetually moving in opposite directions ever end up in the same place? Or will love just keep giving them the runaround?
Webb Bryant is intimately acquainted with every type of trouble there is. Trouble is all he’s ever known and the only constant in his life.
Webb’s a man constantly on the move. He’s a drifter. A wanderer. He bolts from one bad choice to the next, never able to put enough distance between himself and the ghosts from his past. He lives hard and fast, until everything comes to a screeching halt the moment he lays eyes on Tennyson McKenna. The stunning woman appeared out of nowhere to save the day, and Webb’s been unable to forget her. The leggy, blonde forest ranger might very well be the one person in the world important enough to finally keep him in one place. Only, Ten isn’t impressed by Webb’s knack for finding trouble. And no matter how hard he tries to shake it, he can’t escape his bad habit of falling into the deep end of questionable decisions. When his newest brush with trouble gets Webb in way over his head, Ten jumps after him into the dangerous waters. It’s possible they’re going to sink so fast they both might drown.
Tennyson McKenna makes it a point to be diligently cautious in all aspects of her life. She learned the hard way that leading with your heart instead of your head gets you nowhere.
Ten’s a woman stuck in a frustrating rut. After a string of failed relationships lands her back home, a pit stop to mend her broken heart becomes a hole she’s lost the will to dig herself out of. Coasting through her days was easy until Webb Bryant crash-landed in her path, complete with bullets, blood, and a grin far too charming for his own good. Webb is anything but safe and predictable. He’s everything Ten swore she would never gamble on again, but it’s impossible to ignore the way trouble follows him around like a shadow. And every single time Ten pushes Webb away, she finds herself chasing after him before he’s gone for good. When Webb’s past finally catches up to him, Ten has to decide if she’s brave enough to put her heart on the line for a man who might be gone tomorrow.
Dedicated to everyone who freaked out or got a little hot about Escape being a cliffy! Come on now . . . I wouldn’t do you dirty like that!
Webb
Trouble taking over my life was nothing new.
We were old friends, and we went way, way back. Sometimes we had a good time . . . a really good time. Trouble could be a lot of fun if you knew how to play with all of the sharp, enticing edges of it. Sometimes trouble and I had a falling out, and I tried to get my act together, telling myself I was going to do better, be better. But, like the most talented and determined of lovers, trouble always came calling. And like the weak bastard I was, I always gave into the temptation. Always put my hand directly in the flame, even though I knew I was going to get burned.
Trouble was familiar.
Trouble was so easy to slide into, and I couldn’t ever walk away. Most days I didn’t know who I was if I didn’t have trouble trailing after me, dogging my every step, luring me into dark corners toward bad decisions I knew would hang around my neck like a dead weight for the rest of my life.
Today, trouble had the worst timing imaginable when it decided to show up. I was acting right and had been keeping my nose clean. I landed a job on a friend’s ranch in the middle of nowhere Wyoming, foolishly thinking I’d put enough distance between us that it wouldn’t be able to find me. I should’ve known better. Trouble was crafty and persistent. Trouble never let go. Trouble had its claws dug so deep into my skin, I’d ripped flesh and bone away when I ran the last time I’d attempted to leave it in the dust.
Trouble wore a lot of different faces. It came in all different shapes and sizes, so I never quite knew what to look for or when to run.
Today I was at a wedding, a celebration of life and love. I was surrounded by happy people, smiling children, and my family. I also couldn’t take my eyes off the only thing in the world I’d ever encountered that tempted me more than trouble: a woman. A beautiful, brave, smart-mouthed woman, who made it clear she didn’t have the time of day to give me. Tall, blonde, with shrewd green eyes set in a face that told a story, Tennyson McKenna was not a woman who suffered fools, or lovesick city boys, lightly. She wanted nothing to do with me, which made her smart and told me she had good instincts. Her blatant dismissal and outright hostility did nothing to cool the heat that pooled low in my gut whenever I caught sight of her. Every rejection she fired my way only made the challenge of chasing her infrequent smiles and rare laughter all the more thrilling. I wanted her. So much so, I forgot that I already had a mistress who liked to come calling when my back was turned. Trouble was a tricky bitch with a nasty bite. Trouble showed u
p in the form of a swarm of black-garbed FBI agents waving around a warrant for my arrest and making a scene on a day that was supposed to be goodness and light.
Trouble was splashy and loud this time. It was the center of attention when all eyes should have been on the bride and groom. Every instinct I had was to fight, to push back, to tell trouble now was not the time or place. However, when trouble came with a badge, armed to the teeth, I knew the only thing I could do was to go with it quietly so that the people who mattered could try and salvage what was left of their special day. I’d done this dance more times than I could count. I knew all the steps, even if trouble was singing a new tune this time around.
A big guy looked at me like I’d crawled out of the sewer. He was from the Colorado Bureau of Investigations, the division responsible for this part of Nowhere since Wyoming had so few residents and such a low crime rate for federal offenses. He informed me that my picture was on surveillance footage and my DNA was found several armed bank robberies throughout northern Wyoming and Montana. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t defend myself. I didn’t declare how the evidence was impossible because I knew it wouldn’t do me any good. I listened quietly while they read me the rights I already knew by heart. Trouble made sure I had my back against the wall. It was smug and confident, and it had me right where it wanted me.
I went quietly, my older brother not so much. Wyatt was the only blood family I acknowledged. He was the only person in the entire world I gave a shit about. Up until a few months ago, when I stumbled upon the woman who made my heart race. For once, Wyatt had been the one tangled up in trouble’s sticky web, and when I’d gone to get him out, I found myself in the middle of a place I never wanted to leave, surrounded by the kind of men and women who made me regret giving trouble free rein in my life up until then. Wyatt was a DEA agent, one of the good guys. We’d always been as different as night and day, but he’d never stood by and let trouble roll over me. It was his life’s mission to keep me from getting crushed under the weight of my poor choices and desperate decisions.
“Don’t say a goddamn word, Webb. Keep your mouth shut until I can figure out what’s going on.” He was in full protector mode, taking on the CBI like it was something he did every single day, as they loaded me into the back of one of their black SUVs.
I wasn’t going to say a word, but I wanted to. I wanted to shout over everyone trying to pull rank and the threats being tossed back and forth. Ten asked me what I had done. She was watching the events unfold with narrowed eyes, and her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. She already believed the worst about me. I’d never really given her a reason not to. But it burned to see the doubt and question in her eyes as I was led away. I wanted to believe that I’d have the upper hand, that trouble wouldn’t win this round, but I was in deep, and I could feel the thump of my heart hammering as I tried to breathe through the mess I was in.
The drive to downtown Denver was long and boring. Occasionally the big guy in charge tried to pepper me with questions, but Wyatt said not to talk. The only person I wanted to say something to was likely never going to believe me anyway. I kept quiet and watched the only place that ever really felt like home drift away.
It was late at night by the time the feds tossed me into an interrogation room. This was not my first rodeo. Sadly, I knew the drill as well as I knew my own name. A federal crime like armed robbery was no joke, and these guys weren’t playing around, but all the standard operating procedures were pretty much the same as every petty crime I’d ever been hauled in on.
I kept my shit together, played it cool. I acted unaffected and bored, mostly because I was. I knew Wyatt was out there somewhere raising hell and trying to get me released. All I had to do was bide my time and be patient. I was winning the game until a new player put his pieces on the board.
When he walked in, I knew he was different than the guys who dragged me off the Warner Ranch. This guy wasn’t dressed in black tactical gear. He didn’t smirk and swagger like he knew something I didn’t. He simply walked into the small, barren room and took a seat across from me. He was dressed in a suit similar to the one my brother had worn to the wedding, but I knew enough about men’s fashion to know that his cost double what Wyatt was willing to drop on his threads. He also had an expensive haircut, and he was wearing a gold watch that managed to look both sophisticated and pretentious at the same time. This was no wet-behind-the-ears agent. This was no brutish field agent. This guy had climbed his way up the ranks and wasn’t afraid to let me know they’d called in the big guns to shut me down and trip me up.
Without saying a word to me, the man opened up a manila folder he’d carried in with him. A moment later I was staring at a crystal clear, black and white photo obviously taken inside of a bank. The man in the center of the image was making no effort at all to cover his face or conceal his identity. In fact, it looked like he was staring directly at the security camera. He had a gun in his hand. He held it like he knew how to use it. He also had a smirk on his face and a taunting challenge in his eyes.
Shock and disbelief loosened my tongue. “What the fuck? What kind of trick is this?”
I reached for the photo, hands shaking, sweat starting to bead on my forehead and slip down the back of my neck.
The smirk, the tilt of the eyes, the cock of the chin, the way he stood: they were all a perfect image of me. I was staring at myself robbing a goddamn bank. I sucked in a breath so quickly it hurt. My fingers shook as I touched my own face in the picture.
I looked up and stared at the stone-faced FBI agent. “That isn’t me.” But it sure as hell looked like me. That was my face, my body, my everything. I would bet every measly dime I had to my name that his hair was the same blond and his eyes were the same blue as mine.
The FBI agent didn’t say a word. His silence was a weapon, where mine had been armor. I tapped a finger on the photograph. “It looks just like me, but it’s not. I swear to God, that is not me.”
But it was my face, and they said they had my DNA at the scene. Trouble was playing to win this time. It didn’t want to let me go. It wanted to bury me so deeply there would never be a day I was free of it. Desperately my eyes scanned over every inch of the photo, mind racing, pulse pounding. I was dizzy, and I felt like I was going to hurl all over the table. This was a nightmare, and no matter how hard I pinched myself, I wasn’t waking up.
Between blinks, my eyes flicked over the date-stamp on the corner of the image. A tiny flare of hope lit up in the center of my chest. Frantically I pointed at the tiny orange numbers and looked at the FBI agent who still hadn't said a single word.
“If that was the date of this robbery, I have an alibi.” Relief made the words rushed as they stumbled over one another. “I was in Denver with Tennyson McKenna and Lane Warner looking for a runaway teenager. There was even a cop there. Denver PD sent her in when Ten found the kid. I was nowhere near a bank in Wyoming or Montana. I’m telling you, that isn’t me.”
The FBI agent finally moved. He put his hands on the table in front of him and leaned toward me. “You have an alibi?”
I felt my eyebrows wing up and I nodded slowly. “That’s what I just said. My boss’s brother ran into some trouble, so I drove down to Denver with a neighbor, Tennyson Mckenna, to help track him down. I was in Denver for several days. Ten is a forest ranger up in Sheridan, and like I said, there was a female police officer involved in trying to track the kid down. Talk to them. They’ll tell you I was nowhere near this robbery.” I had no explanation as to why the man in the picture had my face, or how my DNA ended up at a crime scene miles away, but I knew Ten was the only thing keeping me from spending the foreseeable future behind bars.
“Are you romantically involved with either alibi witness?” The agent’s voice sounded curious, and there was something else in his tone I couldn’t place. “Is either woman likely to lie for you, Mr. Bryant?”
I blinked and shook my head. “No. The cop was married, if I remember correctly, and
Ten thinks I’m a stupid kid. She tolerates me because she has to, not because she wants to.”
The agent leaned back in his chair and gave me a look. “I didn’t think you would be her type. You’re too young. Reckless. Impulsive. Your criminal record is impressive, and you lie too easily.”
Startled by the sudden change in the direction of the conversation, I slumped back in my seat and stared at the other man stupidly. “Excuse me?”
The FBI agent reached across the table and snatched the picture. “You have an identical twin out there somewhere, Bryant?”
“No.” Even though people often said Wyatt and I could pass for twins. I frowned. “Not that I know of. But neither of my folks stuck around very long, so who the fuck knows what kind of siblings I got out there? Also, how do you know what Ten’s type is? Do you know her?” She’d been an FBI agent herself for a stint long before I came crashing into her life. It was likely her path had crossed with this man in her former career.
The agent cocked an eyebrow at me and moved toward the door. “I was engaged to her for two years, so even if she tries to lie to me to cover for you, I’ll know. Sit tight, Mr. Bryant. You aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.”
The door clicked shut with a sign of finality, leaving me to stew. Fuck trouble, and fuck me for never being able to get away from it.
Tennyson
The first time I laid eyes on Webb Bryant he was frighteningly pale from blood loss and nearly delirious from a raging fever. He’d been sporting a hole in his shoulder from a bullet wound and was terrified his brother was dead somewhere in the vast Wyoming wilderness. It was my job to protect and patrol, one I focused on diligently, but Webb was admittedly distracting. I thought he was going to pass out at my feet, a city boy in way over his head. He didn’t. He never wavered or stumbled in the unfamiliar terrain and unknown situation . . . not once. He’d impressed me with his resilience and his determination to find out what had happened to his older brother. He’d also caught my attention with those burning blue eyes and shock of blond hair, which gave the misleading impression that the man had a single angelic quality about him. Every long, lean line of Webb Bryant oozed playful mischief and bled the promise of wicked things done in the dark . . . or during the bright light of day. He didn’t seem like the shy type. Even injured and out of his mind with frantic worry for his older sibling, he was the most charming, most flirtatious man I’d ever met. He sent every defense mechanism I had into overdrive, and there wasn’t a second that slid by where I didn’t remind myself he was not my type in the slightest. Besides, once the Warners and I had both the Bryant brothers straightened out, I figured I wouldn’t have to dodge Webb’s advances ever again. He would ramble on to his next adventure and be out of sight and mind.
Runaround (Getaway Series Book 4) Page 1
