The Runaway

By Janelle Armstrong

Brie is being framed for a crime she didn’t commit, and someone wants her dead. Now, she’s on the run, but there’s another problem—she’s starting to see her dead father’s ghost. Her last safe refuge is complicated by a grumpy hunk who just wants to be left alone. Harper is fighting his own demons and wants his privacy, but after the spark he feels from his first encounter with Brie, he finds himself in the reluctant role of her protector.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Janelle Armstrong
• Release date: Jan 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215621745

Janelle Armstrong

Since my grandmother's gift of a Nancy Drew book long ago, I've been a prolific reader. From historical romance to mysteries and thrillers, I've always had my nose in a book. Long bus rides back and forth to work went by quickly while caught up in a fictional character's hair-raising adventures. Luckily, I never missed my stop! I have two dystopian series out now. The Barren Plains Series (Exile, Book 1, Brace, Book 2 and Clash, Book 3) and The Extinction Archives (The Drifters, Book 1, The Seekers, Book 2 and The Outcasts, Book 3). My new book is a stand-alone romantic suspense called Entwined. All are available in ebook or paperback.

Book preview

Exile (The Barren Plains Series, Book 1)

Brace (The Barren Plains Series, Book 2)

Clash (The Barren Plains Series, Book 3)

The Drifters (The Extinction Archives, Book 1)

The Seekers (The Extinction Archives, Book 2)

The Outcasts (The Extinction Archives, Book 3)

Entwined

PROLOGUE

The car crawled down the road as snow lashed the windshield. The wipers bounced rhythmically back and forth, while warm air blew from the vents in a valiant attempt to keep the glass clear. When the car began to slide, the tires spun before regaining purchase on the slick surface.

A low curse came from the man behind the wheel as he crept down the dark, deserted road. No one else dared to travel in the season’s first winter storm. For several tense minutes there was only the sound of the wipers. The man strained to see between the blinding gusts of white. Snow reduced visibility to less than thirty feet. He glanced in the rear-view mirror, checking for lights from the truck on his tail, but he was sure he’d lost it. He cranked up the heat and shivered.

They nearly caught him with the flash drive before he’d left work, so he hid it in the last place he figured they’d look if they suspected what he knew. Then he fled the office. The information it contained would put his boss in prison for years and protect an innocent woman.

It took weeks, using every skill he possessed, to gather every damning detail of the scam. They underestimated him. Now, it was time to go to the feds with what he found. Tomorrow he would retrieve the flash drive, then turn it over to the authorities.

He peered through the windshield, desperate to catch a glimpse of the bridge. He’d be home soon, ready for a hot drink and bed. The snow swirled, then lifted, giving him a longer view. The bridge appeared briefly before disappearing behind a heavy curtain of white. With a sigh of relief, he drove toward the overpass across the river.

Several inches of snow covered the road, masking the ice beneath as he pressed lightly on the accelerator. He realized his mistake when the car began to fishtail. He recovered just in time to see the lights from the truck appear behind him. It never slowed. Its tires gripped the slippery surface as it sped up, barreling into his car and shoving it toward the edge of the road.

The truck continued to push, slewing the car sideways until it teetered at the top of the steep slope, before plunging over with a final shove toward the icy water below.

* * *

Brianne Palmer hurried into the building, pausing to stomp the snow off her boots. After a restless night of strange dreams, all she craved was a cup of caffeinated coffee. It would warm her hands and wake up her brain. A TV in the lobby blasted news of the winter storm. The local Boston weatherman with perfect hair announced that the heavy snow would close down roads. It would continue for at least twenty-four hours. She headed across the lobby to the elevators, trying not to think about the unpleasant journey home at the end of her day.

Brianne stepped out of the elevator on her floor and headed to the break room. She poured herself a cup of coffee, wrapping her hands around the mug with the company logo. She sighed with enjoyment. For the last two months, she had been employed at Driftwood Trust, a hedge fund of private investors. Not the best job choice since she was the daughter of a thief, but she’d learned all it took was for one person to Google her name. Her father’s arrest and trial for burglary would pop up, followed by his death in prison of a massive heart attack.

So she put everything on the table during her Driftwood Trust interview. She told Clint Ballery everything—that her father died in prison while serving time for burglary. Mr. Ballery was surprisingly sympathetic. He said it didn’t matter to him or the company. He praised her for her honesty, gave her a beaming smile, and hired her on the spot.

Grateful for his trust, Brianne dutifully headed for the mound of paperwork that waited for her every day since she started. She put her cup down, and was preparing to dive in when Melanie rushed up to her desk. The company receptionist’s eyes were wide with shock.

Did you hear? she asked, pushing back her bleached blonde hair.

Brianne shook her head. Hear what?

They found Tom Logan’s car in the Charles River early this morning. He’s dead.

Brianne was still new, so she didn’t know the accountant very well, but his death was still shocking. At lunch, she gathered with the other employees as Clint Ballery gave a short speech, his voice shaky with distress. He announced the company would provide grief counseling to those that wanted it.

A few days after the accident, she watched with the rest of the staff as a security guard went into Tom Logan’s office to pack up his personal belongings. Like herself, Tom had no family, so everything would go into storage.

That guy gives me the creeps, Melanie whispered, as Nate Rickert swept everything off the desk. He emptied the drawers into a cardboard box.

Brianne agreed. Rickert looked like a reject from a motorcycle gang, with hair buzzed on the sides and long down the center of his head. To complete the look, he had a spider tattoo on his neck. More than once she’d had the urge to swat it with a rolled newspaper. Plus, he was a heavy smoker and reeked of cigarettes. She held her breath as he walked by with the box tucked under one beefy arm. She met Melanie’s eye-roll with a shrug and went back to work.

By the end of the long day, she was ready to head home. It was late and most of the office had left for the day. She tugged on her bottom drawer to retrieve her purse. When it didn’t open all the way, she gave it a hard yank until it popped open with a rattle. Taking out her purse, she leaned down to feel inside the drawer. Her fingers found an object wedged behind it. It was hard to tell what it was, so she removed the drawer and reached in to grasp it. Her hand closed around a flash drive.

Curious, she plugged it into her computer. A list of files popped up. It was a series of reports written by Tom Logan. Frowning, she saw one labeled with her name. She clicked on it, watching as the screen filled with information.

Brianne stared in disbelief. There were forms, transfers and accounts with her name on them. Accounts with balances in the hundreds of thousands of dollars. Everything had her name on it or linked back to her. She clicked on a few other files, but couldn’t open them.

A sick feeling filled her. It looked like she was stealing from the company. She skimmed the dates. Everything dated to shortly after Driftwood Trust hired her. Then it hit her. She was the daughter of a thief. She was the perfect patsy. Was Tom Logan creating evidence to frame her?

Feeling dazed, she shivered as the air around her dropped several degrees. A cold draft of air fluttered the papers on her desk. This time it caught her attention. She looked up, fear closing her throat as a black mass churned and roiled beside her desk. As it grew more solid, she froze, unable to move. A dark shape appeared in the turbulent spiral.

Her heart hammered in her chest as dark tendrils broke out from the center, circling around her but not touching. A familiar scent engulfed her. She took a breath, smelling her father’s favorite cologne. Steeling herself, she stared at the vague silhouette in the swirling dark shadows.

Dad? she whispered. She reached out a trembling hand to touch the shape, but it darted back, freaking her out. The air felt different now, charged with a faint current of energy.

A door slammed in the distance, causing her to jump. The apparition evaporated, leaving her confused and scared. She turned in a circle. The light from her desk lamp left most of the large room and its numerous cubicles in shadowy gloom. Was she so frazzled she imagined it?

Twilight pressed against the row of windows. It was late. She’d spent too much time reading her file on the flash drive. Her brain was in panic mode. The stress was making her imagine things. What should she do?

She removed the flash drive, stuffing it in her pocket. Would Mr. Ballery help her? He’d shown her nothing but kindness. Picking up her coat and purse, she snapped off her light. She headed to his office. When she saw a bar of light beneath his door, she sighed with relief. She raised her hand to knock, but hesitated when she heard him talking to someone.

The hallway outside his door was quiet, so she could hear the conversation.

Everything is going according to plan. Tomorrow the police will arrest her for embezzlement. No one will pay her bail. I hope your friend at the jail makes sure her suicide isn’t questioned.

He knows what to do. You’re paying him enough. He’ll make sure the cameras aren’t working long enough to get the job done. No one will question it. What about the confession?

Melanie will swear Brianne was acting strange. That she seemed upset or guilty about something.

They’ll need more, won’t they?

They’ll find a note with her things.

Brianne gasped, loud enough that the voices quieted.

Fear skittered down her spine. She had to leave. Now. She fled down the hallway, taking the stairs down to the lobby. The security desk was empty. Where was Nate Rickert? She raced past it out into the cold, struggling to put on her coat. She was in deep trouble. No one would believe her. Nausea roiled in her stomach as she fought the urge to throw up right there on the pavement.

A bitter wind gusted down the street, bringing the sharp sting of sleet. Shivering, Brianne hurried to put distance between her and her workplace. There were few pedestrians out. It was just herself and two men who paused to huddle together a half a block behind her. Streetlights struggled to light the gloomy streets as she put her head down against the cold wind. She jumped as a strong gust blew over a trash can, spilling its contents. Turning at the noise, she noticed the two men moving closer. A warning screamed through her. She started to run, rounding a corner. As soon as she was out of their sight, she slipped into an alley.

She looked around, her heart thumping with panic. The lone streetlight at the alley’s entrance exposed the rusted bulk of several commercial dumpsters. Multiple footprints from people dumping trash and cutting through the alley disguised her boot prints as she squeezed between two containers, crouching down behind a barricade of old cardboard boxes. A disgusting smell came from one of the dumpsters, making her stomach roil. To add to her misery, scurrying sounds came from behind the bins.

She froze as voices came from the end of the alley. She strained to make out their words.

We won’t get paid if she gets away, one man groused. It’s fucking cold out here.

Stop whining. Change of plans. Doesn’t matter if she commits suicide at home or in jail. I’ll check down the alley. Go see if she’s on the next street. Remember Ballery doesn’t want her marked.

When the voices grew quiet, she held her breath. Footsteps approached her hiding place, but continued on without stopping. A few minutes later, they returned, stopping at the open dumpster next to her. In the meager light, she recognized Nate Rickert, the security guard from Driftwood Trust. Her heart went into overdrive. Would he check behind her barricade of cardboard boxes? After a long pause, he muttered a curse with gagging sounds, his footsteps retreating. She let out her breath.

Brianne waited another fifteen minutes before carefully moving the boxes aside. She crawled out, but kept her hand over her nose as she slipped past the stinky dumpster. She headed in the direction opposite to that of her pursuers. At the end of the alley, she looked out. The street was quiet, with no sign of the two men. She set off at a jog, staying close to the darker shadows of the buildings.

She couldn’t go back to her apartment. Rickert would have gotten her address from human resources at work. She paused to shiver in a doorway. An ATM was visible in a store that was still open. She hurried inside to withdraw all the cash she could from her bank account. She would use some of it to pay for a cheap hotel. One that wouldn’t care if she paid in cash. She stopped at two more ATMs, draining her account.

Later, as she sat in her low-priced, rundown hotel room, she went over everything in her head. She was sure most of the money in those illicit accounts was gone by now. Ballery would make sure it disappeared without a trace into some overseas account he could access, after she conveniently died to conceal his crime.

She had to face the facts. She was on her own, and she had no proof she was innocent. She was the daughter of a thief. The likelihood of clearing her name was zero. With her arrest imminent and her potential death in jail labeled a suicide, she’d be just another tragic story soon forgotten. And what about Tom Logan? Was his death nothing more than an accident, or was it murder? Was he part of it? All she knew was that Ballery had her tied up in a bow. The perfect scapegoat.

She curled up on the bed, her thoughts drifting back to that black mass next to her desk. It wasn’t surprising she smelled her dad’s favorite cologne. He would know what to do. She wished he were still alive. The vision of him was a panicked reaching out due to stress, so she put it away. Her dad couldn’t help her. She lay awake the rest of the night, listening as the winter storm arrived in full force, rattling the windows as it howled in the dark.

In the morning, she knew what she had to do. She had to disappear.

Back in college she had little time for friendships. She spent her free time working to pay for everything her scholarship didn’t cover. The only connection she made was to a boy in two of her classes who sometimes joined her in the library to study. Eric was loner like herself. They set out their books and papers on a table that left little room for anyone else to join them. It was perfect for both of them. They could study in peace.

Brianne remembered a conversation she had with him after one of their study sessions. He told her how easy it would be to create another identity. It was something he wanted to try some day. She didn’t pay much attention at the time, but now it came back to her. She might be able to disappear and leave all her problems behind.

She had his number in her contacts, because twice a year they went out for coffee to catch up. He was there for her father’s funeral when no one else showed up. He was the only person she could turn to now. Brianne took out her phone.

Hi, Eric. It’s Brianne. Can you meet me? I need a favor.

Sure. Name the place. It was good to hear his voice. She named a coffee shop close by that wasn’t too far out of his way.

After she ended the call, she removed the battery to make sure no one could track it. She knew at least that much. Pulling on her coat, she went to meet him.

Three days and three seedy hotels later, Eric met her again. He presented her with a brand-new identity that included a social security number. This is good to go. You can use it to get a job or open a bank account. I don’t recommend using it to leave the country, but here in the States, you’re golden.

Thank you, Eric. You won’t get into trouble, will you?

Hey, study buddy, I’m a tech geek. I’m the Steve Jobs of identities. He pushed her money away. It didn’t cost me anything. Besides, it was fun.

You’re going to hear things about me, but I swear to you they’re not true.

He leaned forward to pat her hand. You’re not a serial killer, are you?

Brianne smiled, shaking her head. No. I’m not a thief, either.

Eric grinned. Good to know. He lowered his voice, looking concerned. You need anything, you call me.

I will. But she knew she wouldn’t involve him anymore.

He winked. Now, trust me. You can use this ID with confidence.

After he left, she studied her new persona. She’d picked the name Brie because it was her dad’s pet name for her. It gave her comfort. For the last name Eric suggested something common. For the first time, she felt hope. Brianne Palmer was in the wind and Brie Peterson was born.

CHAPTER 1

Brie was in a city three hundred miles away from Boston when Clint Ballery made a statement to the press regarding her embezzlement. He was distraught by her betrayal. He hoped she would turn herself in, because he feared her depression caused her to make poor decisions. He only wanted to give her a chance to get back on her feet. She noticed Melanie the traitor standing in the background with Nate Rickert. Brie guessed Melanie changed her mind about Nate’s ‘creepiness.’

Shaking with anger, she was glad she’d spoiled Ballery’s plans if it delayed his goal to retire with a nice nest egg. He couldn’t leave, since the investigation was ongoing and Driftwood Trust was in the news. She hoped he was fuming inside over her disappearance.

After a few weeks of moving from city to city, Brie decided to give Memphis a try. She found a job with halfway decent pay which enabled her to rent a small house by the month. On the downside, her new boss began to be a problem. Fenton Poole, the wealthy owner of Bi-Zone Products, was clueless when it came to sexual harassment in the workplace. He seemed to think it was his job to take care of her.

He overlooked her spotty employment when he hired her, but until she decided to move on, she had to endure his ham-fisted efforts to date her. Fenton was harmless, but persistent. Keeping a low profile was hard to do when your boss kept singling you out. Some of the women in the office gave her resentful looks, keeping Brie at a distance. She couldn’t blame them.

His attention put her in an untenable position. Appealing to him did no good, since he took it as a sign she wanted to pursue a relationship. By the time February arrived, she’d had enough. With her rent paid until the end of the month, she had time to pick another city that interested her.

Brie called in sick to give herself a full day to study her options. She retrieved her map of the continental United States. All the cities she’d passed through she marked with a red circle—New York, Savannah, Miami, Tallahassee and Memphis. She went over her choices of where to head next. There were multiple possibilities. As she studied the map, she made herself a cup of tea. She sat down to drink it just as the watery light from the kitchen window dimmed, and the air chilled.

Her eyes went to the corner of the kitchen where a spiral of black shadows began to form. She watched with tears in her eyes as the shadowy figure inside formed. Hot liquid sloshed over her hand as she set her cup down. The vision filled her with both love and apprehension. She held her breath as smoky tendrils reached out to touch her face gently. A low thrum of energy danced across her skin until goosebumps covered her arms. A warning crackled in the air before he disappeared, leaving behind the pleasant scent of his cologne.

Brie rubbed her arms as the kitchen grew warm again. After she fled Boston, she’d done a Google search about ghosts. She discovered you either believed in them or you didn’t. She read about the different types of hauntings. Some were full-on apparitions and some were just shadows. Whispers, tapping and knocking were common. Residual hauntings were energy from a past event repeated over and over again. Intelligent hauntings responded to questions through the white noise of a Spirit Box or something called a REM-pod.

Brie decided her father’s ghost was more intelligent than residual. She had a feeling just making that column of dark shadows appear took quite a bit of effort on his part. She’d also learned over the last few weeks that he never materialized unless it was to give her a warning. Thanks to Spirit Dad, as she called him, she’d kept a few steps ahead of Ballery, but there was no doubt in her mind, he’d somehow uncovered her new identity.

Since using her real name would alert the authorities, she had to stick with her fake identity. She would not get Eric involved again. The fact that she depended on her dead father to warn her didn’t feel the least bit crazy. Not anymore.