Judy Christenberry - Randall On The Run

She’d come into his room in the middle of the night and he’d grabbed her and pinned her against the wall. He let her go when he realized who it was.

“I came to protect you. You’re still weak. And it’s not safe for you to be alone.” As she spoke, she stepped toward him till she was mere inches away.

“You can’t keep saving me, Jess. And you shouldn’t be so close.”

Dammit, he wasn’t a robot, or a dead man—yet. When a beautiful woman wanted a kiss, he was ready to comply. But somehow not with her.

“Jess, I only have now, this moment. I can’t promise—”

“I didn’t ask for promises, Steve.”

Throwing better judgment to the wind, he bent his head and kissed her.

That was when gunshots tore them apart.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Judy Christenberry has been writing romances for over fifteen years because she loves happy endings as much as her readers do. She’s a bestselling author for Harlequin American Romance, but she has a long love of traditional romances and is delighted to tell a story that brings those elements to the reader. A former high school French teacher, Judy devotes her time to writing. She hopes readers have as much fun reading her stories as she does writing them. She spends her spare time reading, watching her favorite sports teams and keeping track of her two adult daughters.

Jessica Randall—Three years in Hollywood couldn’t rub off the Randall code. Jessica couldn’t pass by a person in need without offering a helping hand—no matter what it cost her.

Stephen Carter—Someone wanted him dead—and had almost done the deed. But just when he thought he was a goner, a Hollywood beauty had come to his rescue.

Mike Davis—He was the sheriff of Rawhide and married to a Randall woman. He was also required by law to report a bullet wound. Could Steve trust this small-town lawman with the truth?

Marcus and Baldwin—They had been Steve’s partners, but now they were out for Steve’s blood.

Miguel Antonio—He was Steve’s boss and the second-in-command at the Drug Enforcement Agency. Before he could make his move, Steve had to decide. Was this D.C. big shot friend or foe?

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Jessica Randall was going home.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she’d finally loaded into her car all her personal items from the furnished apartment where she’d lived for three years.

Three years. She’d been awfully naive when she’d first arrived in Hollywood. Since then, she’d learned a lot about the movie industry—and it wasn’t all good. In fact, the underbelly of Hollywood had soured her on living here. Dreams about home had gotten stronger and stronger until she could no longer relegate them to her subconscious.

It was night, but she figured she could get in at least five hours of driving before she’d have to stop and sleep. After all, in Hollywood, no one went to bed early.

Besides, she didn’t want to stay here one more night.

“Come on, baby,” she called.

There was a loud woof before the arrival of her “baby,” a golden–labrador retriever mix. He’d kept her company so she wouldn’t forget home. Every morning she’d run with Murphy at her side, his tongue hanging out as he raced gleefully along.

With one last look, she locked the back door and reached for the garage door opener just as shots rang out. Jessica swallowed as a shiver raced over her. After all the warnings of her family, she hadn’t had contact with any bad elements in Los Angeles since her arrival. Immoral elements, yes, but no gun-toting bad ones.

On her last night she ran into a gunfight? What were the odds?

She paused, but when she heard nothing else, she joined Murphy in her SUV and locked the doors before she pressed the garage door opener. Then she cautiously backed out. Everything seemed deserted, exactly as it always was.

Good. She just wanted to get away.

Flicking on her high beams, she started down the alley. Then she gasped when her eyes lit on a dark mass on the roadway. It looked like a body! She slammed on the brakes and took a second look.

It was a man. And he wasn’t moving. Was he dead?

As much as her better judgment was telling her to keep driving, to leave Hollywood and all its baggage behind, she knew she couldn’t. She had to stop. Leaving her engine running, she looked carefully around her before she slipped from behind the wheel.

In the bright beam of her headlights, she saw the man was still breathing, but bleeding heavily from his upper right torso. “Hold on, I’ll call for an ambulance,” she told him, though she didn’t really think he heard her.

She turned then, but a strong hand grabbed her arm, holding her in place. A scream died in her throat as she looked down at the injured man.

“No! No ambulance.”

“But you need medical help. I can’t—”

His hand on her arm squeezed harder. “No doctor, either,” he managed to say.

“What do you expect me to do? I can call the police but they’ll—”

“No!”

A suspicious feeling settled around Jessica. The man was seriously injured, but he refused help. Why? Fearing the worst, she began to back away.

“I’m DEA undercover.” Through his pain he managed to get the words out, but she could see the effort was a struggle for him.

“Then why can’t I call the police?” She remained skeptical.

“I—I think my own people shot me. The police will contact them…and I’ll die. I won’t be able to—to defend myself.” The lengthy speech drained him, and he sighed deeply.

Jessica had no way to know whether his story was true or just another of Hollywood’s fictions. But there was something about the man, something she heard in his voice, that made her take a chance. If what he said was true, she had to get out of this dark alleyway, and fast. “Do you want me to take you anywhere? Someplace safe?”

He nodded.

“You’ll have to tell me where to go.”

“Okay,” he muttered, but his eyes slowly closed.

Jessica knew she had to do something about the bleeding, otherwise he wouldn’t make it much longer.

She hurried to the truck and the first-aid kit her father had insisted she bring with her. “You might need it in Los Angeles.” Just thinking about her father and his strength and courage steadied her nerves. She took the box to where the man lay and ripped his shirt open to expose a gunshot wound in his shoulder.

She was surprised to find a manila envelope stuck in the top of his pants.

“What’s this?” she asked, almost to herself.