The Perfect Outsider Read Online Free PDF Page B

features. Porcelain-pale skin brushed by freckles, eyes the color of a pale summer sky that reminded him of the sound of bees and lawn mowers and watermelon by the pool. Her mouth was full, wide. Kissable.
    He frowned, trying to place her face, his memories of summers past.
    And, as he pulled things into focus, he realized her red hair was damp, tendrils drying in soft spirals around her face. The rest was pulled back in a braid, and there were bits of leaves stuck in it.
    He remembered now—it had been pouring. She’d had a peaked cap on when she’d found him, and a headlamp, shining down into his face. Where was he?
    He tried to get up. But she gently placed her hand on his shoulder, her willowy body belying a resilient strength he could sense in her touch, see in her clear eyes. He sagged back into the pillows, feeling as though he’d been hit by a ten-ton truck. His head throbbed. His leg hurt—his whole body felt stiff.
    “Christ, what happened to me?”
    “You fell down a ravine, hit your head and gashed your leg. I’ve sewn you up and the injuries look fine, but you need to take it easy, Jesse. You’ve lost blood.”
    Jesse. That’s right—she’d named him Jesse because he couldn’t the hell remember who he was, where he was going or where he’d come from. Despair sank into him, along with a bite of frustration.
    She was watching him intently. So was the young woman with straight mousey-blond hair she’d referred to as Molly. The kid looked hostile.
    What did the redheaded angel with the porcelain skin say her name was… June . She’d said she worked as a part-time paramedic in a town called Cold Plains. Thank God—he wasn’t completely brain-dead. And he could recall hiking with her assistance through a narrowing rock canyon, into a cave and a tunnel. After that his memory was black again.
    Cold Plains. Why did the name of that town seem so familiar, yet not? Another name came to him. Samuel Grayson. Tension reared up inside Jesse along with a gnawing urgency. He struggled to sit up—he had to go somewhere, but he couldn’t recall where, and it had something to do with a man named Samuel Grayson.
    June pressed him gently back against the pillows. “Do you recall those three words I gave you earlier, Jesse?”
    What words? Oh, wait…he did remember. He cleared his throat “ Radio, belt and—” he gave a wry smile “— Jesse .”
    “Your short-term memory is intact. That’s a good sign.”
    “Yep. Great.” Too bad about the rest.
    “Do you remember anything else, like where you were coming from?”
    Frustration heated his body. He tried to dig deeper into his memory, but all he got was a thick sense of fuzzy confusion.
    “No, I—I think I was… No, I can’t recall a damn thing.”
    “I checked your GPS. It appears you were traveling into Cold Plains over the north mountains. Do you remember how long you’ve been in the wilderness? Where you were going? Can you tell me why you have a D tattooed on your hip?”
    “I have a tattoo?” Had June told him that already—or did the familiarity stem from a buried memory?
    “He has the D because he’s one of Samuel’s enforcers,” Molly spat at him. “He knows exactly what you’re talking about, June—he’s lying that he doesn’t remember anything. Don’t fall for it.”
    June said, quietly, without looking at the young woman, “Molly, can you please go to the kitchen and man the radio. Let me know if Davis reports in.”
    Molly stomped out of the room and banged the door shut behind her.
    “She’s afraid,” said June.
    “Of me? ”
    “Of Samuel Grayson and whoever works for him, and if you’re one of his, that includes you.”
    Samuel. Why did that name strike such a strident cord in him? “Did you tell me about him already, in the ravine?”
    “Samuel is the leader of a cult in Cold Plains,” June said, assessing him carefully as she spoke. Jesse got the sense she was watching for some kind of reaction to her words,