She hooked her pager back onto her belt and tried to get her patient moving again, but his legs were buckling under him and he appeared to be fading in and out of consciousness. Worry speared through June—he might need a hospital. But it was too late even to consider trying to make it all the way back into town with him in this condition. And then there’d be questions.
The cave house was closer, safer.
“Hey, you,” she whispered, lightly slapping the side of his rugged cheek with her palm. “Can you hear me?”
He moaned. His complexion was deathly pale and blood was seeping into the white bandage on his head. The sutures must be pulling loose.
“Listen to me—I’m going call you Jesse, okay? Jesse, can you hear me?”
His eyes flickered, as if with sudden recognition.
“Good. Now, stay with me, Jesse. We’re almost there.”
June’s muscles burned as she maneuvered Jesse through the narrow rock crevasse. At the end of the crevasse there was an apparent dead end hidden by a tangle of creepers. June moved the curtain of vegetation aside, exposing the opening to a large cave. These mountains were riddled with them. She clicked on her headlamp, and helping Jesse bend over, they entered the gloom.
“Where are we?” he said.
“A cave. At the back is a tunnel that leads to a valley on the other side. We’re going to a shelter built into more caves on that side.”
The tunnel was wide, but the roof was low, which meant Jesse leaned even more heavily on June as he was forced to bend double. June’s energy began to sag under the weight of well over six feet of Marlboro Man. In close proximity, his stubble rubbed against her cheeks, and June realized peripherally that she had not had a man like this in her arms since Matt had died.
Her pilot had been all rugged brawn and macho power, as well, an A-type personality in total command of his life. Until the one rescue mission that had burned him.
There was always the one mission, thought June. Post-traumatic stress disorder was a little-acknowledged aspect of rescue work, and it often went undiagnosed, as it had in Matt’s case. She should have seen it.
She should have given Matt the benefit of the doubt—she should have realized he was incapable of leaving the cult on his own and she should never have given him the ultimatum that had sent him over the edge.
June braced her hand against the cold cave wall as she struggled to catch her breath. She thought she’d managed to put the guilt from the past in perspective, but now it was haunting, so very real again, in the shadows of this cave. It was this stranger—he was doing this to her. Something about his physical presence reminded her too much of the only man she’d ever truly loved. And now the ghosts were coming back.
She glanced at Jesse—when his memory returned, if it returned, would he be friend or foe?
He slumped suddenly to the floor of the cave, trying to grab onto the wall as he went down. June dropped to her knees besides him. His breathing was shallow, his skin cold, clammy. Urgency bit into her.
“Jesse, hang in just a little while longer. We’re almost there.”
She struggled to help him up, and as they shuffled along, the tunnel grew narrower, darker. Her headlamp started to flicker, the battery dying. Shadows leaped and lunged and the air grew dank, musky. A bat fluttered past her face, making a soft wind.
The journey through the crevasse and tunnel combined was less than a mile, but tonight it felt endless. June’s breath was ragged and she was perspiring with the effort. Then suddenly she saw faint light ahead. Relief washed through her body.
They were almost through into Hidden Valley, a narrow delta on the other side of this mountain range. It was inaccessible by road—the only way in was via this secret tunnel or by foot over the mountains, or to fly in by chopper. It was where an eccentric architect-turned-survivalist had chosen to build a large house into a deep warren of caves, and it was in this house the architect had lived, quietly and off-grid, until his death. He’d left everything he owned to his sister, who’d helped turn it into a safe haven for escapees from Samuel Grayson’s lethal cult.
The front of the cave house had been walled in with locally sourced rock. Large tinted windows looked out over Hidden Valley, and a stone porch, partially shaded by a rock overhang, ran the length of the house. A narrow boardwalk led from the tunnel entrance and hugged the rock face all the way to the porch and front door. A creek cascaded from a fissure in the rock face and ran under the boardwalk before meandering out into the valley.
The rooms deeper inside the caves had no windows but were vented via stone flues to the ground on top, and the chill inside, even during summer, was eased by a great stone hearth in the central living area and by smaller cast-iron wood-burning stoves in the rooms. When the architect had left the house to his sister, she’d had no idea what to do with it and had let it stand empty; the place had faded from the memory of those who had known about it. When she found out that Hannah Mendes, a relative by marriage, needed a safe house to help cult victims escape, she had offered the cave house as a perfect solution because of the hidden-tunnel access to the valley on the other side.
As June and her injured stranger reached the boardwalk, Jesse passed out. She struggled to hold him, but he slid from her grasp and slumped with a dull thud onto the wooden slats of the walkway. Adrenaline thrummed through her as she checked his pulse. It was steady, and he was still breathing. She worried now about intracranial swelling pressuring his brain.
Laying him in a prone position on the boardwalk, she ran to the house and banged on the door.
“I need help! Can someone come out here and help me!”
The door swung open. Molly, an eighteen-year-old whom June had brought to the safe house last week, stood in the doorway, pulling on her sweater, eyes wide circles of consternation. “What’s going on! Did they find us!”
God, I hope not.
“I found a man down a ravine while I was searching for Lacy. He’s got a Devotee tattoo, and he’s hurt—”
“Is he a henchman?” Molly peered nervously down the boardwalk. “Why did you bring him here! Does he know what happened to Lacy?”
“I don’t know who he is. He doesn’t remember anything—”
“You shouldn’t have brought him here!”
“Molly, calm down and help me carry him. We’ll lock him in my room until we stitch him up and learn more.”
Molly refused to budge.
“Molly, we can’t leave him to die out here. Go get Davis and Brad—now!”
The two men came running out into the rain and helped carry Jesse inside.
“Take him to my room!” June yelled as she rushed behind them. “Molly, get me some towels, hot water, the big medical kit from the main bathroom.”
June shucked her wet jacket. “Lay him on my bed. Brad, ask your mom to come light the fire in the stove in my room.”
She checked Jesse’s breathing again—still steady. His pulse was okay, too. June palmed off her wet peaked cap, and Molly pulled a side table alongside the bed atop which she put the medical kit.
June shone a small flashlight into the stranger’s eyes. His pupils responded normally, then, as if irritated by the light, he blinked fast, moaning as he came around again.
Relief washed through June. Maybe the guy was just exhausted. She wondered how long he’d actually been in the mountains, how many hours he’d lain, wet and cold, in the ravine, and when he’d last gotten some calories into him. She had to remove his wet clothes, warm him up.
“Molly, please go heat up some of that soup Sonya made the other day—I’m beginning to think our stranger has been walking through the wilderness for some time.”
“Why do you want to help him—you said he’s a Devotee, and look, he’s got a holster. Only henchmen carry sidearms. He’s got to be a henchman.”
June shot her a glance. “Do you recognize him? Has anyone in this house seen him before?”
“No.”
“Then let’
s give him the benefit of the doubt, okay?”
The one thing she had not given Matt.
“Just because I don’t recognize him from Cold Plains doesn’t mean he’s not a henchman.”
“Molly, just get the soup. And on your way to the kitchen, ask Davis to fetch a change of men’s clothing from the closet in the big room. There should be sweatpants and a T-shirt in there large enough to fit him.”
June made sure there was always extra clothing in the safe house—she never knew who might arrive in an emergency with only the clothes on their back.
Molly trudged to the kitchen, shoulders set in a sullen slouch. The kid was acting out of fear, thought June as she propped Jesse up on several pillows. Molly was terrified Samuel’s reach would extend into the safe house and June couldn’t blame her.
“I’m going to get you into some dry clothing, Jesse,” she said calmly, maneuvering his wet denim jacket off his shoulders. “Then I’ll clean those wounds properly and stitch you up.”
He cleared his throat. “You’re calling me Jesse—why? Is it my name?” His voice was hoarse.
“That’s what your belt buckle says—probably a clothing brand. But I had to call you something.” June helped him lift his damp T-shirt over his head.
“Great.” His lips almost curved, then he sighed heavily, closing his eyes as he leaned back into the pillows.
His torso was sun-browned, as if he made a habit of working outdoors without a shirt. And his large hands were calloused—a man of physical labor, or a rancher perhaps? June didn’t peg this guy as the poolside- or beach-tanning type.
A thick scar curved down one side of his waist, as if he’d been gored by something. Another scar snaked up the inside of his arm.
June frowned. A violent life, or a bad accident of some kind?
But apart from the old scars there were no fresh swellings or lacerations that she could ascertain.
His chest hair was dark. June’s gaze followed the whorl of hair that ran down his washboard abs and disappeared seductively into his low-slung jeans. She needed to get him out of those wet pants, and the idea suddenly made her think of sex, which was ludicrous. She was a trained paramedic. The human body was part of her job. She never reacted like this.
Nevertheless, this rugged mountain man was doing it for her, and it made her uneasy.
She glanced up at his face. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing deeply, rhythmically, his bare chest rising and falling. He had a fine scar across his chin, too, and crinkles fanned out from his eyes—smile lines and sad lines. Deep brackets framed his mouth…a beautifully shaped, wide mouth. She couldn’t help noticing. Or imagining what it might feel like to have those lips brush hers.
She cleared her throat. “I’m going to get you out of your boots and jeans. Is that okay, Jesse?”
No response. Worry washed softly through her again, and inside her heart compassion blossomed.
She shook his shoulder. “Jesse?”
He nodded, eyes still closed.
“Are you just exhausted, or do you have pain anywhere else?”
“Tired,” he whispered. “Just…really tired.”
June removed his boots and wet socks and quickly unbuckled his belt once more. She edged his pants down over his hips and swallowed.
His thighs were large, all muscle, his legs in stunning shape apart from a massive scar across his left knee—looked as if he’d had some kind of surgery there.
She covered him with a soft blanket, pointedly ignoring the dark flare of hair between his thighs and trying not to think about how well-endowed he was. She put his wet boots in front of the cast-iron stove and hung his jeans over the back of a chair to dry. Flames glowed in the little stove window, and June realized she was perspiring, pulse racing.
She ran her hand over her damp hair, feeling edgy, perturbed. She hadn’t wanted sex since she’d lost Matt and had thrown herself wholly into cult and rescue work. And she preferred it that way. It helped her stay focused. She needed every ounce of her focus right now because that dark and rugged stranger lying naked on her bed could represent everything she’d devoted her life to fighting—he could be a cult enforcer, violent and potentially deadly to everyone she was trying to protect in this safe house.
June returned to his bedside and looked at him. He wore no wedding band, no jewelery, nothing that could clue her in to his identity. Apart from his watch. She removed it and studied it. It was high-tech, complete with altimeter, barometer and compass, the kind of equipment a serious outdoor enthusiast would wear. Her thoughts turned to his GPS and the route he’d save on it. She made a mental note to get it out of her pack and go through it thoroughly later.
“Do you need anything else?”
June spun round, startled by the male voice.
It was Davis. The middle-aged man had entered the room, placed a pile of clean clothes on the chair next to the bed.
June’s face felt hot. “Thanks, Davis. I think we should get someone out to stand guard at the canyon entrance for a while—I’m worried Samuel’s men might come looking for this guy, if he is actually one of them, and stumble upon our passageway. Can you do it?”
Davis looked at her oddly. “Are you okay, June?”
“I’m fine,” she said a little too crisply. Then she rubbed her brow. “I’m just really worried about Lacy and the twins. I should have found them by now. I—”
“You will find them, June. If anyone can, it’s you and Eager.”
Emotion surged into her eyes, and the burden of responsibility she’d undertaken, the amount of trust these people put in her, was suddenly overwhelming.
“Thanks, Davis.”
“I’ll take the first watch. Brad can replace me.”
“Don’t forget to take a radio. And one of the shotguns.”
He paused at the door. “You really think they’ll come?”
She glanced at Jesse. “I hope not.”
I hope I haven’t made the biggest mistake in my life by bringing him here.
“Make sure Molly has a receiving radio tuned in to the right frequency. Tell her to keep it with her at all times and to pass it on to someone else if she wants to sleep.”
Davis closed the door behind him as he left.
* * *
June busied herself cleaning and disinfecting the wounds on Jesse’s head and leg. She administered local anesthetic, stitched him up and applied dressing. He remained conscious but in a state of exhausted half sleep, which both puzzled and worried her.
She put dry track pants on him and took a moment to study the tattoo on his hip again.
With surprise she realized the D was fresh—maybe only seven to ten days old, the skin around the ink still pink and slightly inflamed.
She frowned. This didn’t fit the picture for one of Samuel’s henchmen. The enforcers Samuel used tended to be solidly entrenched Devotees who’d proved themselves to him and demonstrated they were able and prepared to defend Samuel’s empire violently. Or, at least, those were the henchmen she knew of.
June’s chest tightened with conflict as she covered the stranger with more blankets. She packed up her first-aid kit, and suddenly a wave of fatigue hit hard. She told herself it was just the adrenaline wearing off. She still had to go out and look for Lacy and the twins—she’d start along the west flank where she and Eager had found Jesse and his gun. There was no way she’d be able to put in even a cursory appearance with Fargo’s search party at this late stage of the morning, so she’d spend her time searching solo with her K9.
Molly entered the room carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming vegetable soup. She eyed Jesse with hostility as she set the tray on the table next to the bed.
June shook his shoulder, gently rousing him. “Jesse—Molly brought you some soup. I think you should get some warmth into you.”
His thick lashes fluttered and he turned his head from side to side.
* * *
He could hear her voice—soft, sexy, feminine—
as if it were coming from a faraway place with warm light. He felt her hand on his bare shoulder—her skin soft, cool. So feminine. He struggled to swim up to full consciousness—to her—and his eyes fluttered open. But everything was a hazy blur, bright. Then slowly, the room came into focus. And he saw her, sitting beside his bed.
An angel. With flaming-red hair. Beautiful, fine-boned 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.
The Perfect Outsider Page 3