Perfection (JL Spelbring) by JL Spelbring Read Free Book Online Page B

provided all the nourishment she’d need in the forms of fruits and roots. If worst came to worst, the little minnows struggling to hold their positions against the current could be a delicacy.
    She left the safety of the water and moved into the grass bordering the rocky edges. As predicted, just a few meters away from the stream, blackberry vines burst with ripened fruit. She hobbled over to them, her mouth watering and stomach rumbling in anticipation.
    Ellyssa placed the dark purple fruit on her tongue and squeezed it against the roof of her mouth. The sweet juice soothed her burning throat. Sitting down, she picked another, and another, following the same procedure, until her stomach began to swell.
    Making camp next to the food supply would be ideal, at least until she could decide on her next course of action, but that was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She started to take turns with the berries, one in her mouth and one in an empty water bottle, filling the container with the fruit.
    Squeezing her eyes tight, she pulled her feet under her and stood. Her body uttered a scream of defiance that, thankfully, calmed to a mumbled complaint. She wallowed back to the stream, submerged her feet in the icy water, and continued downstream.
    She stumbled in the water until twilight consumed the east and the sun fell to the horizon in the west. Against the bluish-black sky, the first stars winked into view.
    Shivering and completely exhausted, Ellyssa stopped her march and stepped onto dry land, where she dropped to her knees on a patch of grass. She took off her shoes and socks and dried her prune-like feet with a strip of cloth. No longer mobile, she felt the coolness of the night sap away the warmth in her body. Huddling into a tight ball, she lay on the ground and, almost immediately, sleep reached up and laid claim to her.
    “Detective Petersen, they picked up the trail of the Renegade,” said the Captain of the Warrensburg Department, Dyllon Jones. She still found his manner of speech strange, as if every vowel had to be drawn out, so unlike the way citizens spoke in the city.
    Angela aimed the flashlight into his face.
    Flinching, the captain brought the hand holding the radio up to shield his eyes. “Hey!” It sounded more like, ha-a-ay .
    “Sorry,” Angela said. She moved the beam down so it pooled on his chest. “Where?”
    “About one hundred sixty-one meters away. She left footprints in the soil,” he replied.
    Angela gazed at the sky; stars glittered brightly against the black velvet. “Have them mark the area and call everyone in, but I want them back at five in the morning.”
    She studied the man again. Like the rest of the unit, he wore a dark green uniform, signifying area police. His face was beaded with perspiration, and his hair, which she knew was cream in color, clung to his head in a darkened mess. He wasn’t a bad-looking man. Tall, lean muscles, defined cheekbones, strong jaw, perfect mouth; and when his lips broke into a smile, which happened a lot, his whole face lit up.
    Regardless, Captain Jones fell short by the detective’s standards. His hair leaned more toward a yellow than white, and his skin was darker than the alabaster of perfection. She did like his eyes, though. They weren’t the clear azure color of the perfect being, but they were interesting, the warm bluish-green of the deep ocean.
    As she scrutinized him, he pulled out the radio and relayed her orders. Static sounded, followed by someone answering, yes, sir .
    The captain whipped out a bandana and sopped his forehead. “It sure is hot,” he remarked, looking at her.
    Hot was an understatement. Angela found Missouri not only to be hot, but very humid. She’d spent the better half of a day swatting at the persistent gnats circling her head. She flipped her head up in acknowledgement, which apparently gave him the go-ahead for more small talk.
    “You’re staying in Warrensburg, right?”
    “Yes,” she answered curtly