The Outsider

Thank you for downloading this Pocket Pulse eBook.

Join our mailing list and get updates on new releases, deals, bonus content and other great books from Pocket Pulse and Simon & Schuster.

or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com

Max slowly raised his hands and stared down at Liz's stomach. Under the blood, her skin was whole and perfect. He released a shaky sigh of relief.

Liz opened her eyes and stared at him. “I . . . you . . .”

“I'll explain everything later,” Max whispered. “But now I need you to help me.”

He grabbed a bottle of ketchup off the counter and smashed it against the floor. He dumped the contents over the blood on Liz's uniform.

“You broke the bottle when you fell,” Max told her. “Okay, Liz? You broke the bottle when you fell, that's all.”

Two paramedics in white jumpsuits hurried behind the counter. Max backed away. Did Liz even understand what he'd asked her to do?

Liz struggled to sit up. “I'm okay,” she said. Her voice sounded hoarse. “When I heard the gunshot, I jumped. Then I fell. I . . . I broke this ketchup bottle and spilled ketchup all over myself.”

She held up the broken bottle so everyone could see it.

Then Liz looked straight at Max, her dark brown eyes melting with emotion. He felt his breath catch in his chest.

“I'm okay,” she repeated.

 

Don't miss any books in this fascinating new series:

#1 THE OUTSIDER

#2 THE WILD ONE

#3 THE SEEKER

#4 THE WATCHER

#5 THE INTRUDER

#6 THE STOWAWAY

#7 THE VANISHED

#8 THE REBEL

#9 THE DARK ONE

#10 THE SALVATION

Available from POCKET PULSE

This book is a work of fiction. Although the physical setting of the book is Roswell, New Mexico, the high school and its students, names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

POCKET PULSE published by
Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

Produced by 17th Street Productions, Inc.
33 West 17th Street
New York, New York 10011

Visit us on the World Wide Web:
http://www.SimonSays.com

Copyright © 1998 by POCKET BOOKS,
a division of Simon & Schuster Inc.

First published in 1998 by Archway Paperbacks

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce
this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
For information address Daniel Weiss Associates, Inc.,
33 West 17th Street, New York, NY 10011, or Pocket Books,
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

ISBN-10: 0-7434-3442-0
ISBN-13: 978-0-7434-3442-3

POCKET PULSE and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.

“One Sigourney Weaver and one Will Smith.” Liz Ortecho slid two thick burgers onto the table — one with avocado and sprouts, one with jalapeño peppers and cheese.

Then she waited. The customers in the booth were obviously tourists. And every tourist who came to the Crashdown Cafe had at least one question about . . . the Roswell Incident.

“So is your family from around here?” the guy in the
Lost in Space
T-shirt asked. The blond woman sitting across from him flipped open a battered notebook and stared at Liz.

“Yeah,” Liz said. “My great-great-great-grandfather inherited a ranch outside town. My family's been in Roswell ever since.”

The woman uncapped her pen. The man cleared his throat. Here it comes, Liz thought.

“So did any of your relatives ever tell you any stories about, you know, the UFO crash?” the guy asked.

These two were a total trip. I bet they have every episode of
The X-Files
on tape, Liz thought.

“Well . . .” Liz hesitated. “I guess it would be okay to show you.” She pulled a worn black-and-white photo out of her pocket and gently placed it in front of them. “A friend of my grandmother's took this picture at the crash site — before the government cleaned it up.”

The two tourists leaned over the blurry photo and studied it carefully.

“Whoa,” the woman mumbled. “Whoa.”

“This looks exactly like the alien from the autopsy video,” the guy exclaimed. “Same oversized head and small, hairless body. I've got to get it on my Roswell Incident web site.” He reached for the photo.

“You'd be dead by the end of the week.” Liz snatched the photo away. “Just because it's been more than fifty years since the crash doesn't mean the air force wants the truth exposed. They still want everyone to believe that weather balloon story they used as a cover-up,” she explained.

Liz glanced around the cafe nervously. She wanted to make sure her father wasn't in earshot. If Papa heard her telling this story, he'd rip off her head and feed it to her for breakfast.

“I shouldn't have shown this to you. Just forget about it, okay? You never saw it.” Liz rushed back behind the counter.

Maria DeLuca shook her head, sending her blond curls flying around her face. “You are so bad.”

“Hey, they'll have a great story to tell when they get home. And I'll have a great tip,” Liz answered.

Maria sighed. “You and your great tips. I've never known such a money-hungry waitress.”

Liz shrugged. “You know how I feel. I need as much money as I can get because — ”

“One day after grad it's
adios
and
hasta la vista,
baby,” Maria interrupted. “I know, I know. You're not going to spend your life in a town that has two movie theaters, one bowling alley, one lame-o comedy club, one even more lame-o dance club, and thirteen alien-theme tourist traps.”

Liz had to smile. Her best friend did an almost perfect impression of her. “I guess I say that a lot, huh?”

Maria grabbed a dish towel and started wiping down the counter. “Only ten times a day since fifth grade,” she joked.

“If I didn't have five thousand relatives watching me all the time,” Liz said, “maybe I could have some fun once in a while.”

She sighed, imagining a life where she didn't have to worry about doing something — anything — that would make her large, loving extended family worry about her future. She was the first daughter in her family headed for college, and her family wanted to make sure that she stayed on track. And not turn out like her sister, Rosa.

Liz pulled a handful of change out of her pocket and dumped it on the counter.

“Wow,” Maria said. “Great tips. Maybe I should get my own picture of a baby doll someone left out in the sun too long.” Maria scrunched up her nose. “Though I don't know if I could do that whole ‘you'd be dead by the end of the week' thing without cracking up.”

“Just practice in front of the mirror. That's what I did,” Liz told her.

“It would take a lot of practice,” Maria complained. “Everyone always knows when I'm lying. My ten-year-old brother is a better liar than me. The guys my mom goes out with never believe me when I say how nice it is to meet them.”

Liz snorted. “Big surprise.” She popped open the cash register and traded her change for bills. Thirty-three more dollars for the Hasta la Vista Fund. Thirty-three seventy-three, actually.

The opening notes of the
Close Encounters
theme played as the cafe door swung open. Max Evans, tall and blond, with killer baby blues, and Michael Guerin, dark and intense, ambled over to the corner booth in the back. Both were students at Liz and Maria's high school.

“Of course they sit in
your
section,” Maria grumbled.

Liz and Maria each covered six of the cafe's flying-saucer-shaped booths. They divided the dining room in half from front to back so they each got a couple of booths by the windows. Those were the most popular.

“You get the tourists and the cute guys, and I get those two,” Maria continued. She jerked her chin toward the booth nearest the door. “They're having some big fight. They just scowl at me every time I get near them.”

Liz glanced at the two men in the booth. One was big and beefy. The other was smaller but muscular. They were leaning across the table toward each other, talking intently. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but they both looked furious.

“I think you deserve a good table after dealing with those guys. You can take Max and Michael,” Liz volunteered.

Maria narrowed her blue eyes. “Okay, what's going on?”

Liz wrapped her arm around Maria's shoulders. “You're my best friend. Can't I just do something nice for you out of the goodness of my heart?”

“Nope.” Maria shrugged Liz's arm away. “I repeat — what' going on?”

“Nothing,” Liz insisted. “I just feel like taking a little vacation from all the testosterone junkies.”

Maria raised one eyebrow. “Translation, please.”

“Guys,” Liz explained. “I'm so tired of their . . . guyness.”

“All guys aren't like Kyle Valenti, you know,” Maria told her. “Take Alex. He's totally cool.”

Alex Manes
was
totally cool. Liz could hardly believe she and Maria had only been friends with him for a year. She felt as if she'd known him forever.

“You're right. Alex is the best. But he doesn't count.”

Maria frowned. “Why not?”

“'Cause he's
Alex,”
Liz said with a shrug. “He's not a
guy
guy. Not like Kyle. You should have seen Kyle after school today. He will not accept the fact that I won't go out with him again. He actually got down on his knees and followed me down the hall with his tongue hanging out, begging. All his friends were watching, laughing like the idiots they are.”

It made Liz wish she knew karate. She could have really given his friends something to laugh about.

“How romantic. And that classy move didn't convince you to go out with him again?” Maria's voice rose in fake shock.

“Uh — that would be
no.
And I'm not going out with anyone else for a while, either,” Liz declared. “I'm going to stay home, rent chick flicks, take bubble baths, and wear comfy old sweatpants.”

Liz was looking forward to it. To be fair, most guys she'd been out with — not that there had been that many — weren't losers like Kyle Valenti. Kyle actually had thought Liz would
enjoy
sitting next to him on the couch watching him play Nintendo. He hadn't even offered her a turn!

But even with the other guys, there had just been that “sameness” about them.

“My love life is pathetic,” Liz mumbled. “I just need some time to myself, for myself.”

“Well, I can mix you up some great herbal bath oils,” Maria offered. “But if you stop dating, there are going to be some very unhappy boys at Ulysses F. Olsen High.”

“Like who?” Liz demanded.

Maria glanced over at the booth where Max and Michael were sitting. “Max Evans,” she said.

“Max?” Liz repeated. “Max is my buddy. He's not interested in me like that.”

“Oh, please,” Maria shot back. “How could he not be interested? You look like some kind of Spanish princess or something with your long black hair and your amazing cheekbones. And let's not talk about your skin. Do you even know the word
zit?
Plus you're smart and — ”

Liz held up both hands. “Stop!”

Maria was the most loyal person Liz knew. If you were her friend, she stuck by you no matter what. And Liz and Maria had been friends since the second grade, when they bonded over a hurt baby bird.

“Okay, I'll stop,” Maria answered. “But believe me, Max Evans is more than interested. He probably has the words
Property of Liz Ortecho
tattooed on his chest. Max — ”

“Hi, Michael!” Liz said loudly as Michael walked up to the counter. She hoped he hadn't heard any of their conversation.

“Hey.” Michael raked his fingers through his jet black hair, making the top even more spiky. “I was wondering if you had a job application I could fill out.”

It was hard for Liz to picture Michael working in the cafe, busing tables and making change and stuff. It seemed too normal, too ordinary for Michael. He should have a job as a Navy SEAL or something like that. Michael was always joking around, but there was a definite edge to him.

Liz reached under the counter and pulled out a pad of forms. “We don't have any openings right now. But I'll talk to my father, and as soon as something comes up I'll have him call you.”

“Oh, I think you're going to be having some openings real fast,” Michael answered in a serious tone. “Unless your dad likes waitresses who stand around gossiping instead of waiting on tables.” He winked.

Maria threw her dish towel at him. Michael cracked up.

“I'll go,” Maria said. She picked up two menus and followed Michael over to his booth.

Liz shot a quick glance over at Max — and found herself staring directly into his bright blue eyes. They were such an unusual shade, strange and beautiful. Not the blue of the sky or of the ocean.

Max held Liz's gaze for a second, then he looked away.

Maria wasn't right about Max — was she? Liz had known Max since third grade. He had been her lab partner since they were sophomores. But they never hung out outside of class. And Liz hadn't picked up on any vibe signaling that Max wanted to be more than friends.

Liz grabbed the nearest napkin holder and restocked it. What would it be like to go out with Max? He wasn't really her type. He was quiet. And kind of a loner.

He saw the world in a different way from most people. He said things that made Liz stop and think. like when those scientists in Scotland cloned that sheep. A lot of people talked about who they would clone if they could — scientists or athletes or movie stars. But Max was more interested in whether or not the soul could be cloned — and if it couldn't, what that meant. Spending time with Max definitely wasn't boring.

Liz wiped a drop of milk off the counter. She moved the ketchup bottle up a fraction of an inch so it was exactly even with the mustard bottle. Then she stole another peek at Max.

No one could say the boy was homely, that was for sure. If there were a beefcake calendar of Ulysses F. Olsen High hotties, Max would be in it. Tall, blond, buff, with those blue, blue eyes . . .

Liz felt her face get hot. It was weird thinking of Max that way. Most of the time she forgot he was certifiably gorgeous. Max was just
Max.
She couldn't —

“I don't want the money tomorrow. I want it now!”

The angry voice interrupted Liz's thoughts. She jerked her head up and saw everyone in the cafe staring at the men in the booth by the door. The beefy man clenched and unclenched his fists as he glared at the muscular man.

I'd better go get Papa out of the office, she thought. Their argument looks like it's about to get ugly.

Liz turned toward the door marked Employees Only.

“He's got a gun!” Maria screeched.

Liz spun back toward the dining room. Her heart slammed against her ribs. No. Oh no. That's all she could think. Over and over.

The muscular man held a gun to the beefy man's head. “You won't need any money if you're dead,” he said. His voice was calm. Calm and cold.

Click.

The muscular man cocked the gun.

Liz wanted to run, she wanted to scream for help, but she was paralyzed. Her mouth refused to open. Her legs refused to move.

The beefy man gave a howl of fury. He launched himself across the table at the muscular man.

An eardrum-shattering explosion rocked the room.