FBI Agent Wade Barron POV

  Crustless PB&J sandwiches were the perfect food for sitting in a car on a stakeout. Hazel eyed with dismay as I ate mine in a circular pattern from the outside, as much to see her squirm as anything. Wolfing down a quick lunch gave me time to think about why Mia had been so eager to rush us away, before I dared to give voice to everything that wasn’t adding up. Right now, we had to ensure her safety. Finley and Terry had been in the apartment for a long time, and I didn’t buy that they were old family friends for a second.

  “You seem distracted, Wade. A lot on your mind?” Hazel prompted, as I tossed the sandwich’s now-empty wrapping into the side of the door. “I’m surprised you wanted to stick around. We’ve wasted enough time on these jokers.”

  I hesitated, dusting my hands off on my navy slacks. “I worry we left too easily. Strange men break into her home under false pretenses, and she doesn’t want our help? I heard that scream: that was fear for your life screaming, not being grossed out at puke.”

  “They could’ve been holding her kids at gunpoint, for all we know. I see why you wanted to do a wellness check.”

  “Yeah, but Mia didn’t try to nonverbally communicate at all! She seemed angry at us, yet both her and the husband were…rattled to their cores. I’ve never seen someone so pale as Josh there. He looked like he wanted to talk and then…a little afraid of us. Not Finley. Us! The reporter couldn’t close the door fast enough.”

  “We’re watching for any outgoing 911 calls and making sure they’re leaving. All I think is those people were jumpy and thought they could handle the nuts themselves until the FBI showed up. C’mon, Wade. What are you saying?” Hazel demanded, an exasperated tone in her voice.

  Doubt gnawed at my brain, a part of me that couldn’t but wonder: what if…? “I’m saying I think Mia believed them. That would mean they have such solid proof—such terrifying, scream-inducing proof—that they could convince her of their story. And Finley doesn’t trust the government, so they think us showing up means we’re trying to silence them.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s your conclusion?! One scared reporter, who claws back at your rogue surveillance, and you’re ready to go, ‘Rock people real?’ We have a missile to find, instead of chasing down backwoods lunatics!”

  “I’m not saying it’s my conclusion, but it could be. Now that the press are involved, surely we need to look into it from the angle that maybe. Neither Finley nor Terry have any history of mental illness or extremist ties, and now they’re running around doing drastic things? A missile that no country takes responsibility for, and the guy who’s right by where it should’ve landed suddenly starts googling shit about aliens and feeding them ammonia—then actually buys it? Why would they do that?”

  “Because they saw a light in the sky they didn’t understand and concocted a crazy story. They’re not the first. How many conspiracy theorists do we see?!”

  “Not a lot that convince a reporter.”

  “You don’t know that they did. Christ almighty! Let’s assume you’re right about Mia wanting us gone. At best, they’re all planning an elaborate hoax with the press, or at worst, they’re acting on behalf of a foreign power to distract our investigation.”

  “Then you agree that we need to know. True or not, it could create chaos.” On the slim chance that it’s true, these farmers would’ve really met aliens…and we shot them down. Terry and Finley, responsible for ET life: that’s dodgy. I have to know for certain, because I can’t shake this feeling that something’s not right. “There they are. Let’s just start with making sure Mia is unharmed.”

  I could see Finley Canavan grinning from ear-to-ear, giving Terry Downie a high-five. I pulled the ball cap lower over my eyes and hoped in plain clothes, our unmarked vehicle would blend in parked on the side of the road. Squinting closer, I could see that Terry’s nose was purple and swollen, while Finley had a red patch on his jaw that looked like he’d taken a punch. From how they were dancing down the street and celebrating, the physical altercation that’d broken out clearly hadn’t been with each other.

  I peered at the strange cart I’d seen Finley bring to the apartment, with a mountain of blankets that seemed almost to be hiding something. The farmer pulled it back to his truck and stopped it next to the door. The coverings shifted as I watched, wide-eyed; there was a third…had they really snuck in…? My breathing itself paused as a chunky figure rose from the cart, with every part of the being’s body bundled up to be invisible. Shapewise, it reminded me of the Michelin Man.

  “Hazel! That’s the alien!” I hissed, pointing. “What else could it be? We need to stop them!”

  Hazel snorted and rolled her eyes. “That’s enough. These guys have committed no verifiable crime, and we’ve wasted enough time following them around. I’m not going to help you go rogue based on these…delusions!”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “There’s literally a third figure that’s hidden and—”

  “Because they’re larger and covered, they must be an alien? Maybe Finley dressed someone up as a rock person, or maybe they’re hiding their cult leader from prying eyes. They know we’re here.”

  I watched the bundled figure hug Finley, my jaw wobbling from what I suspected I was witnessing. I had to try to talk to them, to find a way to make them trust us! Nobody at the FBI was going to believe it unless I could deliver proof; maybe that reporter would call my card, or be willing to play ball if approached. My mind was racing as the walls of denial came crashing down, and were replaced by a tireless zeal to prove that there was something to this. The obscured being ducked into the truck, and the trio drove off.

  From the apartment complex’s entrance, I could see a furtive Mia duck out with a burner phone in hand. The reporter glanced over her shoulder, as if she was worried about being followed; not using her primary cell and wandering outside must mean she thought we’d tapped her phone…or bugged her place. She was really paranoid, like a journalist would be if they thought they were unraveling a conspiracy of the magnitude Finley must’ve claimed. Her lips moved like she was talking very quickly—nervous.

  “This is important, Hazel! We need to get the Bureau to look into this. We need to talk to Mia,” I pleaded.

  Hazel put the car in drive, and zipped in the opposite direction of the reporter. “I’m done, Barron; and if you’re smart, so are you. What will our superiors think of this shit-for-brains theory of yours?”

  I leaned my skull against the window and stewed in a million thoughts, wondering just what I could do about this. Part of me wanted to drive to Finley’s farm and kick down the door, but hugs or not, I didn’t actually know what these rock people were capable of. God, that sounded crazy to actually think to myself! The Bureau would strip my badge if I went too rogue and acted outside the law trying to prove this. Even if I got their support, the last thing I wanted was for a SWAT team to bust in and shoot to kill. This was important for humanity, wasn’t it?

  “Why are rock people scared of humans?” Didn’t they search that? They’re scared of us after we blasted them out of the sky. There has to be someone that can convince Finley to bring them in peacefully, and I’m not sure it’s me. He doesn’t trust me as far as he can throw me.

  I thought about the searches I believed originated from the extraterrestrial, while Finley was gone shopping for ammonium nitrate. The…rock people wanted to know how to tell if humans would be angry. Why was that the first thing they’d searched? Mr. Canavan hid an explosive temper very well, if he had one; him hugging the alien only solidified in my mind that he was harmless. I grimaced as my cell phone rang, and I swiped to accept the call when I saw it was my boss, SSA Nguyen.

  I had to convince him to look into Finley Canavan’s situation, and with delicacy. The longer I waited to have this investigated, the higher the chances of World War Three breaking out. Perhaps pointing out that the press was digging around would be the angle. Mia’s involvement gave the claim a little more legitimacy than some internet searches and a blanket monster.

  “Hello, sir?” I answered, feeling my throat clam up with nervousness. Hazel glanced at me briefly, giving a stern head shake. “What can I do for you?”

  Nguyen hissed with disdain on the other side of the line. “For starters, you can tell me what you were doing running an illegal surveillance operation on a journalist! We received a complaint against you that paints an unflattering picture: of a harassment campaign against innocent civilians.”

  “Sir, I had good reason to suspect that Finley would seek out Mrs. Cheng. He was a person of interest in a potential domestic terrorism investigation, though I think we can say he’s cleared, but…I wanted to make sure he didn’t try anything.”

  “So it’s true. Do you understand the bad publicity and the lawsuits this could bring down on us? A journalist. That’s the worst person you could’ve picked! She could run this story in the Sunday paper, and now, it’s on record.”

  I cleared my throat. “Mia Cheng is planning to run a different story in tomorrow’s paper. That the missile we shot down was an alien spacecraft.”

  “That’s what you’re investigating?!” His voice became incandescent. “You had no authorization for any of this cockamamie horseshit! I send you to track down a live ICBM, and you go off on a personal quest to prove that it’s FUCKING ALIENS?!!”

  “No, sir. I was following a trail of witnesses who sighted the UFO, believing that they might be related and misidentified the missile. Finley Canavan was particularly certain that aliens were behind the crash, so I figured he’d seen more than most. Just please, send someone to check it out—”

  “Not a chance in hell, Barron! You’re off this investigation, and I’m placing you on administrative leave effective immediately. You’re going to be hearing from Internal Affairs to give an accounting for everything you’ve fucked up in the past 48 hours. We don’t want any more surprises coming out of the woodwork.”

  The phone nearly slipped from my hand, though I managed to keep my voice steady. “Understood, sir. I…I can prove it. A proper look into this will vindicate me; I know it will. I’m willing to bet everything!”

  “That much is evident. You’ll be lucky to be a pencil pusher with this mark on your record. I hear anything else about you going around in any capacity as an agent of the FBI, your job is gone for certain. You won’t be protected by our badge again.”

  “Understood, sir.” I pressed my lips against a clenched fist, scowling. I could still look into this as a civilian, but it’d be a lot harder—and I couldn’t let the Bureau hear about it until I had evidence they couldn’t deny. “Is that all?”

  “It is. Go get your head straight and come back to the real world, Barron. I’ll be in touch when you can manage that.”

  My shoulders slumped in defeat as SSA Nguyen hung up. Hazel had a knowing, disappointed look in her eyes that told me she’d overheard everything. I would be alone in this investigation now, since she wouldn’t back me up on this alien theory, and I didn’t want to drag her into the hot seat anyway. Somehow, without any license to investigate, I had to prove that what crashed into the Texas Triangle was something far more exotic than a missile.