his head. “I hate to say it, but things don’t sound good for you.”
“What doesn’t?” My breath caught.
“The boss wants to take care of you personally.”
“Take care, as in . . . ?” He was right. It didn’t sound good. “Oh, come on, sir!”
I couldn’t seem to react properly. I should be pleading for my life, or running headlong into the bushes, or even just feeling incapacitating fear and wetting myself. Instead, I saw myself from his perspective. My small head framed in the center of the rear sighting circle, the barrel sight stabbing upward into my throat. Hair fraying from my braid. One cheek bruised, eyes narrowed against the pulsing throb above my ear.
My face burned. I raised my hands. A shiver of energy raced up and down my spine. My hands hovered in front of me, trembling slightly. The open wound on my knuckle from punching Justet gaped a bright, dirt-coated red.
So volt him. The voice in my head instructed. Volt him, volt him, volt him.
Volt? The thought drew me upright. Could I do it? Conjure the electricity from last night? A slight tingling moved from my fingertips to the open skin.
Awesome. I could static shock him into submission.
“Who was on the phone?” I snapped, delaying the inevitable. “You called her ‘ma’am.’ Are you talking about the commander?”
“Shut up. It doesn’t matter.” Justet lifted his rifle, with some hesitation, to his shoulder.
“Tell me something, Justet.” My words sounded coarse and angry in my ears. I wasn’t going to cower here, waiting for him to take me to someone who’d blow my head off. I fixed him with an icy stare. “What do you know about Retha? You keep talking aliens, so I want to know what these Rethans want with seven small-town police officers and nine enlisted soldiers, missing from their homes or places of work over the last six years.”
“What are you talking about?” Justet dropped the muzzle of the rifle, genuinely curious.
“You heard me. Taken. Kidnapped. Abducted. Whatever you want to call it. Their places trashed, like in an explosion, and a single silver coin left at the scene stamped with the letters R-E-T-H-A.”
Justet’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, the coins. Why’s this matter so much to you?”
“It matters.” I took a single step toward Justet and his rifle. I was going to find out what he knew, even if it killed me.
“You think they’re taking our people too?” Justet asked.
“What do you mean, ‘too’?” I narrowed my eyes.
“If they’re invading Earth with their weapons of mass destruction, it only makes sense that they’ve studied us first,” he mused, turning his back to me.
I’d done enough ride-alongs with Dad to know when someone was three-sheets-to-the-wind, or just plain raving mad. Justet was neither. I rubbed my eyes, looked at Justet’s back, and glanced behind me. If I was going to run, now was the time. My hesitation cost me one of my alternatives. Justet rotated so rapidly that dirt kicked up around him like a billow of smoke. He flicked something shiny and silver toward me.
I ducked, covering my head with my arm as though the expected bullet was speeding toward me. The silver coin landed near my feet. The word RETHA, stamped across it in raised letters, shone in the sun. Shaking and breathless I plucked the coin from the dirt.
“Where’d you get this?” I turned the coin over, testing the weight and balance, checking for imperfections in the surface that might afford me some clue.
The one left at Dad’s crime scene had been squirrelled away by the police as evidence before vanishing with everything else, taken by a mysterious government agency called the DLA. I’d only gotten a small glimpse of it when they’d shown it to me, obscured in a plastic evidence bag. They’d asked if I knew anything about it. I hadn’t, at least not then. The image was imprinted in my mind. Someone was taking cops and soldiers and leaving this calling card. Why?
“They’re
“What doesn’t?” My breath caught.
“The boss wants to take care of you personally.”
“Take care, as in . . . ?” He was right. It didn’t sound good. “Oh, come on, sir!”
I couldn’t seem to react properly. I should be pleading for my life, or running headlong into the bushes, or even just feeling incapacitating fear and wetting myself. Instead, I saw myself from his perspective. My small head framed in the center of the rear sighting circle, the barrel sight stabbing upward into my throat. Hair fraying from my braid. One cheek bruised, eyes narrowed against the pulsing throb above my ear.
My face burned. I raised my hands. A shiver of energy raced up and down my spine. My hands hovered in front of me, trembling slightly. The open wound on my knuckle from punching Justet gaped a bright, dirt-coated red.
So volt him. The voice in my head instructed. Volt him, volt him, volt him.
Volt? The thought drew me upright. Could I do it? Conjure the electricity from last night? A slight tingling moved from my fingertips to the open skin.
Awesome. I could static shock him into submission.
“Who was on the phone?” I snapped, delaying the inevitable. “You called her ‘ma’am.’ Are you talking about the commander?”
“Shut up. It doesn’t matter.” Justet lifted his rifle, with some hesitation, to his shoulder.
“Tell me something, Justet.” My words sounded coarse and angry in my ears. I wasn’t going to cower here, waiting for him to take me to someone who’d blow my head off. I fixed him with an icy stare. “What do you know about Retha? You keep talking aliens, so I want to know what these Rethans want with seven small-town police officers and nine enlisted soldiers, missing from their homes or places of work over the last six years.”
“What are you talking about?” Justet dropped the muzzle of the rifle, genuinely curious.
“You heard me. Taken. Kidnapped. Abducted. Whatever you want to call it. Their places trashed, like in an explosion, and a single silver coin left at the scene stamped with the letters R-E-T-H-A.”
Justet’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, the coins. Why’s this matter so much to you?”
“It matters.” I took a single step toward Justet and his rifle. I was going to find out what he knew, even if it killed me.
“You think they’re taking our people too?” Justet asked.
“What do you mean, ‘too’?” I narrowed my eyes.
“If they’re invading Earth with their weapons of mass destruction, it only makes sense that they’ve studied us first,” he mused, turning his back to me.
I’d done enough ride-alongs with Dad to know when someone was three-sheets-to-the-wind, or just plain raving mad. Justet was neither. I rubbed my eyes, looked at Justet’s back, and glanced behind me. If I was going to run, now was the time. My hesitation cost me one of my alternatives. Justet rotated so rapidly that dirt kicked up around him like a billow of smoke. He flicked something shiny and silver toward me.
I ducked, covering my head with my arm as though the expected bullet was speeding toward me. The silver coin landed near my feet. The word RETHA, stamped across it in raised letters, shone in the sun. Shaking and breathless I plucked the coin from the dirt.
“Where’d you get this?” I turned the coin over, testing the weight and balance, checking for imperfections in the surface that might afford me some clue.
The one left at Dad’s crime scene had been squirrelled away by the police as evidence before vanishing with everything else, taken by a mysterious government agency called the DLA. I’d only gotten a small glimpse of it when they’d shown it to me, obscured in a plastic evidence bag. They’d asked if I knew anything about it. I hadn’t, at least not then. The image was imprinted in my mind. Someone was taking cops and soldiers and leaving this calling card. Why?
“They’re
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