Unidentified Flying Suspect (Illegal Alien Book 2)

by Carrie Harris

  “Come here,” I said, gesturing to Hardwicke. “Your car. Is it parked nearby?”

  He blinked at me, trying to keep up with the change in subject.

  “Yeah. It’s near the gate.”

  “Come on.”

  I gestured for him to follow, and after a moment of reluctance, he did. As we drew away from the plane, I took the opportunity to holler some of the questions that had been nagging at me.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Scorsone asked me to take over the security detail here. I’ve been working it a lot since your attack.”

  “Why is this the first time I’ve heard about it?”

  “He asked me not to tell you.” I was sure the hurt showed on my face, but rather than picking at me for it, Hardwicke rushed to explain. “He knew you’d ask for some shifts, and he’s worried about you. That sewer thing shook him up pretty hard.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  My voice was as firm as I could make it, but damn was I pissed. If Scorsone felt that way, he should have told me. I didn’t appreciate finding out from Hardwicke after the fact.

  “Yeah, you’ve made that abundantly clear. What are we doing with my car?”

  I glanced back as we reached the fence. The fuckwit’s plane hadn’t picked up speed and was making its way toward the runway at the speed of your average tricycle. As I watched, the aircraft began to drift a little to the right as the fuckwit tried to get a handle on the controls. As reassuring as it was, the fuckwit could figure it out at any moment, and then he’d be gone, tentacles and all. I had to stop it before that happened and I lost my chance to bring it to justice and prove once and for all that I wasn’t completely nutso.

  “It’ll be easier than running after the plane. Hopefully we can block the runway or something.”

  “So your alien can fly a plane? What is it, a UFO pilot?”

  “Seems like it. Any more questions?”

  “I guess not…”

  He sounded dazed, and I didn’t blame him. I’d felt the same way the first time I saw an alien, and he hadn’t had much time to get used to the idea. Hell, I had, and I still felt pretty discombobulated by what was happening.

  But there wasn’t much time to dwell on it. I followed Hardwicke toward his car and hoped that we’d stop this thing before it got away.

  CHAPTER 40

  After spending time as my former partner, Brad Hardwicke should have known better than to unlock the doors to his car as we approached. I took it as an invitation and opened the driver’s side door before he could reach it. He shot me a look of exasperation, but there was no time to argue. When I held out my hand for the keys, he threw them to me and vaulted over the hood of the car in a move that would have looked right at home in an action movie with the thumpy-thump music. I would have given him grief for it, but there wasn’t time for that either.

  I thrust the keys into the ignition, turned on the car, and peeled out before he’d even closed his door. He let out a bleat of surprise and managed to pull it shut before he fell right back out. Screw safe driving; I had an alien to catch. I didn’t so much as pause before swinging the car around to speed back onto the air field. I couldn’t see the plane—although I could hear it—and the idea that the alien might be getting away consumed me with worry.

  “What the crap?” he demanded.

  The squeal of the tires drowned out whatever he said next, but I got the gist. He thought I was nuts and wanted me to drive like a responsible person who wasn’t currently chasing down an alien in a stolen plane.

  “Brad, an alien killed Ronda,” I explained. There was no sugarcoating it. Either he’d believe his own eyes or he wouldn’t. “I shot it under the Cherry Street Bridge, and I’ve been doubting my sanity ever since, and now there’s another one. I’m not going to let it get away and take my only chance to understand what the hell is going on and why my partner died. If you want to issue me a traffic citation afterwards, fine, but in the meantime, shut up and let me drive.”

  He fell into a shocked silence, but then he said, “I’ve got your back.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve got your back,” he repeated. “For Ronda. I wasn’t as good to her as I should have been. If this thing has answers, I’ll beat them out of its fucking face.”

  “Such language,” I chided, just to break the tension. Because honestly, I was about as tense as a person could be without imploding. It seemed to work. Brad let out a strangled laugh, but it broke off quickly.

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why. While we’d gotten the car, the fuckwit had gotten the hang of the controls. I pulled around one of the outbuildings to see it far down the runway and picking up speed. The wheels of the plane began to bounce off the ground as the craft struggled to ascend.

  I said a few choice bad words and pressed the pedal to the floor. The car surged forward, hurtling down the runway in hot pursuit. Hardwicke grabbed onto the holy shit bar and held on for dear life.

  “What are you going to do, ram the plane?” he asked, his eyes wide.

  “If that’s what it takes, I just might,” I growled. “But no, I’m hoping to scare it off the runway.”

  Sadly, the little plane was faster than the police issue sedan Hardwicke had been driving. The department cruisers were built for speed and safety in a high speed chase, but the department didn’t expect us detectives to be chasing aliens in aircraft, and they wanted us to be as inconspicuous as possible. This sedan looked less out-of-luck G-man and more old dude on a pension, and it would have fit in nicely at senior center bingo night. I sure felt conspicuous driving down the runway after that plane, though.

  “That way,” suggested Hardwicke, pointing to an access road off to the right. “Swing around. We might be able to cut him off before he builds up enough speed.”

  It was a good idea, but I was currently doing about forty miles per hour, and the tires screeched in protest as I took the turn at high speed. We nearly skidded off into the grass, but I managed to maintain control with effort. Hardwicke nearly ended up in my lap. He didn’t utter a word of protest; he wanted to catch this thing as badly as I did. Maybe not for the same reasons—maybe he wanted to prove me wrong—but that didn’t much matter. I’d take the support however I could get it. It felt good. Like I had a partner again.

  His idea turned out to be a good one. Although the plane was fast, our angle of approach allowed us to cut him off, and I turned onto the runway a few hundred feet in front of it. Hopefully close enough to force him to veer off into the grass that bordered the runway rather than stopping and turning around before we could do anything about it.

  What I didn’t bank on was the plane not slowing at all. It continued on toward us, and I began to wonder if the fuckwit knew where the brakes were, or if it even cared.

  “Uh…Audrey?” said Hardwicke, watching as the plane hopped closer and closer. It would go airborne for about fifteen feet or so, touch down briefly, and then hop back up again.

  “Out of the car!” I ordered, as if he needed to be told. Maybe he did, though, because he kept watching as the plane drew closer, shock pinning him to the seat. The reality of what was happening had frozen him in place. I shoved him hard, knocking him against the closed door. “Go!”

  The pain got his attention at the very least, shaking him out of his stupor. He fumbled for the handle, but panic had stolen his dexterity along with his ability to think. He began to swear, slowly and steadily, under his breath.

  “Oh shit…oh shit…” he said.

  I opened my door with swift movements. The air around us roared with the approaching engines, and I could feel the car shuddering beneath me. I shouted at Brad to follow me, but my voice was swallowed by the sound of the plane. I grabbed his arm and yanked, sending pain into my frequently abused shoulder, but that would be worth it if we both lived.

  Hardwicke frantically launched himself at me and the open space beyond. We collided hard, toppling out of
the car and onto the hard concrete. The impact jarred every bone in my body and some of the jiggly bits too.

  The plane reached the car. Hopped up into the air. Touched down on the roof with a squeal of protesting metal. Hopped into the air again. This time it stuck.

  The plane took off into the air. There would be no stopping it now.

  CHAPTER 41

  Hardwicke and I lay crumpled on the ground next to his car, watching as the plane containing an alien murderer roared off into the sky. We’d track it, of course, and hopefully find the alien before he disappeared back into the sewers or took off in his UFO or whatever he’d planned to do, but it still felt like a failure. We’d had the chance to catch him, and we’d failed.

  My partner felt the sting of it just like I did. I could see it on his face, in the compressed line of his mouth and the defeated slump of his shoulders. I reached out and patted him without thinking about it first, but he seemed to take the gesture as reassurance rather than insult and gave me a nod.

  “Damn,” he whispered. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  I nodded, watching the plane gain altitude. It trailed lines of dark smoke and tilted off to one side, but maybe that was normal? Maybe the alien knew what it was doing? Unless we’d managed to damage the plane when it knocked against the roof of the car? Even if we had, it didn’t seem like that offered us much hope, unless we put an alert out to all airport mechanics to be on the lookout for a tentacle alien with a damaged plane.

  “I guess we should start making some calls,” he said. “Get air traffic control to track that plane. Call into the department and tell them…”

  He trailed off helplessly. What could we tell them? They would want a description of the suspect, and we both knew that “tentacle alien about the same color as that burnt orange crayon” wasn’t going to inspire confidence in our report. And then when we told them that the species of alien was called a fuckwit? They’d laugh us out of dodge. It was the kind of thing you had to see to believe.

  “Welcome to my world. This is what it’s been like, ever since Ronda died,” I said softly.

  “I thought you were trying to cover something up. Your story didn’t jive, and I knew you weren’t telling me everything. I resented you for it. But I didn’t think it would be anything like this.”

  He might have made more of an apology if the plane hadn’t exploded. One moment, it was roaring off into the sky. The next? A boom shook the car, and the shockwave that followed closely on its heels knocked me against the wheel, scraping my body along the pavement. I whacked my head something fierce on impact, but I was feeling a lot better than the fuckwit. It—and the plane—had been engulfed by a fireball.

  Bits of burning metal began to rain down upon us, and we scrabbled under the car to take cover. I could hear the impact of some of the larger pieces of the aircraft as they tumbled to the ground. The plane had moved far enough away that most of the debris fell well out of range of us, but who knew how far the explosion would carry them? We could only hope not to be smashed.

  Hardwicke’s hand found mine, and we huddled there together as the air filled with smoke and the sound of debris falling from the sky, along with the presumably dead alien and any hope I’d had of finding the truth about what was happening here.

  It took about two hours for the fire department to get the blaze under control. The body of the plane had burst into pieces, which meant my chances of finding a convenient alien corpse were pretty low too. All in all, the situation felt crappy and discouraging. I sat on the bumper of an ambulance, watching the firefighters at work and trying not to feel too sorry for myself, but it was a losing battle at best.

  Hardwicke walked over with two Styrofoam cups and offered me one.

  “Coffee?” he asked.

  “Thanks.”

  I took it and sipped. It was really too hot outside for coffee, but it felt good to have something to drink, and it had been a nice gesture. I’d take what I could get.

  “I just gave my statement,” he said casually. “I think they’ll be talking to you next.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. I told them what a pity it was that I didn’t get a good look at the guy.”

  He shot me a glance that was half guilty and half apologetic. I couldn’t blame him, though. I’d spent the past few months dodging that kind of question.

  “Everything happened so fast,” I agreed, taking a sip of coffee. “Other than his height and the fact that he was bald, I don’t have much on him either. I wish I’d gotten a look at his face.”

  I glanced at him, and we shared a moment of unspoken agreement. Maybe we’d talk about what had happened, but not now. And not with anyone else. But we knew the truth, and we had each other’s backs. We truly were partners now, and I was glad for it, but it sure would have been nice not to have to go through all the trauma and exploding aliens to get there.

  We sat in compatible silence until Scorsone came over to fetch me for my debrief. Commissioner Gordon stood a few feet behind him as I claimed ignorance as to the identity of the attacker. I explained that I’d been searching nearby sewer access points for signs of entry and exit, and he’d leapt out at me and knocked me over. The story was otherwise true except for the part where I gave the sketchiest of descriptions.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “All I ever saw was his back as the bastard ran away from me. He never looked back at me as far as I noticed. He had distance on me the whole time after he knocked me over. I wasn’t as quick to get up as I usually am.”

  “Well, after everything you’ve been through…” he said reluctantly. “I guess I could understand that.”

  “Yeah. So I can’t tell you anything useful about the guy other than the fact that he was bald and about this tall.” I held up a hand. “Which I know is nothing useful. Hopefully you’ll be able to find some remains and ID him from his dental records.”

  “So far, we haven’t found any remains,” said Scorsone, his face pinched with skepticism. He seemed about to say something else, but Gordon tugged on his sleeve and whispered something in his ear. As hard as I strained, I couldn’t catch it. He sighed in response, turned to me, and said, “Very well. Nice work, Detective. Carry on.”

  “Thanks,” I said, looking curiously at Gordon. She nodded at me in approval, and I couldn’t think of what to say to that, and I couldn’t exactly question her about her link to Tsishe’s organization in front of Scorsone, so I just left.

  CHAPTER 42

  After the explosion, it took a few days before the world settled into normalcy. There were more rounds of questions with different people in the room. Hardwicke and I stuck to our stories. We knew the usual traps when it came to trying to hide something. People couldn’t resist the urge to add details to their description of a fake criminal—dark pants or a jacket or a pair of shoes—thinking that it would get the detectives off their tail if they gave them something to work with. But often, those late-added details tripped people up. They got flustered. Contradicted themselves. And eventually, whatever they were trying to hide came out.

  We didn’t do that. Instead, we both kept urging them to find the body. That would solve everything, after all. If they found the dead alien, the body would speak for itself. Then we could admit then that we’d hadn’t given a full description because we’d doubted what we’d seen—and who wouldn’t? A man with tentacle arms wasn’t the kind of thing sane people believed in. So while we avoided giving a full description, we offered as much help as we could in finding the alien or his hideout in the sewers.

  They wouldn’t allow us to take part in the search since we’d firmly established ourselves as witnesses, but Scorsone assured me that the search was being conducted with the utmost care. After some thought, I’d placed a call to Gordon’s office, and while I hadn’t been able to talk to her directly, her secretary had relayed a similar message to me. Through the secretary, Gordon assured me that all I needed to do was sit tight and they’d take care of ever
ything. It would have to do.

  But eventually, the search had ended with no corpse found, and the assumption was that the pilot had been incinerated in the explosion. It had certainly gotten hot enough when the fuel tanks caught, and there wasn’t enough left to tell what had caused the explosion in the first place. I’d never know for sure, although I suspected the alien had managed to cause a short when he’d hotwired the plane, or whatever he’d done to make it start. For all I knew, he’d zapped it with his electric tentacle. It was the kind of theory that sounded facetious but wasn’t.

  Hardwicke and my persistence paid off, and other than a strict talking to, we didn’t face any official sanctions. We were able to return to work with a minimum of fuss and no required psych evaluations, which was a new and interesting improvement where I was concerned.

  After the fervor died down, I went back to Phillipe’s for a workout, hoping to clear my head. I knew life would have to go on, just as it had after Ronda’s death, but that was easier said than done. At least this time I wasn’t alone. Hardwicke and I mostly avoided the topic, but we’d started talking every day about other things. How we were doing and our other cases and…partner stuff. The kind of chatting about nothing that you do with people in your life.

  It wasn’t easy to do, after spending so long holding my cards to my chest. Especially after what had happened when I’d trusted Erich. He’d gone off the rails. But not Hardwicke. He applied his considerable intelligence to the problem, asking a lot of the same questions I’d been asking myself and coming up with a few extra that hadn’t occurred to me at all. We might not have been able to answer them, but at least we knew what to look for. At least I wouldn’t be looking alone. Maybe I didn’t have proof of extraterrestrial activity on earth, but at least something good had come out of the situation.