Page 41 of Close Encounters of the Hot Kind

"I am not in the mood."

"I give up!" My hands fly up in surrender. "The whole world has lost its damn mind."

My fingers tremble as I pull out my phone and dial Varak's office. Each ring feels like an eternity.

"Mr. Varakian's office, how may I help you?"

"This is Aileen Marella. I need to speak with Charles right away."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Varakian is not in the office at the moment."

My heart sinks. "Please, you have to get him a message. Tell him there's a crisis at Papa Marella's Pizza. It's urgent."

"I'll make sure he gets the message as soon as he returns."

The line goes dead. My stomach churns as I stare at Smith through the kitchen window. He's still there, moving with that uncanny precision.

I can't wait for Varak. Who knows what that thing masquerading as Smith Johnson might do?

My fingers dial 911 before I can second-guess myself.

"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"

"Hi, I need to report a suspicious person at Papa Marella's Pizza. We just hired someone who I think faked all their documentation. His application lists impossible information and I'm worried he could be dangerous."

"We'll send an officer to check it out. Please wait outside for their arrival."

The evening air hits my face as I step out onto the sidewalk. Cars crawl past in the fading light while I bounce on my heels, watching for flashing lights.

Please hurry, I silently beg. Before whatever Smith Johnson really is decides to do more than just make pizza.

Blue and red lights paint the street in alternating colors as the patrol car glides to a stop. Relief floods through me at the sight of the female officer behind the wheel. Finally, someone who can help.

I rush to the driver's side before she can even put it in park.

"Officer, please hurry. There's someone in our kitchen - he's got some kind of weird device and his paperwork is all fake and-"

"Where is the subject located?" Her voice comes out flat, mechanical. Just like Smith's.

My heart skips a beat. That same empty stare. Those same precise movements.

"My parents are still inside," I stammer, taking a step back. "We need to be careful-"

The officer's head tilts at an impossible angle. "Location of subject. Specify."

Ice spreads through my veins. I turn to run, but her hand shoots out faster than my eyes can track. Steel fingers close around my wrist.

"No, wait-"

The world spins as she yanks me forward. My shoulder screams in protest. Then I'm airborne, sailing through the open rear door of the patrol car.

The impact knocks the wind from my lungs. By the time I catch my breath, the door slams shut with a final click.

I press my face against the window, desperate to catch sight of the officer. She turns toward me with robotic precision.

My scream dies in my throat.

My own face stares back at me through the glass, perfect down to the last freckle. But the eyes are wrong - empty and cold like Smith's.

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