Return to Paradise (3 page)

THE NEXT MORNING I REALIZE I NEED TO TELL
Sarah that the FBI and the police know about her and John. We’d assumed they had, but every concrete piece of information we can find helps us build a clearer picture of what’s going on. Plus, I want to tell her about the stuff I’ve been researching with GUARD. I’ve only ever talked about “Aliens Anonymous” in an abstract way, mentioning articles I’ve found online but not explaining that I’m now a part of a super-nerdy alien conspiracy blog. Maybe today’s the day to tell her.

She agrees to meet me for lunch, and by the time I get to the pizza place on the downtown square, she’s already there.

“Hey,” I say as I slide into a booth opposite her. She looks at me with concern, her eyes darting around nervously. I’m confused. “If you don’t want pizza, we can go someplace else.”

“No,” she says, forcing a smile. “I’m just having kind of a weird day.”

“How so?”

“Is there a woman with red hair in a black suit behind me?” Sarah whispers.

I scrunch my eyebrows together in confusion and then look over her shoulder. Sure enough, there’s a red-haired woman in dark clothes drinking a coffee alone and reading from an electronic tablet a few tables behind us.

“Yeah, why?”

Sarah exhales a long, steady breath, shaking her head.

“We went out for dinner last night, and she was there. This morning I went on a run, and she drove by me four times. Now she’s here.”

“Shit,” I murmur. “Well, there goes what I had to tell you.”

“What do you mean?” She sits up straighter, concerned.

“Just that my dad mentioned the FBI knew you were connected to John in some way. I didn’t figure they’d have you
followed
.”

“Crap,” she says.

We sit without saying anything for a few moments, trying to figure out what to do next. The silence is finally broken when the waitress comes by to take our
order.

“Hey, Mark,” she says sweetly. I’ve eaten enough pizza here in my lifetime to receive hall of fame status. She knows me well. “What can I get you?”

“Hey. Uh, we’ll take a medium half meaty, half veggie.” Mine and Sarah’s old standby order. “I’ll have a soda.”

The waitress smiles at me and then turns to Sarah. She sneers in a way that makes it obvious she wants Sarah to notice.

“You want anything?” she asks, an edge to her voice.

This is Sarah’s life now—the mad bomber’s girlfriend. I want to cause a scene but swallow down the urge because apparently we’re already getting enough attention as it is. Sarah turns her head and locks eyes with the waitress, giving her a look that I recognize. I’ve been on the receiving end of it too many times—the kind of glare that makes you think your face is going to melt off.

“Diet soda, ma’am,” she says, emphasizing the last word.

The waitress rolls her eyes and walks away. Sarah just sighs.

“Jeez, some people,” I say.

“It’s not
some
people. It’s
all
people. I mean, half the town thinks I’m some kind of terrorist floozy. Even if they don’t say it, you should see the looks I get. And
that’s not counting the people who are following me.”

“Okay, so what do we do now? Run away and try to find John and the others? I’ll go with you if you do. Hell, I’ll drive.”

I have no desire to go on a blind search for the Loric, but if Sarah wants to go, I’m not letting her go alone. And I have to admit, the idea of a road trip with Sarah is appealing—even if it
is
to track down her alien boyfriend.

“How would we even find them?” she asks.

“Actually,” I say, lowering my voice, “I’ve kind of been doing some research on the whole . . . Well, you know. Everything. There are other people out there who know about this stuff. People like Sam, who the rest of us thought were just kind of crazy. I’ve been talking to some of them, and we think we might have figured out a little more about what’s going on.”

“What do you mean?” Sarah says, perking up. “What kind of stuff?”

“Well, now that I’ve seen John and Six in action, I kind of get what you’d need to look for. There was a girl in Miami who saw her boyfriend get picked up using telekinesis. It wasn’t John, but it might have been one of the others like him. Maybe someone who’s in contact with John. And one of the other bloggers has been keeping track of this guy in India who some of the locals have been worshipping as a god.”

“Yeah, but how do you know these bloggers or the people they’re writing about aren’t just a bunch of crazy people?”

“Well, a day or two after John and the others left Paradise, a police officer in Tennessee had pulled over some teenagers driving a suspicious car, but before he could arrest them, some kind of supernatural winds basically blew him out of the way.” Sarah raises her eyebrows, a glint of hope in her eyes. “Sound familiar?”

“Six.”

“That’s what I think.”

She grins, but it only lasts for a few seconds before the reality of the situation sets in.

“They could be anywhere by now,” she says.

“Yeah.”

“So there’s nowhere for us to even start our search.”

We pause as the waitress comes back and sets down my drink in front of me, then half slams Sarah’s onto the table, sending little drops of diet soda lapping over the rim of the glass. She leaves without saying a word.

“We could go anyway,” I suggest, trying not to sound enraptured by the idea of all that alone time with Sarah. “Skip this small town and let everything blow over.”

She gives me a little smile and shakes her head.

“My family . . . ,” she says, but I can tell I’ve overstepped my bounds in her mind and am sounding too much like an ex-boyfriend who’s trying to drop the
“ex” part. “Plus, if John came back looking for me, he’d be heartbroken if I wasn’t here.”

“He’d be an
idiot
if he came back to Paradise,” I mutter. The words come out before I can stop them, so I try to explain. “I mean, with all the suits running around here.”

As if she overheard this as her cue, the red-haired woman gets up and walks over. She slides into the booth beside Sarah. Before I can react, there’s another dark-suited person sliding in beside me—a man who looks like he’s in his late twenties, with olive skin and close-cropped black hair.

We’re trapped in the booth.

“What the—,” I start.

“You’re Mark James,” the red-haired woman says. “The sheriff’s son. And you’re Sarah Hart.”

“What do you—,” Sarah says.

“My name is Agent Walker, with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and this is my associate, Agent Noto. I hope you don’t mind if we join you.”

“We do,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

Agent Walker smiles. Noto hasn’t said a word or done anything but stare back and forth between Sarah and me. I wonder how close he was to us. Did he hear me talking about the blog earlier? Does he know what we’ve been talking about?

“We’re just trying to get an idea of what happened
with John Smith here in town. As you probably know, he’s a person of high interest. There are several incredibly generous rewards that are being offered for any information on his whereabouts.” She turns her attention to me. “I was sorry to hear about what happened to your home, by the way. But I’m sure the reward money could go far in rebuilding.”

Is this woman
really
trying to bribe me into telling her about John?

“After all, I’m told the blaze started at a party you were throwing,” she continues. “I’m sure you’ve been wondering how you can make things up to your parents after something like that.”

My mouth drops open a little, and I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.

“You’ve been watching me,” Sarah says, changing the subject. “I’ve
seen
you.”

“Of course you’ve seen me,” the woman says. “We wanted you to know that we’re here, keeping the town safe.”

“You’re following me,” Sarah says, gritting her teeth a little.

“I’m simply doing my job by ensuring that we follow up on every lead.”

“And you think Sarah is a lead?” I ask.

“We think you know more about John Smith than you might even realize.” Walker never takes her eyes
off Sarah. “You were dating him. You must have some information that would be relevant to our investigation. Something that might help us to decipher exactly what happened at your school.”

“I hardly knew him,” Sarah says, staring down at the table. “We weren’t dating.”

“We saw a video that looked like he was flying out of your burning house,” the woman says to me. She turns back to Sarah. “He was carrying you.”

Sarah smiles.

“It’s crazy what you can do with cameras and a few hours on the computer, isn’t it?” she asks.

“Sam was always good at stuff like that when we had presentations at school,” I add. “He probably did it.”

Sarah kicks me under the table. I can’t figure out why until the agent turns to me and smiles.

“Samuel Goode. His mother, Patricia Goode, is a nurse. Father is Malcolm Goode, a . . .” She pauses for a moment before smiling a bit. “Current whereabouts unknown. Sam hasn’t been home since that night either. His mother is worried sick about him. It would be nice if she had any assurance that her son was alive.”

“Sam is . . . ,” Sarah starts, but then stalls. I recognize the look on her face. She’s trying to connect all the dots and carefully plotting out what she’s going to say.

Speaking carefully has never been my strong suit.

“Sam Goode is a conspiracy theory nut job,” I say, lounging back in my booth a little. “That little twerp wears the same NASA T-shirt every day of the week. You should hear the kinds of things he talks about. Aliens. The Illuminati. Personally, I think it’s his way of trying to get people to notice him when all the attention goes to me and my buddies on the team. He probably finally had enough of it and ran away, using the school thing as an excuse. He’s smart, but he’s also a total wuss. Trust me when I say he can’t handle himself in a fight. Not exactly terrorist material. If you ask me, he’s probably hunting for Sasquatches in the woods somewhere. That’s where I’d try to find him, at least.”

I take a big swig of my soda and glance over at Sarah, who’s looking at me with a mixture of disgust and confusion. I give her a little kick under the table, and she manages a smirk.

I take a chance and lean forward, grabbing Sarah’s hands in mine. They’re soft and tremble slightly. I have to hold them still against her initial urge to pull away.

“Isn’t that right, babe?” I ask, flashing the toothiest grin I can muster her way.

“That’s probably true,” she mutters.

“Well, that’s very
enlightening
, Mr. James,” Agent Walker says.

“I think I’m ready to go now,” Sarah says, scooting towards Walker.

The agent doesn’t move.

“But you haven’t even eaten yet,” she says. Agent Noto still hasn’t so much as breathed as far as I can tell.

“I’m not hungry,” Sarah says.

“Why don’t we talk a little more?”

“Oh, are you charging us with something?” I ask.

“What would we have to charge you with?” Walker says with a smile that’s just a little too forced.

“Nothing.” I shrug. “I just know you can’t keep us here unless you are actually going to arrest us or something. That’s how my father’s always said the law works.”

Walker gives a few short laughs, which seem to say, “How very cute that you think that’s how things work around here.” Still, she slides out of the booth. Agent Noto follows her.

“If you happen to remember anything,” Walker says, pulling a business card from her suit pocket and holding it out to Sarah, “do let us know. We’ll be in touch.”

In a flash, Sarah’s left the booth and headed for the door. It takes me a little longer to get out, and Walker’s standing in my way when I stand.

“That girl is trouble,” she says, still holding up the card. “Don’t let her take you down with her.”

We stare at each other for a moment. Her eyes are light and intense. Finally, I take the card and slip it into my pocket then push past her. On the way out, our
waitress rounds the corner with our steaming pizza.

“Hey, where are you going?” she asks, clearly ticked off.

I shrug and point to Agent Walker.

“Red’s taking care of our lunch,” I say. And then I’m gone.

SARAH’S WAITING FOR ME ON THE SIDEWALK A
few stores down. When I get close, she starts to walk away quickly, and I have to jog a few steps to catch up to her.

“What was all that about?” she asks.

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific,” I say.

“All that stuff about Sam, for starters.”

“I was just trying to cover my ass if they didn’t already think he was with John after I stupidly said his name. Trying to throw them off the trail.”

“Okay, then what about holding my hand. What was that?”

I stop and turn to her. We’re on the corner. The wind whips her hair back and forth across her face, and she looks like tears might fall from her eyes at any moment. I have no doubt that the agents are still watching us, so
I step to the side to make sure that they can’t see her face from inside the pizza place.

“Sarah, if they think you’re his girlfriend, they’re going to keep watching you,” I say softly. “You know that. I was just trying to throw them off
you
as well.”

“I can look out for myself,” she says.

“I know you can. But you shouldn’t have to. John shouldn’t have—”

“I know.” She cuts me off in a huff. “Trust me, I know. I’m well aware of how messed up this situation is. All of it. And if there was some way I could fix everything, I would. I half wish John
would
get arrested because at least that way I’d know where he is, and that he’s safe.”

The wind whistles a little as we stand, not talking to one another. I want to hug her—to touch her in any way—and it takes a good amount of my willpower to remind myself that if I freak Sarah out, I lose the only person I care about, and the only person I can talk to about everything that’s happening. Other than a bunch of random people online who are probably old dudes living in their moms’ basements and surviving on caffeine and corn chips.

Besides, I’ve already pushed her as much as I can today.

“Sam doesn’t believe in Sasquatches,” Sarah finally says with a faint smile. “We talked about it before. No Bigfoot hunting for him.”

“At this point I’m not sure that
I
don’t believe in Bigfoot,” I say.

This gets a little laugh out of her, which makes me smile.

“I don’t know. I think I’d trust Sam on this one. He was way ahead of us on all this alien stuff. He probably knows more about John’s history than John does.”

This is true. It’s something I file away for the future. What did Sam know? How did he find stuff out? And did he leave any records?

“I’ve got to get out of here,” Sarah continues.

“Okay, where do you want to go?”

She shakes her head.

“I just need to be alone for a little while,” she says, digging for her keys in her purse.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I ask. “I can come over if you want. Or we can stay out in public where no one can get to you.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. Besides, my brothers are home this weekend, and there’s nothing they love more than trying to act tough and protect their little sister. We’ll talk later, all right?”

“Yeah,” I say.

I watch her walk away and make sure she gets to her car okay. She’s just a speck down the road when my senses come to and I start putting things together about our weird encounter at the pizza place. Agent Noto was
sitting behind me.

Does that mean I’m being followed too?

I walk around our tiny downtown for a little while, half to clear my head and half to keep an eye over my shoulder and see if I’ve got some kind of tail watching me while pretending to read a magazine or something. But there’s no one. At least not anybody I can see.

The card Agent Walker gave me gives me absolutely no info—it’s blank other than a phone number, which goes straight to voice mail when I call it from the only pay phone I know of in Paradise. I don’t leave a message. Instead, I pull up the “Aliens Anonymous” blog on my phone and message GUARD, telling him that I’ve had a really weird run-in with the FBI and that this is the contact number they gave me. GUARD is good with computers and stuff, so maybe he can use it to find some new information or something.

When I’m walking back to my truck, I run into Kevin, an offensive lineman from school. He’s a giant of a guy, with patches of red hair all over his face that almost make it look like he’s capable of growing an actual beard. Almost. A few of the younger members on the team are with him, but they hang back, letting him lead. I briefly wonder if that’s what I looked like when I was always running around town with my own posse.

“Duuuude,” he says when he sees me. We do an
elaborate series of handshakes and fist bumps. “We were grabbing burgers and saw you talking with Sarah on the corner. Looked pretty intense. What’s going on with you two—you hitting that now that Bomberman is gone?”

Fire rages in me, and I can feel my face turning red with anger.

“Look, man,” one of the younger guys says. “He’s blushing.”

“Don’t talk about Sarah like that,” I say. My jaw is clenched.

The whole pack “
Oooooooo
”s as if they were a studio audience.

“Sorry, man, I didn’t realize you two were a thing again.”

“We’re not,” I say, trying to smile. “But I’m working on it.”

“Must be hard being sloppy seconds to a terrorist,” Kevin says with a smirk. “Gotta make you wonder what she saw in a dude like him.”

I move before I think. In a flash I’ve got Kevin up against a brick wall, holding him by the arms of his letter jacket. He may be a giant, but I’m fast, and after years of strength training and weight lifting, I’m not exactly a lightweight.

It feels like one of my veins is going to pop out of my head. It’s been a while since I was in a fight—a
real
fight. Since the Mogs took over the school. And even then, I spent half the time hiding in a classroom with Sarah. Part of me wants to unleash on Kevin, just wale on him until I feel better about all the shit that’s gone down. But I don’t. He may be kind of a douche bag, but even if everything’s changed for me, nothing is different for him.

Kevin’s expression morphs from surprise, to fear, to something else—something friendlier. Something like recognition.

“Check it out, you guys,” he says, turning his head to the others, who are waiting for his instructions. “Mark James is BACK.”

My pulse slows a little, and I suddenly start to feel a little high. I smirk.

“John Smith had
my
sloppy seconds,” I say. “I’m just reclaiming what was mine to begin with.”

The guys laugh and jeer at me. Someone yells, “It’s Mark James, bitch!” a little too loudly, and we get disapproving looks from other people on the street.

“We’re heading back over to Alex’s to try and finish off what’s left of his keg before it goes flat. You coming or what?” Kevin asks.

“Yeah, man,” I say, not even thinking about it. It feels surprisingly good just to be standing around being bros again.

Then I feel a buzz in my pocket.

“In a little bit,” I say. “Tell Alex I’ll be over later.”

“Right on,” Kevin says, and after another elaborate series of high fives and shakes, they’re gone.

I pull my phone out. There’s a message from GUARD: