Page 19 of Claimed by an Alien Warrior

He yanked off the headset, tossed it down, and hurried outside, pressingAcceptas he descended the steps. He lifted the phone to his ear.

“Director,” he said, tongue suddenly like sandpaper.

“Charlie, tell me you have this under control.”

“We’re regaining control, sir.”

“Not good enough, damnit! Do you understand the resources we’re pulling to fix this fuck-up? We don’t need any elected officials asking questions, whether it’s about your Fox or our sudden upswing in expenditures. Those bastards only care about saving money if they feel like they had no say in spending it, and they sure as hell don’t have a say right now. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I’ll bring this to a quick resolution, sir.”

“The publiccannotfind out about this thing, Charlie. We have enough BS out there to muck up the water, but this one is too much. You do what you need to do to fix this. Even if that means putting your lost animal down.”

Stantz clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together. “Yes, sir.”

When the call disconnected, he stuffed his phone back into its case and paced over the hard pack in front of the trailer.

He’d busted his ass for fifteen years to get to his current position, and his work with the group of aliens who’d crash-landed on Earth had yielded real results that government researchers and scientists would eventually put to good use. One day, he’d be recognized as the man who’d enabled America to move into a new age through his dedication. Few of the others were as willing to get their hands dirty. He’d been doing that dirty work with these aliens for four years.

Stantz wasn’t about to let his life’s work be swept aside because of some short-sighted bureaucrat. Specimen Ten was the last of its kind on Earth, and Stantz would have it back. Budgets and politicians were of no importance; this was about uplifting the human race, about bringing them to the next level of evolution. Anyone who couldn’t see that was little more than an obstacle to be bypassed or destroyed.

He stalked into the command trailer and pulled on a headset.

“Call in some more hounds, gentlemen,” he ordered. “We have a Fox to hunt. We’re going to flush it out of this desert and throw it back in its cage.”

Chapter Six

Zoey cringed as she stared at the old, rundown motel in front of her. The mattresses were likely soaked through with unidentifiable bodily fluids and crawling with bugs. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and Zoey didn’t exactly have an overflowing bank account. This place would have to do.

“I need to go in and get a room,” she said, picking up her purse from its place beside the fast food bag on the passenger seat. The smell of cheesy, greasy hamburgers permeated the air inside the car. There were so many other choices she could’ve made, but cheap and fast had proven to be the primary criteria in choosing; she was eager to get off the road, and a being as large as Rendash was likely to eat a lot.

She just wanted to get something solid in her stomach and get some sleep.

“I will await your return,” Rendash said. He sounded exhausted. A few seconds later, he disappeared. Even though she already knew he could do that, it was a mind-breaking thing to watch.

Zoey shook off the lingering shock of it, opened her door, and stepped out. As she settled the strap of her purse over her shoulder, she leaned into the car. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

“On with it, human,” he muttered.

“Zoey,alien.” She closed the door before he could respond, feeling a bit of smug satisfaction for having cut him off, and walked toward the office.

The bright red neon sign in the window announced there was aVacancy. Zoey pulled the door open and walked inside. The blended odors of smoke and must struck her immediately.

The lobby was a relic of the 1970s, with wood paneling on one of the walls, a low, puke-yellow couch, and a brown and orange pattern on the worn carpet. The battered counter was the same color as the cigarette-burned couch. A short hallway ran off the side of the room. The door behind the counter looked to be heavy-duty, possibly oak, but theEMPLOYEES ONLYsign didn’t fully cover the hole punched in the paper-thin outer panel.

“Hello?” Zoey called.

She heard the muffled flush of a toilet. One of the doors in the hallway opened, and a woman stepped out. Zoey inwardly winced; coming out that quickly, the woman had likely skipped washing her hands.

The woman had long, blonde, bleach-fried hair with dark roots. The thick makeup on her face didn’t quite hide the crow’s feet around her eyes and the lines near her mouth, and her heavy black eyeliner was smudged in one corner. She was thin. Her crop-top displayed a tanned belly and a navel piercing, and the hint of a tattoo peeked up from the waistband of her low-riding jeans.

“What you need?” the woman asked as she moved to the counter. She picked up a pack of cigarettes, shook one out, and stuck it between her bright red lips.

“I need a room,” Zoey said.

“Course you do,” the woman said from the corner of her mouth. She took a lighter from her pocket, flicked it on, and lit the cigarette before tossing the lighter carelessly onto the counter. Was smoking indoors even legal? The woman took a long drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Fifty bucks for a single queen.”

A single?

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