Unidentified Read Online Free PDF Page B

like usual.” The man he was with just laughed in reply.
    Evans gathered his things from the podium and headed back to a table set up at the back of the room where several copies of his book sat out. Setting his messenger bag down, Evans began to pack up his books into a larger duffle bag that waited under the table. Mitchell approached him.
    “Aren’t you packing up too soon? Might want to sell a few copies to your adoring fans,” she said as she stopped before the table.
    Evans looked up, amused. His expression changed to surprise. Then a genuine smile. “Agent Mitchell. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
    “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Mitchell asked. “Or maybe a couple of shots, after that reception.”
    Evans laughed, then shook his head, “As appealing as either coffee or hard liquor sound right now—and they do—I really can’t. Not kosher for me to fraternize with former patients. Especially one I only just cleared for duty.”
    “And if I told you it was official FBI business?” Mitchell countered.
    Evans grew serious, considering her words. Light jazz music sprinkled out of the overhead speakers in the bookstore. The room was empty now, except for them.
     
    ***
     
    The smell of espresso and freshly brewed coffee filled the small place. A grinder kicked on, reducing more espresso beans to a fine powder. Evans stared out the coffee shop’s large windows from where he sat at a small table. People walked by, soaking in the warm summer day in Boston. The tourists with guidebooks and recently purchased Boston paraphernalia moved at their slow pace—presumably following the Freedom Trail—while the locals maintained a faster speed, Sunday or not. Alan thought about being back at his condo with the paper out and the game on. Guess that’s not happening now.
    Agent Mitchell approached, bearing two cups of coffee. She set one before Alan and took a seat across from him.
    “Thanks for the coffee,” Evans said. “So how have you been since our last appointment?”
    Mitchell looked out the window as well. “Fine,” she said. But Evans read in her tone a desire to avoid such a conversation.
    “Sleeping better?” He pushed just a little.
    Mitchell looked back and forced a crooked smile. “Getting there.”
    Okay, he was done pushing. And he wasn’t on the clock anyway. He sensed Mitchell’s longing to dive into whatever she really was there to talk about. But he suspected she was also too polite to barge into the matter so quickly. And of course, he was curious himself.
    “So, official FBI business, huh?” he opened the door for her.
    She leaned forward slightly, squaring her shoulders up to him. “Yeah. I need your help with a case. And I think it’s something you might be uniquely able to help me with.”
    “Okay. I’m listening.”
    “I’ve got a girl—a young woman, really—in New Hampshire who claims she was abducted by aliens last night.”
    Evans nodded slowly. Well, she’s done her homework on me. “She believes what exactly?”
    “She went missing from her home last night around 3:00 AM. This morning, a woman driving down a country road eleven miles from the girl’s house nearly hit her. The girl was just walking down the middle of the road. According to the case file I was given, she claims to have been abducted in the past as well. She also claims to have an implant in her neck.”
    Evans took all of this in. It sounded similar to cases he had studied and a couple he had personally encountered in his work as a therapist. Agent Mitchell reached down to her bag and produced a file folder. Laying it down on the table, she opened it and flipped through its papers until she found a picture of a young woman with dark hair and a pale complexion.
    “This is Stephanie Clark,” she said, turning the photo so he could see her better. “She just finished her freshman year at Wellesley College. She’s only nineteen. She lives with her mother and father in North Woodstock, New