––––––––
I leave Justin and Heather at the juice bar. It’s time for me to head back to the safe house. Amy will be waking up soon and I instructed Nolene not to go into her room, but to wait for me. Driving out of the parking lot, I switch on the radio to pick up the news. An announcer drones on about corruption in the government and a teachers’ strike. Nothing on the kidnapping. But I don’t expect there to be. That’s the way I planned it.
My veterinary practice is located close to the mall and an urge to check on it itches across my skin. I hired a temp vet for July, knowing this operation with Amy will take up most of my time. I feel uncomfortable, though, being out of the loop for so long. Reassuring myself the vet is experienced enough to have a handle on things, I make my way to the safe house, my foot heavy on the accelerator, as if in speed I can escape the chorus of voices nipping at my conscience, Justin’s the loudest.
Curse the boy, but I fear he’s right. I shouldn’t have involved Heather in such harrowing work.
I remember the day Heather first walked into my practice. She was holding a mange-ridden terrier nearly driven insane by an infestation of worms. I did what I could for the dog and although we didn’t talk much, I noted her concern for the stray was genuine. The next month, Heather returned with a pregnant cat who was badly burned in a gang initiation. Two weeks later, it was a litter of puppies fed rat poison by neighbors tired of their barking.
Cynicism blinded me to the reality that ordinary people like her still exist, ordinary people who still care. After her first visit, I refusedto bill her. When I learned she was studying veterinary nursing, an idea began to germinate in my mind, an idea I couldn’t believe I was even entertaining. The more I tried to ignore it, however, the more it plucked at me, refusing me peace.
One night, I was reading SolomiChem’s latest experimental findings. Swamped by research papers full of facts I wished I couldn’t translate into visions, I decided the qualms I held were inconsequential. It was time to recruit Heather. So at each visit I started to feed her bits and pieces of information about what really went on in research labs. I showed her pictures and loaned her videos to watch. As I anticipated, she was appalled and outraged. Good. I wanted empathy and I wanted anger. Those emotions led to action.
Six months later, I broached her about going undercover at SolomiChem. Don’t tell your folks, I said. Heather still lived with her parents and I could see she disliked keeping this from them, but she reluctantly gave her word.
That’s when I knew I had her.
I try to remember what I was like before I cashed in my investment policies and traded my flashy BMW for a run-down Land Rover. Before something shifted inside me, the law-abiding, science-whitewashing chunk of my heart. When the memory comes, I barely recognize the man I once was.
I stop at the traffic light, thoughts of Heather again crowding my mind. She’s an innocent, is the refrain reverberating in my head. By sending her into SolomiChem I could be sacrificing that innocence. Even worse, I’m forcing her to work with Justin. Not that I have anything against him. I’m probably the only one who glimpses the greatness lurking inside the rebel. Justin, however, seems to despise his intelligence, scorning a college degree and opting instead for part-time work as a personal trainer. I suspect his choices at the moment are dictated by friction: if a path annoys his folks, he travels it eagerly.
Two years ago, Justin’s parents, veteran animal rights activists, asked me to mentor their son. My first impulse was to say no. I heard the rumors concerning Justin, that he’s talented, but also volatile, too quick to use his fists. I owed his parents a favor, however, and so I reluctantly agreed to take him on.
At our first meeting, I warned him, “This is not an organization for hoodlums.”
“Understood,” Justin replied steadily. “So why haven’t you been kicked out?”
That was it. We hit it off famously.
Despite our closeness, I know Justin is traveling a reckless road, a danger to himself, as well as to others.
Guilt wells up.Heather.
A month, I argue with myself, gripping the steering wheel. Heather is only working with Justin for a month. But I know what damage can be done even in a short space of time.
6
HEATHER
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What am I doing here?
The question echoes in my head, an edge of panic trailing it. I’ve made a mistake. I have nothing in common with these people, particularly with the angry young man sprawled in a chair opposite me.
Kane left Justin and me alone at the juice bar, supposedly to sort out the details of the operation. Right now, though, the only detail we’re sharing is an uncomfortable silence.
As if he can sense the doubts swirling inside me, Justin asks bluntly, “Thinking about backing out?”
My cheeks heat up. “Yes.”
His hazel eyes drill into me. “Kane’s one for all that rah-rah stuff, but don’t expect a pep talk from me. If you’re thinking about quitting, you shouldn’t be sitting here.”
“That would suit you, wouldn’t it?”
“Yep. At least then the job would get done.”
“So you think I’ll fail?”
