“How many times did I warn you about Nolene?” Ross demands angrily. “I knew her militancy would be a problem. She’s always had a disturbing penchant for violence.”
I allow Ross to have his pedestal, leashing my own temper because the dread in my gut mirrors what I see in Ross’s face. Amy is my responsibility. I promised her no harm would come to her.
Ross eventually runs out of steam and stands stiff and silent on the porch.
Mel touches my arm. “You said Nolene is due to leave tonight,” she says, her calm voice penetrating the roaring in my head.
I nod. “She’s booked on a midnight flight to Manila.”
And why I mistakenly assumed Nolene no longer posed a threat to Amy.
“Do you think she’ll be on it?”
After a pause, turning it over in my mind, I say slowly, “Yes, she will. That’s her ticket out of here. Nolene won’t miss that flight.”
“And she won’t be worried about us knowing the details of her flight,” Ross says, “because if we inform on her we implicate ourselves as well.”
I grip the porch’s railing. “So whatever Nolene has planned, she has roughly a three-hour window to work in.”
“What do you think she has planned?” Ross asks me.
Knowing Nolene, it will be something spectacular, something that will make one heck of a statement to animal researchers, to the authorities, to Amy, and to me.
“She’s going to want to write her own ending to this operation,” I say at last.
“You probably know Nolene better than anyone,” Mel points out. “Where would she take Amy?”
Ross and Mel are silent as I attempt to creep into the lunacy of Nolene’s mind and see this unfolding from her perspective.
Minutes tick by.
Finally, it comes to me. “I think I know where Nolene’s taken Amy, and I can guess what she has planned.”
67
AMY
––––––––
Wednesday, July 21
I wake up slowly, wincing. Despite the nasty throb that’s hijacked my head, I recognize my surroundings immediately. I’m lying on the floor in my father’s study. My hands and feet are tied with duct tape.
“Amy! Are you all right, sweetheart? Talk to me.”
With effort, I sit up, squinting in the direction of my father’s voice. Panic grips me at the sight of him duct-taped to his study chair. His eyes burn with impotent fury, as helpless as I am.
“What have they done to you?” he asks angrily.
I experience an instant of confusion before remembering my changed appearance. My short, mahogany hair is a shock, but my dad has no idea that’s the least of my changes.
In an effort to alleviate the distress on his face, the lie tumbles out. “I’m okay, Dad.”
Truthfully, looking at our situation, we’re both not okay.
And then a voice I’ve come to hate singsongs, “Her Highness awakes. Good. I wouldn’t want you to miss the show.”
Nolene enters the study, walking up to the desk, and fiddling with some kind of ominous-looking device in front of her.
