I open my mouth to yell, but the intruder hooks his leg behind my ankle and flips me onto my back. I land on the carpet with a thud that knocks the breath from me. Before I can recover from the shock, he’s kneeling over me, his legs trapping my arms at my sides.
I stare up at the covered face looming above me. It requires immense effort not to avert my gaze from the coldness in those gray eyes. “Please don’t do this, please let me go.”
“It’s too late for that.” He holds up the syringe. “You have your father to thank for this.”
Confusion washes over me.My father?
“This will hurt.” There’s no apology in his curt statement, and I cry out when he stabs the needle in my arm.
I try to fight the blackness wrapping around me, but whatever he’s injected into me is too strong. My eyelids grow heavy, my body limp. I’m dimly aware of the stranger lifting me up and carrying me away in his arms.
4
JUSTIN
––––––––
Monday, July 12
I idle my Ninja 900 at the traffic light. I’m late. Again. I picture Kane’s scornful expression and the inevitable lecture on responsibility. It’s a lecture I can parrot in my sleep.
At the light change, I kick my motorcycle into gear and surge forward. Weaving in and out of early morning traffic, I head toward the mall where I’m meeting Kane. He requested the meeting last week. Despite my still-queasy stomach, I’m feeling the thrill of anticipation. Finally, he has a job for me.
Although Kane often holds my age against me, I figure I’ve put in my time. From the age of ten, I was taught to glue the security locks of research facilities, dismantle the billboards of fast-food outlets, and creatively etch furriers’ windows. But no more small-time stuff. I’m ready to enter the sanctum of serious, direct action.
I park the bike and make my way toward the juice bar, spotting Kane seated at a remote corner table. He’s not alone. A woman sporting a tight ballet bun sits opposite him. I have great admiration for ballet dancers and their...flexibility.
I place an order for a wheatgrass shooter and pull out a chair next to Kane. The sight of him momentarily distracts my attention away from Dancer Lady. “I like the beard,” I say, grinning at the spread of dark growth covering Kane’s jaw.
“You’re late,” Kane replies, dropping the hand that’s testily scratching his beard.
I peel off my jacket and hang my helmet on the back of the chair. “Traffic.”
Kane’s brows pull down, but he doesn’t take the bait. Picking up his half-drunk smoothie, he gestures to Dancer Lady sitting opposite us. “Justin, this is Heather. Heather Walker. The two of you will be working together.”
Pleasure blooms inside my chest. Kane’s secured me an assistant. It’s about time.
Kane formed Animal Freedom Defenders, an animal rights activist group modeled on the Animal Liberation Front, five years ago. Like the ALF, AFD has no formal structure and no centralized headquarters.
I joined AFD roughly two years ago. Wondering what triggered Heather to sign up, I glance over at my assistant. Disappointment pricks me on closer inspection. Her black-rimmed glasses overwhelm her deep brown eyes and the hairstyle that seemed so balletically elegant from the back now looks...bookish. In fact, everything about her screamsuptight librarian.
Trust Kane to hire someone solely for her brain. With this one, the only traits I can find to admire are her creamy skin and lovely smile. A smile that’s directed at Kane and that disappears the moment she looks my way.
“Pleased to meet you,” Heather says politely.
“Likewise,” I reply, matching her tone, while calculating how soon I can replace her.
“Kane mentioned you were ill yesterday,” she says, clasping a cup of what smells like ginger tea in her hands.
“Puking my guts out,” I confirm.
“I believe there’s a nasty gastric bug going around.”
“Yep. Visited me Saturday afternoon.”Wearing a strapless dress and no name, but the kiss sure was worth it.
“How are you feeling now?”
Judging by the frown on her face, I translate her question to,are you sure you should be here?
