“What bulldozers? Eli Carter Jr. runs a mining company, but he closed coal operations down when his quarry ran dry. His headquarters converted to a private investment firm whose profits fund the forest conservation center.”
“That’s what you see,” she says with a shake of her head. The humming stops when the antennae flop down over her ears in despair. “Bulldozers with ‘Carter’ written on them work less than a mile from here. They level the forest in sections, but don’t restore what they disrupt before they move on.”
“Mr. Carter’s a champion for the forest’s success. I know he’s not the usual conservationist but he’s not bulldozing the land he’s fighting to protect. That doesn’t make sense, does it?” I half ask her, and half ask myself.
She has no reason to lie to me—not when this bullshit drove her to kidnap me. Someone who promises me new glasses in their hair-brained scheme isn’t malicious enough to cook up a story about Eli Carter Jr. It’s more likely he created a web of lies, based on his handling of my and Amber’s pregnancy. Still, it doesn’t make sense for a political candidate to bulldoze the forest. The community isn’t full of environmentalists, but they would want the beauty, seclusion, and tourism of the area to remain.
“Makes sense when the coal in the ground feeds him and his family. People will do dumb things for family,” she says with a sad smile. Her eyes go glassy, dulling the red to a deep pink color.
“He has investments to feed him and Amber, his adult daughter. He’s so rich, he doesn’t need to work or employ workers. Money beyond what regular people like me can comprehend. Stupid money to sate his every whim. His company may say ‘Coal’ in the name, but he stopped mining coal decades ago,” I say, reaching for her. The tips of my fingers brush her shoulder in the first affection I’ve shown since my childhood. I’m stopped from making a fool of myself by the ropes digging into my wrist.
“I’m so confused,” she says in a voice coated in hurt. I’m such an ass for planting it there. If this home is her world, then this vendetta is her reason to live. It’s not like she could have a career or social life without attracting the attention of our small-town reporters. One picture would give them the story of the century. What could she look forward to when she can’t interact with people? Sounds like a dream come true to me, but I had the benefit of attending university and finding my passion. What’s her passion? Does she know?
“What’s your name?” I ask, instead of continuing to upset her.
“Millie May Moth,” she says with a sniffle.
“I’m Horus. Look, we are on the same side. I’m not leading bulldozers to destroy your forest. My job is to tag butterflies, spongy moths, and coal flies—” I wince at the implication of eradicating moths “—to conserve the ecosystem. Mr. Carter funds the research and butterfly sanctuaries. I decide where they plant flowers by mapping the insects’ routes.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Horus,” she says with a teary smile. She sticks out her hand and releases a giggle when the ropes keep me from shaking it. “You probably think I don’t have a lick of sense for trying to shake a bound hand.”
“No, I know you don’t have a lick of sense because you go hiking in the mud while wearing stilettos.”
“The forest is my entire world. If I didn’t wear them here, where would I wear them?”
“Good point,” I say with a wave of my tethered hand. Her glittery purple nails make quick work of the ropes on my wrists. I sit up and crack my back in a series of pops. “My body hurts more than my head.”
“I can make you a tea of turmeric, lavender, guduchi, and mushroom to help.”
“Magic brew? Make mine a double,” I say, rubbing the back of my head. Yeah, I’ll have a nasty lump, but otherwise, I’m okay. “It’s a miracle I don’t have a concussion. Thanks for taking care of me…I think.”
“My pleasure,” she says with a pink blush spreading across her cheeks and over her nose. “This is the most exciting day I’ve ever had.”
“You know what? Me, too.”
Chapter 5
Millie May
Horus, his name is Horus. I thought I had a bumpkin name, but Horus? Watching him argue with Matthew over my homemade vegan ice cream with bananas foster, I reckon he’s no simpleton or bug-collecting hobbyist. Another truth bomb is why I whipped up my most impressive dessert for my brother and captive. Horus’s strong jaw and long, narrow nose will feature in my dreams tonight. I didn’t think anyone had eyes so blue, like blue jays fluttering over his quick mind. They’re intense, like his delivery of his points in the debate over bulldozers. His thick hair flies over his forehead and around his ears as he points to the map spread across the kitchen table.
Hair as soft as spring rain when I dared to run my hand over his unconscious brow earlier.
“You’ve tracked my movements, but did you stop to learn what I was doing?” He bangs his fist on the table as he shouts at Matthew.
“Collecting butterflies and moths,” Matthew sneers in response. “Can you see why a person-sized butterfly net would make me distrust you?”
Both men turn to me as if remembering I’m in the room. Matthew’s warm brown eyes are ringed with crinkles of concern. Horus’s frigid stare bores holes in my skull. They wait for me to say something—to pick a side. Do I vouch for the stranger’s intentions because he hasn’t tried to escape or kidnap me in his ridiculous net? My libido loves the idea of being on Team Horus—brilliant, handsome, intense Horus. However, Matthew has lived half a life to support me with his orderly job when he could have gone to nursing school.
“When you place trackers on the butterflies, what is the data like? Who do you present it to? We’ve poured over these maps for ages and come up empty-handed. What’s on your maps?”
My heart pounds as I wait for him to answer. I’m outclassed by these worldly men, but I’m not dumb. My GED and years of homeschooling add up to a high school diploma. I study the internet’s mining resource maps, sonar scans, and the political debates on deforestation. As long as there isn’t a requirement to appear on camera, I attend lectures on ore chemistry, fracking, and anything remotely related to the bulldozers clearing our land. One look at his maps will either exonerate him or pin his butt to the fire.
“Mills, what are you going to do with his data?” Matthew whines.
He wants to write the ransom note and get to the next phase of his plan—maybe as the first step to moving on with his life…and Carrie Ann. Yes, the bulldozers close in on me like a noose tightening around my neck. But I have a sneaking suspicion we kidnapped the wrong scientist…or with each passing hour, I hope we kidnapped the wrong scientist. The way Horus’s eyes light up when he talks about monarch butterfliesand pollination can’t be faked. His demeanor completely changes from spiteful honey badger to boyish charm.
And Horus has dimples. I learned today that I flambe` bananas with moonshine for men with dimples.
