Page 49 of Preying Heart
“They have aspartame and somehow that fake sugar triggers insulin even though it has no calories. Also, every toxin has to go through the liver. If your body doesn’t know what to do with it, it shunts it to the overworked liver, and your liver shoves it into fat cells to get rid of it from circulating your bloodstream.”
“Are you saying fat cells are the toxic waste dump?”
She laughs and for the first time, I feel we’re getting somewhere. “You have a great way of putting it. Yes. That’s exactly what it is. Think of your fat cells as a hoarder’s house. Junk goes in, but it doesn’t come out. As for insulin resistance, think of insulin as the guys trying to stuff the junk into a house, but it’s already full, so even the hoarder can’t take more, and he’s barring the windows, locking the doors, desperately trying to keep more from coming in. When you overdose on sugar and sugar substitutes, it has to go somewhere!”
“Why doesn’t the body just eliminate it?”
“Oh, I wish.” Lucy chortles. “But we were designed to save for a rainy day. Back when food wasn’t such a steady supply. I mean that’s what some diabetes drugs do. Try to trick the body to eliminate the extra energy, but there are other side effects going on, so it’s best to not ingest the sugar and alcohol in the first place.”
“You’ve convinced me.” I drink the water while reading the article. “It says here that Stan Greasley was a philanthropist who worked against human trafficking. That he might have pissed off an international ring of traffickers, and there is evidence that these traffickers abducted me, his foster daughter.”
“Amazing how conspiracy theories spawn like a toxic algae bloom on a hot summer lake.”
“Or maybe Heath is working for these traffickers.”
She raises an eyebrow. “That’s why he has to go see a friend. We have the crypto address that sent us the Bitcoin. We need to run through all the other addresses it’s associated with and create a network, then trace it backwards from any known identities.”
“Why so much work for me?”
“Heath has a hunch that your pregnancy is a big disaster for someone out there.”
“Sounds like more drama made up by the two of you. If someone’s still out there trying to get me, then why am I safe here? Big Dude knows I’m here, and someone broke into your clinic and took your files. You don’t seem worried, so is this another one of your stories?”
“Someone did break in. Of course, there’s no online report. This is a small town.” Lucy takes her laptop and pivots the screen toward her. “If you’re so distrusting, all you have to do is walk away.”
“You make it sound so easy.” I point to the blisters on my feet.
“Heath has gone for a hike with his dog. I have a car. You really think he’s that careless that he’d walk off knowing I can drive you out of here?”
I stare at her, wondering what she’s up to.
“You would take me away? Where would you drop me off?”
“Nearest bus stop as you wish. I’ll even give you bus fare.”
“And then what?” I feel the viselike grip tightening over me. She knows I’ll be thrown to the wolves, unable to fend for myself. “Bus fare isn’t enough to start a new life. Shouldn’t I get part of that Bitcoin payment?”
“Sorry, but we don’t owe you anything. You want to leave. Here’s your chance.” She puts the laptop in the bag and hefts it over her shoulder. “It’s pretty simple. You get in the car with me, and you have all the freedom you can handle.”
When I stay rooted to the bed, she sniffs and walks out with a disdainful look on her face that screams,Loser.
ChapterSeventeen
Remi
Heath comes home well after Lucy’s departure. His shirt is torn and dirty. There are bruises and scratches on his face and arms, and he walks with a limp. Glock’s tongue is lolling and dripping, and his coat is covered with burrs and small twigs.
“What happened to you? Did you get in a fight with a wild animal?”
“Nothing that exciting.” He ambles stiffly to the kitchen and fills up Glock’s water bowl. “I took a wrong turn and fell.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t break a leg.”
“Yep,” he agrees, and I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it. A man like him wouldn’t want to appear weak. I’m surprised he didn’t embellish the story and tell me he fought off a cougar with his bare hands.
“You ought to get those scrapes cleaned. Tell me where your first aid kit is.”
“I can do it myself.” He heads for his bedroom and unlocks the door. Then he turns around, blocking me from entering. “Where did Lucy go?”
