piece?” Roberta continued her brisk pace toward the elevators. “Oh. The genocide investigation? Yeah, yeah, I sent that up to the network execs.”
A tiny jolt of excitement hit Serena’s stomach. Maybe her dream was about to come true. “And?”
Roberta barked orders to her assistant about the arrangements in South America, and then focused on Serena with an impatient sigh. “Let’s get a drink.”
Nervous, Serena followed her into the hotel bar.
They slid into a booth and Roberta ordered two glasses of Chardonnay and cleared her throat. “Serena, I’ve told you before, you’re too valuable at Travel TV. We can’t let you put yourself in a risky situation. Even if they had the budget for an investigative piece, they’d send someone else.”
“But, it was my idea. My research. When I signed on to do Travel in Style five years ago, they promised—”
“Serena, your show has the highest ratings on this cable network. Why not stick to what you do best? Let someone else get their hands dirty.”
Serena looked up as the waitress set their wine down, then back at Roberta. “But, I can do both. I can—”
“But why should you?” Roberta took a long gulp of wine and stood. “Now, I’ll be in postproduction on this show, but you’ve got a couple of weeks until we leave for Argentina. Please try to rest.”
“But—”
“The camera is never forgiving of dark circles under those gorgeous eyes of yours.” Roberta patted Serena’s shoulder and strode off.
Serena wanted to pound her fist on the table, or better yet, pitch her wineglass at the back of Roberta’s head. The network execs at TRTV were never going to give her the chance they’d promised her. She’d pitched three serious story ideas and every time, they sent someone else to investigate. They were never going to consider her as anything but a pretty face.
Hosting this travel show was always meant to be a foot in the door to a career in meaningful investigative reporting. But her foot had been permanently forced into an expensive and purely ornamental high-heeled Prada. She appreciated that her looks had gotten her this far, but now they were holding her back.
She’d decided when she gave Roberta this piece, if the execs didn’t give her a chance, when her contract was up in July, she wasn’t renewing. It was a great gig, but anyone with a pretty smile could do this job. She needed something more. Something that would make a difference in the world.
The investigation of the genocide she’d heard rumors of was probably lost to her now. Even if she could afford to pay a crew to go with her, the execs had probably already sent someone from their cable news division to cover it.
Doing the story would have made those fat cats sit up and take notice of her. Too bad she’d played by the rules. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
As her limo pulled up, the manager of the Seaside Hotel appeared at her side.
“Ms. Sandstone, may I say once more how honored we are to have you stay with us and recommend our humble establishment on your show.” He took Serena’s hand between both of his. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bancroft.” Serena smiled warmly. His concierge, Eric, had been a fount of information and gossip during her stay, introducing her to insiders and officials of the Iditarod race, and arranging her accommodations when she visited Nome to film the race’s winner. “Your staff has been the absolute best.”
He beamed and she hugged him, having to bend over a bit. With a last wave, she sank into the limo.
On the way to the airport, she considered taking a trip to investigate the genocide story on her own. Maybe she could scoop the cable news guys. She’d take her own video camera and hire a guide once she got there.
Her father would’ve done that. How many times had she heard the stories about the threats to his life while he investigated the largest industrial waste scandal of the twentieth century?
It wasn’t easy living in the shadow of a reporter with a Pulitzer.
Dad’s snide remark from Thanksgiving three years ago still stung. Maybe if she pulled this off she could finally convince him she had something to offer the world besides travel tips.
Before she knew it, the limo rolled up to the North Terminal of Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport and she was standing in front of a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows staring out at the runway.
The Anchorage airport was relatively small, and air traffic included almost as many small planes as it did commercial jets. She probably wouldn’t have paid attention to the bright yellow prop plane that taxied up to the General Aviation Hangar across the landing strip, except that when the pilot’s door opened, a large dog bounded out.
He was huge, more wolf than dog. Part black, part tan with white legs and tail, he turned and sat, waiting for the pilot to climb down from the plane. Long, jean-clad legs emerged, followed by, incongruously, a traditional Inuit parka. The hood was down to reveal a long-haired, bearded man. After tying down the plane, he crawled back in and began unloading boxes and hauling them into the hangar.
Serena was instantly intrigued, already making up stories about the man, his dog and the plane. Perhaps like the first mushers along the Iditarod trail, he was transporting lifesaving medicine to his people, who lived in a remote little town. Or maybe he was—
A woman’s gasp cut off Serena’s thoughts. Serena glanced over at the ticket agent’s desk.
“It’s the White Wolf,” the woman whispered to her fellow airline employee. She was staring out the window at the mountain man, who was striding into the hangar, his dog loping beside him.
“Mmm, too bad I’m working all night,” the other woman murmured.
“Janice! I can’t believe you aren’t scared to be alone with him,” the first woman said. “They say he left two men for dead.”
“Oh, Bren, come on. You don’t believe all those rumors, do you?”
Serena was totally intrigued now. Pretending not to notice the two women, she pulled out her cell phone, held it to her ear and moved behind a post.
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, girl.”
“Yeah, well, he can stoke my flames anytime. Mmm, what a man.”
Interesting information for gossip, maybe, but Serena wanted to hear more about the two men left for dead. What had the first woman called him? The White Wolf. She had to get Bren alone.
Serena thought for a moment and then approached Jake, her cameraman, sitting in their gate’s waiting area. “Hey, Jake.”
“Hey, what’s going on?” He put down his PSP.
“See the taller, dark-haired ticket agent?”
“Yeah?”
“Think you could distract her? I need to talk to the other one.”
Jake
