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Authorities had sent out search-and-rescue teams as far as twenty miles around Nome. Parts of the plane had turned up a year later over twenty-five miles away, and the two other passengers’ remains had been… Serena gulped. Eaten.
Investigators had hunted down Mr. Taggert at his home in Barrow and questioned him, but no cause for the plane crash had been determined yet. The investigation was still “ongoing.”
Taggert had stayed holed up in his small cabin for months refusing to speak to reporters. The follow-up article dated two years ago stated that while the investigation was still open, Mr. Taggert had never been charged with a crime. But he remained a suspect. And the families of the missing men were pursuing legal action.
That’s all there was.
Serena closed her laptop. My God. What a story.
Maybe now that three years had passed he’d be willing to talk about the crash. Surely he wanted to clear his name. Maybe he could even lead her to the crash site. She could get an exclusive. Maybe she could convince Roberta—no. She’d showed her hand on all her previous ideas and look what had happened.
She’d have to do this alone. Unless she could convince Jake to come with her and film the interview… But the camera might scare Mr. Taggert off. She’d do some reconnaissance first, and then perhaps she could hire Jake to come back and—
“Serena, they’re boarding our flight.”
Serena looked up from her laptop to find Roberta standing in front of her. “At the layover in Seattle—”
“I’m not going, Roberta. I’ve decided to stay a while to try to see the Northern Lights.”
MAX TAGGERT TOOK his room key from the desk clerk. The old motel where he stayed every month was outdated by a half century, but he didn’t choose it for the ambience. The motel was cheap, close to the airport and they let him keep Mickey in the room with him. It also, conveniently, sat next door to a bar.
Rubbing his hands together against the chilly temperature, Max got to his room, threw his duffel on the sagging bed and headed straight for the run-down joint. He instructed Mickey to wait outside and then found his favorite stool. Dark and smoky, with a jukebox quietly playing some Merle, this place met all his requirements.
He ordered his usual, scanning the booths along the wall as he sipped his Jameson. Other than the toothless native elder in the back, he had the place to himself.
Good.
He shrugged out of his coat, ordered what passed for a burger and fries and then took the same out to Mickey along with a bowl of water. Over the next hour a few more patrons straggled in as he stared at the soundless television behind the bar and downed three more tumblers of Jameson whiskey. Almost enough to ease the emptiness inside.
At a lull in the music, he heard Mickey whining. What the… He slipped off his stool and stepped outside.
“Yes, you are. What a beautiful boy.” A woman was stooped over cooing and rubbing her hands in Mickey’s thick fur. And the normally standoffish malamute was lapping up the attention.
Max glanced down at the woman’s sleek, bare legs. The sun was just setting and the temperature had to be no warmer than mid-twenties. No native Alaskan wore such a skirt in March. And she seemed oblivious that her fine clothes were amassing a thick coat of dog hair. She looked up and smiled and Max almost pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. She was gorgeous.
“Is this your dog?” She straightened, tucking a long strand of glossy brunette hair behind her ear. She was tall. With the heels, she almost matched his height of six feet.
Max swallowed. “Uh, yeah.” His brain finally kicked into gear. Fancy suit. Expensive ski jacket. Stylish heels. And she had a huge purse on one shoulder, and a laptop case slung over the other. What was someone like her doing at a dive like this? And why was she smiling at him when he probably looked as if he’d just lurched out of a cave dragging his knuckles? Damn, he wished now he’d shaved and maybe bothered to get a haircut.
“What’s his name?” Her berry-red lips seemed to move in slow motion.
“Miki Nanuq.”
Her eyes were the deepest cobalt blue. “What does it mean?”
“Little polar bear.”
Her eyebrows rose and she flashed those perfect white teeth again. “How fitting.” With a tiny shiver, she rubbed her arms and glanced at the door to the bar and then back at him. “Join me for a drink?”
Warning bells pealed in his head, but Max ignored them. He shrugged and swung his arm toward the door. “After you.” He’d discover what she wanted soon enough. And in the meantime, why not enjoy the view?
And what a view it was. He and the bartender, even the native elder, stared at her very fine butt and swaying hips as her heels clicked on the dirty linoleum. She hopped onto a stool, crossed her legs and planted her forearms on the bar. “A beer, please. Anything light.”
Max slid in next to her and reached for his empty tumbler.
While the bartender popped the cap off a brown bottle and set it in front of the lady, she unzipped her jacket. It was a decent enough winter coat—if she were skiing in Aspen, maybe.
When she pulled it off, Max’s jaw went slack. He fumbled his glass. She had the figure of a swimsuit model. His body reacted, hot and pulsing. She picked up her beer and turned to him, clearing her throat.
Returning his attention to her face, he caught her smirk.
Busted. All he lacked was his tongue hanging out and he’d be slobbering over her like Mickey. Maybe he should roll over on his back and let her rub his belly.
Down, boy.
She extended her right hand. “I’m Serena.”
“Max.” He shook her hand.
“Ooh, your hands are so warm.” She held on when he would have let go, set down her beer and cupped her other hand over his. “Brr, I don’t know how you keep your hands so warm in weather like this.”
Her hands were like two elegant blocks of very soft ice with long, polished nails. “You’re not from Alaska, I take it.”
She shook her head. “L.A.”
If she didn’t stop rubbing his hand between hers he might be tempted to do something stupid like bring her fingertips to his mouth. “Oh!” She snatched her hands away. “Sorry.”
“I’m not.” He gave her a pointed look, staring right into her dark blue eyes. Not a gold fleck to be found, but pure cobalt, like the Arctic Sea in the summer. Her lashes were thick, but not overly long. And she had a few freckles across the bridge of her nose.
She licked her lips and a sharp ache hit him hard and low. He pictured himself scooping her up and carrying her to his room.
Then she blinked and retrieved her beer, sipping it as she looked straight ahead at nothing. Amazing. She’d been staring back. There’d been something between them for a second, but his suspicious mind severed the thought. What was she doing here? Just slumming? And what was her business in Anchorage?
“So, what do you do, Max?”
He grabbed his tumbler, knocked back the last drops of his whiskey and signaled for another. “I fly cargo.”
“Oh? Where to?”
“Barrow.” He turned to face her. “I’m only here for tonight.”
Her beer halted halfway to her mouth for a brief instant and then continued. “Me, too. I was here for the Iditarod.”
Oh yeah, it was that time of year. But she sure as hell hadn’t been a contestant. “Got a man who entered?”
“No.” She started picking at the label on the beer bottle with a ringless left hand.
“Don’t tell me you’re a musher.”
She grinned and shook her head. “No.” She glanced at him and then back down to peeling her bottle label.
“So, what do you do in L.A.?”
Deep concentration on the label peeling. “I don’t really live there, actually. I mean, I own a condo there, but I travel all over the world for business and I’m hardly ever home.”
Interesting. She hadn’t actually answered the question. Something didn’t add up, but he let it go. Who cared what she did for a living? Or why she was slumming tonight. It wasn’t any of his business. Live and let live. For whatever reason, he had a beautiful woman sitting next to him sharing a drink.
He cleared his throat. “Have you eaten dinner?”
She looked surprised at the change of subject. “No, I—no.”
“Well, don’t eat here, whatever you do.”
A feminine chuckle accompanied the flash of perfect white teeth as she turned to him. “Shall we go eat somewhere else?”
We? He scrutinized the sincerity in her eyes. Maybe she’d made a bet with a girlfriend to sleep with a native on her last night in Alaska. Would a half-breed count? Glancing around the bar, he spied his only competition: the old native in the last booth. He swung back to face her. “Sure, why not?”
“Anywhere specific you recommend?” She took her ski jacket and pushed her arms through the sleeves.
It was on the tip of his tongue to say, Your hotel, but he refrained. “Nowhere you’d care to go,” he answered, taking a last swig of his drink.
Her eyebrows drew together and her eyes sparked. “The restaurant in my hotel is good.”
He choked as he swallowed. She must have to do the deed in front of witnesses to win the bet.
“Fine.” What did he care what her motives were? He grabbed his parka and slipped it on. “We can catch a cab a few blocks from here. But let me leave Mickey in my room.”
In the middle of zipping up her parka, she froze. “Uh…”
She didn’t trust him. If she only knew… “You can wait here.” He pulled a few bills from his wallet and tossed them on the bar.
She waved a dismissive hand. “No, that’s okay.”
Interesting. There was definitely something unusual about this woman. He shrugged and held the door open for her.
It was less than twenty steps to his room. Her heels clicked fast, keeping up with him as he led Mickey around the corner. He unlocked his door and let Mick inside with instructions to be good. When he turned back to her, she was shivering. “Here, I have some gloves.” He stepped inside and dug into his duffel, grabbing the thick leather pair he rarely wore.
“Oh, uh.” She hesitated inside the doorway, and then stepped inside, closing the door. “Thank you.” She took them from him and then drew a deep breath. “I should tell you, I’m—”
“It doesn’t matter.” She’d be gone tomorrow and so would he. He was close enough to smell her light flowery scent. He closed his eyes briefly and inhaled.
“It doesn’t?” She was gazing up at him, her eyes wide and her lips parted. Then her attention dropped to his mouth.
His blood heated and he could feel it pulsing in other parts of his body. The bed was only a few feet away. It’d been so damn long since he’d been with someone. “I’m the last person to pass judgment.”
She tilted her head and gave him a quizzical look like Mickey did sometimes. He leaned in and ran his knuckles down her cheek, then touched his lips to hers.
At first she stilled as if she hadn’t expected it, then with a sigh she opened to him and cupped his cheek with her palm.
It was as if the Northern Lights exploded in his head as her soft mouth moved over his. When her tongue dipped in he groaned and angled his head to deepen the kiss.
With a small cry, she pushed away. He gritted his teeth. He’d known this was too good to be true. “You’re free to go,” he told her.
“No!” Her eyes wide, she seemed alarmed at the thought.
“Look, Serena, or whatever your real name is. It’s okay. I know what this is about.”
Her gaze darted to him, a panicked look in her eyes. “You do?”
He nodded. He didn’t belong with a woman like her, but he didn’t really belong anywhere, with anyone. “You made a bet with someone. Or thought you had something to prove. But now you can’t go through with it. It’s okay.”
She let out a quick laugh and then covered her mouth. “No, I—” She worried her bottom lip. “I want to do a story on you. I want to know about you rescuing that man when your plane crashed. And what happened to the other passengers.”
He blinked at her, not comprehending at first. She was a reporter? Anger boiled up from his core and spewed into a rage that shook his whole body. He took her arm and yanked open his door. “I don’t give interviews. Not even for sex.”
“Wait!” Bracing her palm against the door frame, she held her ground when he would have shoved her out. “Don’t you want a chance to tell—”
“I thought I’d seen every trick you reporters had. But this is a new low. Now, if you don’t get out of my room, I might decide you really do want to screw me.”
Bile rose in his throat. He’d humiliated himself. For a pretty piece of ass.
“I know I should have—”
Propelling her outside, he slammed the door in her face.
2
HE THOUGHT she wanted to use sex to buy his story?
Serena ran to the cabstand, clutching her coat tightly around her throat. The fury that had glittered in Max’s eyes stalked her. Her arm still stung where he’d gripped it. And yet, she hadn’t really been afraid.
Hailing a cab, she got in, banged her head against the backseat and ran her hands through her hair. She should’ve told Max who she was and what she wanted right from the start.
The cabdriver watched her warily in his rearview mirror.
“The Seaside Hotel, please.”
And what had happened to her professionalism? Had she completely lost her mind? Letting him kiss her? No, wanting him to kiss her. And enjoying it. Way to stay objective, Sandstone.
But there’d been something about him that drew her in. And it wasn’t just his wide shoulders beneath that thick, cable-knit sweater. There’d been a primal look in his coffee-colored eyes. A hunger…
Oh, good grief. In a minute she’d be waxing poetic about sexy loners. Obviously she needed to get laid more often than every year or so if this was how she reacted to being alone with a guy.
What was she going to do now? She’d missed her flight for nothing. It’d been an impulsive decision. One made more out of desperation than rational thinking. If the bush pilot had refused to be interviewed all these years, why had she thought he’d talk to her? But isn’t that why it would’ve been such a scoop? To get the ungettable interview? Now, more than ever, she wanted to know what he was covering up.
By the time she trudged into the Seaside’s lobby she still didn’t have a plan.
“Ms. Sandstone, welcome back,” said one of the concierges, heading her off before she could reach the reservations desk.
