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“Thank you. I don’t have a reservation for tonight, but I was hoping—”
“Absolutely no problem,” he interrupted. “Right this way.”
While the concierge checked her in and programmed her card key, she compared the luxurious lobby around her to the run-down motel where Max was staying. He obviously earned some sort of living flying supplies. So, was he a bad businessman, or did he choose to live like a derelict with that scruffy beard?
Funny how his appearance hadn’t turned her off at all.
“Shall I have a steward bring up your luggage, Ms. Sandstone?” The concierge handed her the room key.
“Er, no. Thank you.” It’d been too late to retrieve it from the plane. But she was nothing if not a veteran traveler. She kept everything from Anbesol to Zantac—including an emergency outfit and toiletries—in her huge purse. She’d used a portion of her emergency cash bribing the clerks for information on how to find the White Wolf, but she should have enough to last her a week, give or take, plus her charge cards.
She took the key. “Is Eric here this evening?”
“I believe he’s just leaving. I’ll try to catch him, if you’d like to wait?” He gestured toward the plush sofas around the piano bar.
“Thank you.” She settled into a club chair, pulled out her laptop and found the next flight to L.A. via Seattle. Then on impulse she checked flights into Barrow. There was one tomorrow morning with a layover in Fairbanks. She closed her laptop without booking either.
What if her father had given up at the first roadblock to his investigation?
“Ms. Sandstone?” Eric, her favorite concierge, strode up, a grin on his face. He was younger than Serena’s twenty-eight years, tall and lean, and if there were any rumors flying around, he heard them.
“How can I help this time?” He sat in the chair next to hers, folded his hands and crossed his legs.
Serena leaned forward. “What can you tell me about a mysterious plane crash a few years ago, where the man came into the emergency room pulling the other man on a sled?”
“Ah, the White Wolf. He’s practically become an urban legend.”
“Really?”
Eric nodded, leaning forward as well. “They say he runs drugs.”
“Drugs?” Serena’s stomach dropped in disappointment. “Why would people say that?”
Eric shrugged casually. “Too many things don’t add up. First, the day of the crash, the weather was clear. And, the missing men were said to be, not fishermen, but drug runners. Also, how is it that he has a new plane now? Even though the insurance has refused to pay out as long as he’s under investigation. And how was he able to retain his pilot’s license? What other answer is there?”
She hadn’t thought of that. How could he afford a new plane? “The newspaper called him Taggert. And he introduced himself to me as Max. Why is he called White Wolf?”
Eyes wide, Eric sat forward. “You’ve met him?”
“I asked him for an interview, but he, um…turned me down.”
“Serena.” Eric placed his hand over hers. “You should be really careful. He could be dangerous.”
Yes. She’d seen a taste of that tonight. But he’d also seemed…lonely.
“White Wolf is his native name,” Eric continued. “He’s half Iñupiat. Some say he’s a powerful shaman.” Eric laughed. “Maybe he used Inuit witchcraft to get his new plane.” He stood and buttoned his suit coat. “But, really, be careful.” He extended his hand and she shook it.
“Thank you.”
He nodded and strode off.
“Eric, one more thing,” she called after him.
He stopped and spun back to her. “Anything.”
“Do you know any other bush pilots that fly into Anchorage International I could speak with?”
Eric smiled. “If I don’t, I’ll find someone who does.”
Serena’s mind whirled as she made her way to the bank of elevators. Drug running? Inuit shamans? Native witchcraft? This could be a story of international intrigue.
Grabbing a notepad and pen from her purse, she started making a list. There must be a way to prove the identity of his passengers that day. If he’d been transporting drug lords, or anyone else, there had to be records of that.
The clear weather was another mystery. If the plane hadn’t really crashed, wouldn’t the sole surviving passenger’s injuries have revealed that? And why fake a plane crash to kill drug lords, and then drag one with him all the way to the hospital in Nome? She jotted a note to look up the exact date of the crash again and check the weather history.
But one thing she knew for fact. He did have a plane. And there was one thing she couldn’t do from a computer.
Taggert had said he was only here for one night. So, if someone wanted to search his plane’s cargo before he left, the window of opportunity was quickly closing.
Not giving herself time to rethink her decision, she took a cab to a discount department store and bought black jeans, a black turtleneck and some black boots. Just what all the trendiest spies were wearing this spring. Hopefully she could hide in Taggert’s plane until he loaded it.
When she returned, Eric had the name and number of a pilot who flew a small one-propeller plane into the Anchorage airport all the time. Once in her room, Serena pulled out her cell and called him. Using her show as an excuse for research, she asked the pilot if he could arrange for temporary clearance as his guest. She winced when he readily agreed, feeling guilty for using him to snoop. But she wasn’t going to harm or steal anything. And real investigative reporters sometimes had to use unconventional ways to gain access to information. Didn’t they?
Since she hadn’t eaten, she ordered room service and tried soaking in the tub to calm her stomach. Failing miserably, she got into her pj’s, laid out the new outfit and then sat down to send an email to Roberta. Then she went over the plan in her head one more time.
Could she really sneak onto someone’s plane and search through their stuff? If she was caught, she could be facing jail time.
She remembered the story her father told of getting dragged into a black Caddy by some goons. It was 1972 and the EPA had been established a couple years earlier. Simon Sandstone had just published his first exposé on a major company dumping toxic waste. The corrupt corporation had tried intimidating him into giving up his secret informant.
He’d come home bloodied and bruised, but he hadn’t revealed his source. If Serena’s mother hadn’t had friends in high places he might not have come home at all.
Her dad had risked his life to help save the environment. Surely she could risk arrest to get the scoop on a drug running operation in Alaska.
If Max was a drug runner.
But if he had nothing to hide, why refuse to give interviews?
Still, he hadn’t seemed the type. Way to be objective, Sandstone. What exactly was the type? Street-corner thugs? Mafia hit men? Slick, rich kids? Just because the guy had a dog and wore a traditional Inuit coat with his jeans didn’t mean he couldn’t have been meeting his supplier tonight.
She bolted up from the bed. Had he thought she was his drug contact? Or had she interrupted his meeting when she’d had that drink in the bar with him? If that were the case, would he have taken her to his room and loaned her his gloves? And kissed her so deliciously?
Running a finger over her lips, she sat back down and closed her eyes. His beard had been soft and his lips had moved over hers with the perfect combination of tenderness and purpose. If she’d met him at some boring celeb party in L.A. would she have still felt that overwhelming attraction?
She didn’t remember falling asleep, but the harsh blare of the alarm jerked her awake. Bleary-eyed, she slammed the snooze button—5:00 a.m.
Within thirty minutes she was dressed and in a cab headed for Anchorage International. She instructed the cabbie to drop her off at the General Aviation Hangar.
Once in the office, there was a desk with a security guard. He looked up as she approached. Through the office window she could see the hangar with a couple of planes inside.
“I’m Serena Sandstone. There should be a clearance badge waiting for me?”
The guard checked a clipboard of papers, then nodded and stood to unlock the door to the hangar for her. “You want to know about a particular plane?”
“Uh, no. I wanted to look at all the different types of prop planes, if that’s okay. Just to get a feel for their size and how they land and take off.”
He stared at her as if she were a ditzy airhead, but he waved her through the door.
“Thanks.” Releasing her pent up breath, she smiled and took her badge. “Is it okay if I look at the planes outside, too?”
The guard shrugged. “Be my guest.”
Faking an air of confidence, she strolled through the door into the hangar, then checking through the window that the guard had returned to his desk and wasn’t looking, she slipped out the door to the tie-down ramp.
Outside, it was still dark and freezing cold. Only one lone light overhead cast shadows around the small aircrafts. And the wind made an eerie sound as it blew over and under their wings and turned propellers. She shivered and hugged her arms.
She spied the weathered white Cessna she’d seen Max Taggert jump out of yesterday and made straight for it. It sat higher than it looked from far away. With one last glance around, she grabbed hold of the pole running between the body of the plane and wing, climbed up onto the foothold and tugged on the door.
It opened.
Jeez, her heart was thudding so hard she could feel it pounding against her rib cage. She hadn’t even considered what she’d do if the door had been locked. Which she should have. What kind of drug runner left his plane unlocked?
She took in a fortifying breath of Arctic air. Just do it.
She climbed in and crawled behind the pilot’s seat into the cargo space. Digging out a flashlight from her purse, she shone the light around and spied a large toolbox, a slatted crate next to it and a wadded-up tarp in the very back. Other than that, the interior was empty.
She rifled through the crate and found a butane lantern, some canned goods and other camping type items. Only tools in the toolbox. Nothing under the tarp. That left hidden compartments in the walls.
She’d finished feeling one side when she heard men’s voices carried on the wind. Someone was out there. The door. She’d left it open. On her hands and knees she scrambled to the pilot’s seat and saw two men talking just outside the hangar entrance. One of them was Max Taggert.
Thankfully, neither man was facing the plane. She slowly closed the door, then crawled back to the cargo area and hid under the tarp, curling into a tight ball.
She didn’t hear anything else until the plane’s door opened. Serena held her breath.
“—talked to the tower and visibility is four miles,” Max said to someone. She’d recognize that deep, smooth voice anywhere. There was a soft thud as the plane bounced under the weight of whatever was being loaded.
“Need to sign your flight plan and you’re ready to go,” the other guy said, and she heard metal clanking on the ground. They were untying it.
Another thud and the plane bounced again. The first item was shoved farther back into the cargo area. Two more heavy items were loaded and Serena feared she might be blocked in.
Finally she heard the plane’s door close and there was silence. Sounded as if she only had a few minutes. She threw off the tarp and turned on her flashlight. Two duct-taped coolers and a couple cardboard boxes sat ominously around her. Before she could rethink her actions, she stuck the flashlight between her teeth, slowly peeled the duct tape off one cooler, and peeked inside.
Meat?
She dug underneath the top layer. Frozen packages of steaks, chicken, pork chops, roast beef, ground round.
No drugs.
Unless they were hidden in the meat. And how could she tell?
She closed the cooler and replaced the tape, then pried open one of the cardboard boxes. Gourmet food. Fancy soaps. Egyptian cotton bed linens?
If this guy was transporting drugs, would they be hid den inside soaps and jars of truffles? If so, she couldn’t see them.
Time to go.
Breathing heavily, she picked her way around the coolers and boxes, squeezing between while trying to move them as little as possible. Grasping the door handle, she turned it slowly and lifted outward.
“Woof!” The dog was sitting on the asphalt outside the plane. He leaped up and scratched his paws on the pilot’s door.
Serena barely suppressed a scream with her hand over her mouth and jumped backward, knocking into the passenger seat. She couldn’t breathe. Her whole body shook. The hangar door opened. She grabbed the plane’s door and clicked it shut, and then scrambled back behind the two tall coolers just as the door opened.
“What is it, Mick?” Max sounded as if he stood just outside.
The dog whined and then barked again.
“Are you hungry, boy? I know. You want that steak, don’t you?”
Mick continued barking and scratching, pawing at the plane.
“No, Mick. Come on. Get in.”
Serena would have laughed if it hadn’t been so disastrous. Outwitted by a dog. The one thing she hadn’t thought of. All he had to do was shift a cooler or reach back here for something and he’d see her.
Before she realized it, Max shouted something and started the engine. With a jolt, the plane began rolling back. Maybe she should just surrender and give him the returning the gloves story. But that felt too much like giving up.
And if he was dangerous, he could do worse than press charges for trespassing.
Just stay calm. She had two choices: reveal herself now and risk jail. Or ride to Barrow. She could sneak off after he unloaded his plane, and then catch a commercial flight back.
She’d never been to Barrow. If he was selling drugs there, maybe the local police force would have some information. Or she could tail him and see if he met anyone.
The plane turned and picked up a little speed, taxiing down the runway. Then the engine roared louder and the plane sped up and her stomach dipped as it lifted off.
Too late now.
Afraid to move for fear he’d hear her, she laid her head on her arm and resigned herself to a long ride.
She must have slept some, but she woke up shivering. The temperature had dropped substantially. How long was the flight to Barrow? Fear curled around her throat. Could she freeze to death back here? She zipped up her parka and slowly scooted to the back of the plane to fish out Max’s gloves from her purse and slip them on.
The tarp! She lifted it, crawled under, and then curled up and tried to get back to sleep. Then the engine sputtered.
That wasn’t good.
It sputtered again, and then the front of the plane lowered and leveled out. Oh God, what was going on?
The engine sputtered again and, again, the plane’s nose lowered, and then leveled.
Then the engine stopped completely. And there was nothing but silence.
