Primal Calling (6 page)

What was she doing in this place? She could be sitting by the pool with dinner reservations tonight. Going to a movie, meeting her friends at a bar. She'd been crazy to think she could do anything like this on her own.

Calm down, Serena. You can do this.
She closed her eyes and tried to picture the way she'd come in her mind.

A horn honked, and she jumped, her heart pounding. The window of the truck beside her came down and she caught a glimpse of Mickey in the seat beside the driver. It was Max. He stuck his arm out, motioned her to follow him and then pulled ahead.

She followed him back to the hotel and expected him to get out, but he drove off once she pulled into a parking space. How had he known where she was? He had to have followed her. So, he was spying on her?

If he was into some sort of criminal activity, why had he bothered to save her just now? Most of the stores had already closed, but she could've knocked on someone's
door and borrowed a phone. This made it the second time he'd come to her rescue.

And it was difficult to be objective about a hero.

 

A
FEW HOURS LATER
, after a shower and a nap, she came down the stairs to the loud murmur of voices. The lobby, which looked more like her grandmother's living room, was full of people.

“Serena, everyone's so excited to meet you,” Arna greeted her as she stepped into the throng. “And when they heard you were without luggage, they brought gifts.”

An old Inuit with long gray hair stepped forward and offered her a large foil-wrapped package. “Welcome to Barrow, Ms. Sandstone.”

“Serena, this is Mayor Chuka, mayor of the North Slope Borough. He's also our whaling captain.”

Serena took the packet, which felt like fish meat. “Thank you so much, Mayor Chuka. Please call me Serena.”

“I'll get that whale meat on the grill, Mayor.” Chris took her gift and—wait. Did he say “whale” meat? Serena glanced warily back at the foil-wrapped food disappearing into the kitchen as Arna tugged her to the next person.

She met a scientist from the old naval-base-turned-research-lab who was studying climate change and a Korean schoolteacher. There was a Tonkin grocery store owner and a Latino nurse who'd just arrived to work at the hospital. Each brought her a gift. A pair of snow
pants, some sealskin mitts, a traditional, fur-lined parka and some moose meat. Serena was overwhelmed by their generosity.

“Dinner is served, folks,” Chris called from the kitchen.

“You won't find a better home-cooked meal anywhere in the Arctic,” Arna bragged. Everyone filed in to the buffet-style dinner.

The food was simple but good. Wine and coffee were poured and, after everyone had eaten, Serena stood and raised her plastic cup. “To the people of Barrow, the most welcoming and generous folks I've met in all my travels.” As they clinked their glasses to the toast, Serena wondered about Max. Wasn't he part of this community? Even if he hid away from reporters, surely he had friends here in town.

“My compliments to the chef,” she told Chris when he came by to take her plate. “This meal was as good as any five-star restaurant I've been in.”

Chris beamed. “Thank you.”

“Wouldn't Max normally come to a gathering like this? Would he have come if I wasn't here?”

Chris was shaking his head before she finished the sentence. “No way. He's our resident hermit. He's my business partner, but he won't even come to dinner when it's just me and Arna. Even before the crash, he—”

“Chris.” Arna shut him down with a stern frown.

An uncomfortable moment passed and her husband bowed out, gathering plates from the other guests. Arna held Serena's gaze, her scowl replaced with a placid expression.

“Is there something you don't want me to know about Max Taggert?”

The hotel owner shook her head. “He may keep to himself, but whenever we have needed him, he has been there. As for the rest, it is his story to tell.” She turned and walked away.

His story? Did that mean the rumors about him were not just rumors? But Chris had started to say something about
before
the plane crash. It sounded as if there might be more secrets in Max Taggert's life.

“How long are you staying, Serena?” the mayor asked.

“I'm not sure yet. I'm supposed to be in Buenos Aires in a couple of weeks.”

“This weekend we celebrate the
Piuraagiaqta
, the Spring Festival. There are games for the children and people dressed in costumes. I hope you will attend?”

“The pee-ur-ahg-ee-
ahk
-tah?” A perfect excuse to get out and meet more people and question them about Max. Surely there was someone else in this town who knew what had happened to him. She just had to ask around. Isn't that what investigative journalists did?

She smiled at the mayor. “I wouldn't miss it for anything.” Besides, she enjoyed learning the traditions and customs of the people she visited. The stories and legends that were passed down from generation to generation. She would miss that after she quit. She ought to buy a video camera while she was here and record the festival.

But mostly, it gave her a reason to stay in town, to
seek out Max. She wanted to find out what his story was, learn everything about him. She couldn't explain her fascination with the man. All she knew was that she was here now, and she didn't want to go until she'd discovered what had really happened out there in the aftermath of his plane crash, and what had put such sorrow in his eyes.

The fact that she wanted to soothe his anguish was completely beside the point.

“I
'M SO GLAD
you could attend our
Piuraagiaqta
this weekend, Ms. Sandstone.” Mayor Chuka appeared by Serena's side as she stood along the main road waiting for the parade to start.

“Me, too, and please, call me Serena.” Considering the size of the town, there was a fairly large crowd gathered here this morning. The sun was shining, which was nice. It'd been cloudy since she got here.

The gloomy weather hadn't bothered her too much because she'd spent the past two days mostly in her room researching any and everything to do with the plane crash.

Turned out investigative journalism could be kind of boring. But she had managed to learn a few interesting facts.

The weather recorded for the day of the crash was clear and sunny. No storms, no ice, no weather-related reason for the crash. She'd also learned—via a not-quite-above-board interview with a really nice guy at
the Barrow Savings and Loan—that Max had bought his new plane with funds that had appeared in his account from a bank in Dallas, Texas.

And Max's father lived in Texas. So, maybe his father had loaned him the money. Nothing underhanded about that.

But she'd also learned that the man whose life Max had saved was Beau Ramsey, COO of a company called NRT Transport. NRT Transport also had an office in Dallas.

The other two, who had died in Max's plane crash were also executives at NRT Transport, and, most interestingly, Max was listed as co-owner of the company. Those men weren't just paying customers. They were Max's business partners.

Maybe Max had something to gain by killing his partners. Maybe some sort of insurance payout? But a plane crash seemed a dangerous way to do it. How could he be sure he wouldn't die too? And what about Ramsey? Was he meant to live? Or had Max had a change of heart? If he were trying to cover up a murder, why would Max have dragged the only witness to his crime twenty miles to save his life?

None of the men, including Max, had any ties to drugs or previous arrests that she could discover. She'd even called a friend of a friend in the U.S. Customs and Immigration department to see if he could dig up anything. Nada.

She'd also put a call in to the FAA, but they hadn't
been able to answer her questions about the findings from the crash. Someone was supposed to get back to her.

In the meantime, she was going to enjoy the festival and inquire about Max from his fellow Barrowans.

Despite the sunshine, the air was crisp, the temperature not much above freezing. Serena wore her new traditional Inuit parka and sealskin mittens. “Do you mind if I record your town's festivities, Mayor?” Serena held up the convenient palm-size video camera she'd purchased yesterday after her trip to the savings and loan.

“Not at all,” the mayor replied. “And you must call me Edgar.”

She smiled, aimed the camera at him and pushed the record button. After she got him to introduce himself and pronounce the name of the spring festival, she panned the camera out to film the people lining the other side of the street. Everyone on her viewfinder screen was looking directly at her and waving, and she could hear the buzz of murmurs all around her. She overheard the words “famous star” and “her own cable show” and “be on TV.”

Evidently word had spread fast from the party her first night here. They thought she was here for her TV show. Not a bad cover. And, actually, it might be possible to have some of this footage edited into the Iditarod piece. But if she ended up with a good story on Max, she'd be able to use what she filmed here for that.

She kept filming the crowd and stopped, went back. It was Max, with a tiny, gray-haired Iñupiat woman's
hand clinging to the crook in his elbow. The old woman smiled at her and waved and drew Max's attention to Serena. He scowled.

Serena paused the recording, dropped the camera to her side and waved back to the old woman.

She hadn't seen or heard from Max since he'd rescued her from getting lost in the ice fog the other day. She tried to tell her brain to be objective, but just looking at him made her breathing shallow and her heart race. Even hidden behind the shaggy hair and beard he was a handsome man. But there was something more. Something in the depth of his dark brown eyes that called to her. In the way he looked at her. As if he wanted to shove everyone out of his way, grab her by the hair and yank her back to his cave.

The old woman said something to him and Max leaned down to hear her, then shook his head and replied. His face softened as he spoke to her and when he straightened, he stared down the street.

Well. She'd been dismissed.

She lifted the camera and recorded the parade.

After the parade wound down, the children dragged their sleds to the Middle Lagoon. A boy of about ten or eleven stood with his mother next to Serena. The Iñupiat boy tugged on Serena's coat. “Am I going to be on television?”

Serena bent down to talk to the boy. “Maybe. Do you want to be?” She glanced up just then and caught Max staring at the boy. His face revealed little, there was something about the intensity in his stare.

Her camera down by her side, she saw Max's gaze follow the boy as he raced his sled. Then, as if Max sensed her eyes on him, he glanced back at her. She looked away. He wouldn't appreciate that she was watching him.

Turning her attention to the children and their sleds, Serena cheered them on and recorded the last few minutes of the race. She wandered to the crafts tables in the gym and bought a beautiful whalebone carving of a white owl for her collection and a woven blanket in beautiful muted colors of the Arctic Sea. Dozens of townspeople approached her, asking who she was, and all seemed eager to be recorded.

She asked as many as she could, without being too obvious, about Max and the plane crash. Some repeated the rumors about drugs and foul play, but admitted they only knew what they'd heard and had no proof or reason to believe it was true. A few tried to convince her he was an ex-con, but again, they had no proof. Several people told her to ask the shaman. The shaman could tell her everything she wanted to know.

She made a mental note to ask Chris about making an appointment with the town's shaman.

Even more revealing to Serena was the way people treated Max. And how he reacted. Though all would nod respectfully to the old woman, they seemed to give him a wide berth, and some openly ignored him. And the way he froze people out with his cold, menacing glares it was no wonder people feared him.

A few times throughout the day she felt a quiver of
awareness. She'd look up to find his gaze on her and her stomach would jump. Once, it was the old woman with him who was staring at her.

At the potluck dinner in the high school gym, she filled her plate with goose soup, cooked fruit and fry bread. She found the traditional Iñupiat cooking delicious. The couple of times she glanced his way, Max was pulling out a chair for the elderly lady and bringing her a plate of food. Her heart squeezed.

Just when she'd convinced herself she could stay objective.

When everyone moved outside for the blanket toss, she moved into position to film it with the crimson sky of the setting sun behind the circle of adults holding on to the edges of the patchwork of sealskins. The whaling captains and their wives climbed on first and the crowd pulled out on the blanket and tossed them high into the air. Once airborne, the wives threw candy to the surrounding children.

Beyond the focus of the blanket toss, Max stood in the shadows, away from the crowd, his arms crossed over his chest. The Lone Wolf.

His eyes met hers with a raised brow, staring her down. Daring her to approach him and say something.

It was time to speak to him one more time about an interview.

 

M
AX SAW
Serena drop the camera into her purse and move toward him. Her white teeth flashed as she smiled and nodded to the people along the way. The setting sun
seemed to form a golden lining around her, casting her into silhouette for a moment.

Her face was unreadable, but her eyes seemed to burn into his. The wind blew her long brunette hair across her face and she reached up to gather the strands and tuck them behind her ear. But her gaze never left his.

His body responded. His muscles tensed, and his breathing sped up. He felt the same pull of attraction he'd felt every time he saw her. What was it about her? Her figure and legs were covered today with a bulky coat that fell halfway to her knees.

But he knew her body beneath the coat. Knew her soft skin. He'd been inside her. His erection pulsed at the thought. He closed his eyes and then turned to make his escape.

She followed him and placed her hand on his arm. “Max?”

At her touch and nearness the tingle of awareness grew into full-scale desire. He stopped but didn't face her.

“You've been avoiding me,” Serena accused, and moved in front of him.

“Don't take it personally.” The noise level rose as the people called out for the newlyweds being tossed on the blanket to kiss.

“Why? Because you avoid everyone?” Serena raised her voice over the volume of blanket-tossers. “I can't help but take it personally.”

Max shook his head. “How do you figure that?”

“Because…” She hesitated. “That night when we…you know—in the plane. I wondered if we could just start over.”

As Serena spoke, the door of the gym opened and his grandmother's head poked out.

Seeing Serena, she smiled her toothless smile and clapped her hands. “I knew it.”

Serena's eyes widened as she swiveled to face his grandmother.

Max closed his eyes. “No,
Aanaga.
There's nothing to know.”

“Ii.”
She nodded, joyfully cackling. “I felt it as soon as I saw her.”

“Felt what?” Serena asked.

“Nothing.” He had to get his grandmother out of here.

With a smug grin, she pointed a wrinkled finger at Serena just as Max rushed to put his arm around his grandmother's shoulders and guide her away. “She is the one.” His grandmother spoke loudly. “No,
Aanaga.
It's not what you think. We need to get home now.”

But his grandmother dug in her heels and twisted in his arm. “I'm so glad you are finally here. I've been waiting a long time for you.” She smiled and nodded her head, then looked back at him. “We can go now.” Shuffling away, she left with him, a smug smile playing on her lips.

And Serena stared after them as if she'd just clicked another piece of the puzzle into the right spot.

 

S
ERENA WOKE UP
disoriented. She'd been dreaming she was back in L.A. in her condo, and she was making love to Max on a chaise lounge out on her balcony. Then she became aware as they made love that the old Iñupiat lady was watching them. Smiling and clapping her hands.

Nooo…

Rolling to her side, she curled into a fetal position, pulled the pillow over her face and moaned. Didn't take Freud to analyze that dream.

But it shouldn't be that big of a deal. This wasn't seventeenth century New England. She didn't have to wear a scarlet letter on her clothes. It was just embarrassing for anyone to know her private business, that's all.

For the first time, she understood Max not wanting to talk with her about his past.

She jumped as someone pounded on her door.

“Serena. I want to talk to you.”

Max? He sounded furious. Okay, more furious than usual. She scrambled out of bed and looked down at her thin cami and thong. But she had no robe, only her coat.

Max pounded again. “Serena. Open the damn door.”

“All right. I'm coming.” Jeez. On her way to the door, she grabbed her ski jacket and shoved her arms in the sleeves.

The pounding started again just as she threw open the door.

Max pushed past her and stalked into the room.
“What the hell were you doing yesterday?” He shoved a newspaper under her nose.

She blinked, took the paper from him, and scanned the front page.

North Slope News
Saturday, April 2

Schedule for the Piuraagiaqta

“I don't get it.” She extended the paper back to him. “Is the schedule wrong because of me?”

His scowl grew even more ominous. “Read below the fold.”

 

TV Personality Visits Barrow—Investigates Plane Crash Mystery.

By Tonya Sweeny

 

Many who attended the Spring Festival yesterday may have noticed a celebrity in our midst. Serena Sandstone, star of the hit travel show
Travel in Style,
was seen around Barrow enjoying the celebrations. But, was she also here to look into a local man's past? Our sources say she repeatedly solicited local citizens for information about Mr. Taggert's plane crash three years ago. Speculation about a possible documentary ran wild.

Mr. Taggert's crash remains in litigation and he gave no comment when asked.

 

Oh no. She'd been scooped by another journalist. Serena tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. Cautiously, she looked up from the newspaper to face Max.

But his gaze wasn't on her face. As his stare moved back up from her legs to her breasts, her nipples tightened under his intense scrutiny. And the sharp ache between her thighs made her breath catch. She grabbed the edges of her ski jacket and closed them around herself.