Wild Men of Alaska 04 - Wild Men of Alaska - Four Book Bundle

perfect assignment for you. One that will give you time to recuperate and help you rediscover your ‘edge’.” Tom’s face lit as the passion for the sell stole over him. The man would have made a killer used car salesman. As it was, he was making a fine name for himself as an editor for World Events .
    “What possible assignment would allow me time to heal?” He was a photojournalist. His job required that he be ready at any moment to chase down the story. Capture the soul of his subject that portrayed a story with a single snapshot. How was he going to accomplish that with a bum leg? Besides, scary as the thought was, he didn’t think he had it in him anymore. The spark which usually fired his “shutter bug muse” was snuffed out, extinguished with the force of the blast that wiped out the lives of so many people in the Middle East.
    “Remember Amelia Bennett? The magazine wants to do an exposé.” Tom held his hands up wide, his fingers simulating quotes. “Twenty years later. ‘ Where Is She Now’?” He lowered his arms, his eyes glowing with excitement. “What do you think?”
    Amelia Bennett.
    His breath caught in his throat. He swiveled in his chair and studied the award-winning photograph, framed and hanging on the wall in the prized spot. His walls were covered—a gallery of his work—with pictures depicting people and places. All told their own story of life, and death, and hope.
    But Amelia...
    Amelia was special. The image of her he’d captured just following her rescue—after being kidnapped and held for nine months by the cult leader of the Ascension—had jump-started his career.
    Made him who he was today.
    Tom moved into his line of vision, breaking Cache’s journey into the past. “I knew you would remember.” He shrugged. “I mean, how could you not.” He pointed to the little girl the media had labeled Shattered Innocence . “Don’t you want to know how she’s doing now? The rest of the world does. You’re the one who captured the essence of her broken soul. Aren’t you curious to know what kind of life she’s made for herself?” Tom’s voice picked up speed, moving in for the kill. “You have to be the one who does this story, Cache. I know how much she got to you. Her story affected the world. The world needs to know the little girl we all looked for and hoped would be returned to her grieving family was not only found, but survived—and let’s be optimistic here—triumphed over her ordeal.”
    Cache’s gaze returned to Amelia’s picture. Long, white-golden hair framed a too thin face of smooth alabaster skin. She’d been twelve. Just a kid. Her wide blue eyes, as pure in color as forget-me-nots, spoke of the horrors she’d suffered. They filled her face. Drew you in and refused to let you go.
    Damn. Why now? Why now, when he was so broken?
    Could he let someone else tell Amelia’s story in his place? He studied her photograph again. She was his story . Always had been. What would his camera lens tell him now?
    Ah, hell. Cache raked fingers through his uncombed hair and sighed. “Give me the details.”
    Tom smiled, rubbed his hands together and shoved aside a stack of unopened mail, taking a seat on the couch. “It turns out Amelia Bennett is part owner of a lodge in Alaska. So—” Tom reached into his breast pocket and produced two airplane tickets “—we’re leaving for a two-week Alaskan adventure.”
    “We?”
    “I’m going with you.” He reached into his other pocket and whipped out a brochure. “They offer salmon and halibut fishing, hiking, kayaking, whale and bear watching. The list is endless.”
    Cache narrowed his eyes. “ We? ” he repeated.
    Tom gestured at Cache’s injuries. “Come on. You can’t very well go alone. Think of me as your companion or coworker...no, no forget that. Boss? Yeah, I like that. Think of me as your boss.”
    “Think again.”
    “Okay, then...what about buddy?”
    Cache stared at him for a minute. “What’s really going on here?”
    Tom sighed and crossed his legs, his leather wingtips shining in the late afternoon light pouring through the windows. “The starched shirts are worried about you. They know you’ve been to hell and back and want me to make sure nothing more happens to you.”
    “In other words, they’re sending you to make sure I don’t fuck it up.”
    “Well—” he shrugged “—basically. Come on, Cache, it’s Alaska, and we get to go with the magazine footing the