Anne Duquette - Her Own Ranger

“I thought maybe I could get away with just snorkeling.”

“You’d come up empty. And anything else would be too risky for you. I can dive, but I sure can’t operate those fancy cameras of yours. Sorry, kid.” He patted her on the shoulder like a kindly old uncle. “Ya gotta watch that bum lung of yours.”

Yeah. The same lung that’s ending my career, unless the doctors can fix me up.

She didn’t like remembering the time three years earlier, when ivory poachers had almost carved her into a carcass like the African elephants they’d slaughtered. The poachers had unexpectedly returned to a killing field she’d discovered and was photographing. Josh had stayed behind to set up their camp and when Alisha didn’t return as scheduled, he’d gone looking. He’d found her, close to death, and taken her to the hospital in Nairobi.

The hospital stay was hell. The doctors feared the worst, and Josh had left a message for her mother. Alisha couldn’t speak to her family until she was out of danger, recovering from emergency surgery. That phone conversation went downhill after a scant five minutes.

“Maybe they can take your life story and make it into a movie when I bury you,” Fran Jamison had sobbed over the phone, “Like Dian Fossey and Gorillas in the Mist. My God, Ali, I can see your tombstone now. ‘She died so fake furs could flourish.’”

“Mom, it was African elephants and they don’t have fur.”

Her attempt at levity had fallen flat.

“Your father left me plenty of money when he died. Your brothers are lawyers, living like normal people. Yet you let this Hollywood writer talk you into getting killed! What does he do, produce assignments from hell? Is this what you want?”

Her mother’s phone calls to the Nairobi hospital, although upsetting, were the least of her worries. She’d been scarred deeply—physically, and emotionally. She’d never sleep soundly again. Nights were the worst, and the damage to her right lung continued to plague her. Bronchitis was common, as were more serious bouts of pneumonia.

“Find a less physically stressful type of work,” the doctors said. “Either way, you’re going to need surgery again soon.”

Easier said than done. The hospital costs had already been horrendous, and last year, her medical insurer had cancelled her coverage.

That knife in the dark had cost her health, a diminished capacity to do her job, and her peace of mind.

I need a big story and some big money for my retirement—fast. I have to do this while my health holds up. I might have to quit, but I intend to remain independent. I want a nest egg. I refuse to live off Mom and my brothers’ charity.

Sadly, this Everglades story didn’t seem to promise Alisha her goal. The strange fax still bothered her; so did fears that her health might prevent her from doing this job—possibly her last—as well as she wanted to.

“There must something we can use besides the gators. There’s always bird shots,” Alisha said.

“You hate doing birds,” Josh groaned. At Alisha’s stare, he gave in. “Oh, all right. Whaddaya have for rare or endangered feathered?”

“Well...” She looked through more notes as Josh tore into the second bag of peanuts. “Five. There’s the snail kite.”

“Let me guess—it eats snails.”

“The wood stork, the Cape Sable—”

“Whatever the hell that is.”

She gave Josh an impatient glance. “The Cape Sable sparrow. Plus the Arctic peregrine falcon.”

“What’s it doing in Florida?”

“Migrating, I guess. Hey, there’s the southern bald eagle.”

“They aren’t easy to find. We’ll come across lots of other bird shutterbugs, though. They’re not a rare species.” Josh washed down his peanuts with a swallow of rum and cola. “Like I said in the beginning, let’s stick with what we do. Poachers. Poached animals. Gators are it for now. Ace producer that I am, kid, stop questioning my smarts.”

The old Alisha would have grinned. She hadn’t been a naive “kid” for years. “I think I can come up with a two-for-one, Josh. Maybe write up some of the endangered birds that gators prey on? I could tie them into the story—no,” she corrected herself, knowing what Josh would say, “I could mention them in the alligator piece, and do a second special highlighting them on their own. Twice the pay.”

“Obi-Wan has taught you well, Young Skywalker.” Josh grinned. “I can die in peace. Hey, flight attendant...” he yelled out.

“Can’t you use the call button like everyone else?” Alisha hissed, glad she’d at least trained him not to use the term stewardess. “This isn’t a Cubs game.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault. We’re in first class. She’s not supposed to disappear for so long. Can I get a beer now, sweetheart?”

The approaching flight attendant put on a phony smile. Alisha wasn’t surprised. Josh was fit and trim for a man his age, but his personality would always have rough edges. He was a hard man to know, a man who rarely showed a vulnerable or tender side.

Alisha knew it was there. She’d found that out after her attack. Josh hadn’t left her side from the moment he’d discovered her bleeding in the dirt. All during that wild jeep drive to safety, those long weeks in the hospital, his hand had held hers until she no longer needed his strength. She’d never forget it.

Too bad he’s never had children to bring out the best in him. But if he was with family, I’d have died alone in the midst of freshly killed elephants. The memory sent chills down her spine. Well, maybe he’ll settle down, meet a woman, fall in love, while I’m recuperating. It’s only a matter of time before we finish this last assignment and I have to quit for the lung surgery.

“You want anything, Al? I’m buying.”

“Very funny. I know perfectly well that drinks are free in first class. But I could go for a ginger ale. I’d like it over there.” She gestured to an empty seat. “I’m going to move, Josh. I need some quiet time,” she explained with a smile to both partner and night attendant.

“Come on,” he protested. “Let’s check out the casino layout. I have the brochures. Plus I bought some electronic games at the airport so you can practice.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. You know how I feel about gambling.” I do plenty of gambling on the job. My life is high-stakes enough. “Give them to your nieces or nephews.”

“Come on, be a sport. You need some fun. You don’t laugh anymore, Al.”

“I’ll play later. Right now, I can’t wait to get into my research,” she said slyly, stepping over Josh’s legs. “Did you know the crocodile still looks like its Triassic ancestors? They haven’t changed much since then because their method of survival’s so perfect. In fact, they’ve even shrunk in size, they’re so efficient. Guess how much.”

“Umm...”

“Saltwater crocs are twenty-eight feet long, down from the ancient Phobosuchus, which was seventy feet long with—”

“You know, viewers hate statistics. So do I. Besides, I thought we were doing gators.”

“Gotta complete my research if we want to document anything else. Do you know how to tell them apart? I read that...”

A glazed look appeared in Josh’s eyes, just as Alisha knew it would.

“Umm, maybe you’d better sit where I won’t disturb you.” Josh buried his nose in the casino pamphlets. “I have reading of my own.”

Alisha stifled a smile and started down the open aisle to the empty seat. “Okay, Josh.”

“A relative?” the flight attendant asked sympathetically as she brought Alisha her drink.

“Friend and business partner,” she said vaguely, not mentioning Josh’s or her own well-recognized names in front of the other passengers. Thank good I stay behind the cameras. Even if I didn’t, I’m usually so grubby, I can’t possibly look “presentable .” She was presentable now, clad in warm slacks and a wool pullover for the chilly flight, complete with light makeup and her brown hair down and loose instead of neatly braided. Ever since the poacher attack, she was almost paranoid about using her real name. In public, she was Alisha Jamison only to Customs, government officials and her bank.