No Safe Place by Richard North Patterson Read Free Book Online

sometimes helped, perhaps by shaming a warring faction into allowing shipments of food to pass, or by pressuring her own government to try to relieve hunger or stop the systematic slaughter of one group by another. Sometimes she had been able, at the margins, to influence a small piece of foreign policy. It was difficult to have worked so hard, and cared so deeply, and then to leave. But Lara’s work had made her a public figure, and the network wanted her home.
    She understood how this had happened: the image of a young woman broadcasting from harsh conditions was compelling, and overseas there had been far less competition. And, the president of the news division had observed with irony, she had a quality as important as her gender or her Latina mother: high cheekbones. Lara had black hair, intense dark eyes, a sculpted face, and pale flawless skin. Though it had never mattered toher much, she was a pretty woman, and in television that counted. Especially if one’s next assignment was on what a colleague had labeled “the star track”: anchorwoman for the weekend news and a prime-time weekly news show.
    Lara had turned from the window, gazing at her bedroom. She would rebuild her life in the city she once had wanted desperately to leave. Then, she told herself sardonically, somehow she could bear the burdens of celebrity, a million dollars a year, and a job most of her colleagues would kill for. She did not expect sympathy from anyone. Less than two years earlier, Lara had been an underpaid reporter for the
New York Times
, one of those semianonymous print journalists who combed Capitol Hill for news and nuance. The only people who would understand her restiveness were overseas: journalists in sub-Saharan Africa, diplomats, AIDS workers, human rights activists …
    He
would have gotten it, she suddenly knew; at times she had believed that he could grasp what it was like to be an old woman, or a small child. But the thought of him deepened her sense of solitude.
    “We go through life alone,” he had said to her once, “and then we die.” It was said wryly, as though he did not truly believe it; he had a gentle way of making fun of anyone who inflated their own difficulties. She would remember that in the weeks ahead.
    That was what she was thinking when the telephone rang.
    It was the bureau chief, Hal Leavitt. He did not apologize for the lateness of the hour.
    “We’ve got a problem,” he said without preface. “Mike De-vore’s broken his ankle. There’s no one to cover Kilcannon in California.”
    Lara felt stunned. She sat on the edge of the bed, trying to collect herself.
    “Are you there?” Hal asked.
    “Yeah. Just waking up.”
    “Look, I know you’ve got another week’s vacation, but I thought of you right away. This primary’s the tie-breaker, you’re from California, you started your career in San Francisco, and you know Kilcannon from covering the Hill.”
    Lara drew a breath. “And if that’s not reason enough, I’vebeen overseas for two years, haven’t followed the primaries, don’t know the issues, and am open to charges of bias—every other month or so, the President’s or Mason’s people complained that I was picking on them. Or have you forgotten?” She paused. “You must have been out late, Hal, drinking with the boys. It’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”
    Hal’s voice was level. “It’s only seven days, Lara. I’ll take the heat from Mason. If there is any.”
    “That’s one thing. But I’ve always thought that ignorance was a problem for a reporter. It makes
me
uncomfortable, anyhow.”
    For the first time, Hal sounded annoyed. “We’ll have a clippings file ready. You can read it on the plane. When you land in Los Angeles, call Mike Devore from the limo. He’ll get you up to speed.” His voice became crisp. “We’ll make this as easy as possible—limousines, prepaid ticket, anything you need. The car’s coming at nine.”
    Desperate, Lara searched for