Free Allison (A Kane Novel) by Steve Gannon Page B

sorry for what you went through afterward,” I said instead, looking more closely at Lauren’s face.  Though I tried, I was able to detect little of the brutal slashing she had suffered at the hands of the same man who had attacked my father.
    “The scars are still there, but you have to look hard to see them,” said Lauren, noticing my gaze.  “A little makeup and years of reconstructive surgery can work wonders.  I recovered most of my vision too, though I still have to wear sunglasses in bright light.”
    “So that’s why you, uh, switched to—”
    “—working behind the camera,” Lauren finished.  “In a way, things turned out for the best.  I’m happy in what I’m doing now, and I have more time for my daughter, Candice.  She’s a few years younger than you.”  The bureau chief hesitated, then folded her hands on the desk.  “Allison, although we’ve just met, you and I have a lot of history between us.  Bad history.  I’m sorry for that.”
    I remained silent.
    “Your cameraman friend at Channel 2 told Brent that you’re a writer, and that you’re taking journalism courses in college,” Lauren continued, chipping at the ice.
    “That’s right.  At least I will be,” I admitted.  “I’ve been majoring in English at UCLA, but this fall I’m transferring to USC and switching to journalism.  And I just met Mike last Friday.  He’s not really a friend.”
    “Well, he spoke highly of you.  By the way, congratulations on your rescue effort at the beach.  That was a dynamite segment.  Our ratings shot through the roof after we ran it.”
    “How nice for you.”
    “So why journalism?” Lauren asked, ignoring my sarcasm.
    “Well, I’ve been working on the UCLA school paper, and I like it,” I replied, thawing slightly.  “Plus journalism might be a career at which I could actually make a living.”
    “As opposed to tackling something more risky?  Creative writing, for instance?”
    I shrugged.  “I suppose so.”
    “I don’t want to pop your bubble, Allison, but there are no guarantees in the news business either,” Lauren cautioned.  “What’s more, when it comes to getting ahead, many of those working in the media consider a journalism degree almost worthless.  They’ll tell you there’s a big difference between academia and the real world, and the only way to learn this job is to do it.”
    “And what do you think?”
    Lauren smiled.  “I think it depends on the person.  Schooling can’t replace ability or on-the-job experience, but if nothing else, getting a journalism degree shows desire.”
    I thought for a moment, finally deciding that despite my animosity toward Ms. Van Owen, working at CBS for the rest of the summer might be something I could use, and maybe even like.  If I were going to be a journalist, even a print journalist, getting some on-the-job experience would be helpful.  “So tell me about the intern position,” I said, beginning to get excited.
    “It’s thirty to forty hours a week with no pay.  Mostly gofer work, but sometimes there’s a chance to get involved with the news.”
    “No pay?”
    “Money’s tight.  No pay is standard for interns.  Is that a problem?”
    “You could say that,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment.  “I would have to drop out of summer session at UCLA, and no pay would mean moving back to my parents’ house in Malibu.”
    “Friction at home?”
    “There would be.”
    Just then Brent Preston stuck his head into Lauren’s office.  “Sorry to interrupt.  I just got a call from one of my LAPD contacts.  A body matching Jordan French’s description was just found in a reservoir out near Encino.”
    “Take a camera crew and see what you can get,” said Lauren.
    “I’m on it.”
    After Brent left, I shook my head in surprise.  I had never met Jordan French, but having seen her on TV over the years had left me feeling as if the young actress were someone I knew.  “Dad was