Risking It All

“The footage was shot only yesterday morning over in Oahu, near the Pipeline,” he offered reluctantly. “But that doesn’t mean you’ll find him there.”

“How could Zoot and Keith forget to get a release?” she asked, because the main cameraman on this series was usually far more on-the-ball about these things.

Her boss shrugged. “Keith said one minute the guy was there, and the next, he was gone.”

It was worth a shot trying to track him down. Because this film—this great film—was getting submitted as part of her grant proposal. The film was the part of the package that everything hinged on.

No way was she letting this go down without a fight. “Besides yesterday’s location, any idea where I could start to look?”

Vic handed her a piece of paper. “This guy runs a surf shop. Supposedly, he knows everybody who’s anybody in that area. If your surfer’s a regular, you might have some luck.”

“I KNOW CASH,” the man the natives called Bobo said.

Rina clutched the counter so hard she thought she’d leave dents. “Do you know where I can find him? This is really important,” she told him, but suddenly, everyone in the crowded surf shop seemed to have some sort of opinion on her wayward subject.

“Cash doesn’t live on the island. Dude comes here a few times a year to surf,” another man called out from the back of the store where he was setting up a display of surfboards.

“No one knows what his deal is, but the man can hang ten with the best of them. Could go pro if he wanted to.”

“Rumor has it he’s rich as hell, living off his inheritance and beach-bumming around the world,” surfboard display guy said.

“Another rumor says he’s got some kind of criminal past and he’s island-hopping and hiding from the feds,” a customer added, while Bobo rang up his purchases.

“I’m not sure you’re his type.” A tall, cool blonde, the opposite of everything Rina was, approached the counter and looked her up and down. “He likes blondes.”

“Don’t listen to her—she thinks everyone likes blondes,” Bobo said. “Cash is equal opportunity with women. He likes them all.”

“I’ll just bet,” she murmured, because that was par for the course with the men in these videos. Rina had learned from Stella’s example, since her friend had found out the hard way. She’d fallen for one of the drag racers from their first documentary in the series. It had been one of those “you’re so perfect for me, baby” scenarios, which left Stella floating on air. Until the creep never called her again.

Stella decided to quit trying to find true love, and to stick with flings with bad boys. That way she kept her heart uninvolved, while Rina vowed to stay away from guys all together. She realized that most people who did extraordinary things with their lives had problems staying in any kind of relationship—never mind long-term ones.

Taking risks with the camera was one thing, but taking risks in her personal life was another matter entirely.

According to her family, Rina’s whole career choice was a complete crapshoot, and far too risky for their tastes. They’d wanted her to do something safe, didn’t see her career for what it was—a calling. A love. Something she couldn’t possibly give up, even if she wanted to.

“Look, I don’t want to sleep with him. But I really need to find him as soon as possible,” she said, and explained about the video.

“Crews are always coming through here. You wouldn’t believe how often things like this happen. Cameras get so involved in filming that they forget the technicalities,” Bobo said, shaking his head as if it was all her fault.

“So, you can help me then?” she asked.

“Hang on a second,” he replied, rifling through some papers behind the counter. “Today’s your lucky day, lady,” he said proudly. “I’ve got some equipment on back order that I have to send to him. So I’ve got his address. His hotel’s address. But I’m not sure if I should give it out to you.”

“I’ll make sure your shop gets a lot of air time in the documentary,” she offered. “In fact, I think my cameraman interviewed you.”

“They all interview me.”

“This one had purple hair.”

“Now that one, I do remember.” He sighed. “I guess Cash can take care of himself. Just send me a copy of the tape when you’re done.”

She promised him she would, and once outside the shop, pulled her digital camera, complete with video capabilities, from her bag. She shot the shop at a few close-up angles that would fit in perfectly with what Zoot had captured so far, and then she worked it from across the road.

When Bobo himself stepped out of the shop and went into the small alleyway to the right, she got another great shot of him helping to unload what looked like surfing equipment from a serious-looking salesman.

The surf-shop owner was going to be thrilled at the exposure, she thought as she quickly copied the images onto two separate mini zip drives and stuck the originals in the small inner compartment in her bag. She’d lost film before, thanks to mechanical failure and other unforeseen events, but none of it had been nearly as important as anything to do with this particular video.

She wasn’t taking any chances on losing footage this time.

CASH’S CELL PHONE vibrated against his thigh, and he pulled the device out of his pocket and answered without bothering to look at the number. “Waves were killer,” he said, and the captain of the boat, who’d been out with him all afternoon while he tried to tackle some of those waves, gave him the thumbs-up.

Yeah, it was all about the image out here.

“Problem.” Justin’s voice crackled in his ear, the man’s drawl thicker, the way it always got when he was unhappy. “There’s some chick here taking pictures of our favorite man. Says she’s a documentary filmmaker.”

“Cool. Shouldn’t be a problem, dude,” he said, because the captain was still listening and because he knew it would annoy the crap out of Justin. One of them should be having some sort of fun this afternoon and dammit, it was going to be him.

“Dude, she was also asking about you. Wants to track you down.”

“Yeah, well, they all do.” He rolled his eyes and mouthed women to the captain, who laughed. And then Cash turned toward the back of the boat under the pretense of staring at the swells.

“According to Karen, she practically begged for your information. And I don’t want to hear your bullshit about how you’re used to women begging,” Justin continued.

“Someone didn’t get enough sleep last night. Or get enough of anything.”

“Bite me,” Justin muttered, and Cash laughed.

“What’d she get?”

“Hotel name. She’s there now. Leaving you her cell number.”

“What’s she look like?”

“Pretty. Dark hair. Not your type,” Justin said.

“Yeah, not like Karen.”

“Don’t even go there,” Justin warned him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. And you shouldn’t, either. Ever hear the old saying, ‘don’t dip your pen in the company ink’?”

“Karen’s technically not in my company. And I’m not about to listen to a lecture about my sex life, or the world of relationships according to Cash while I’m dressed like a goddamned tourist and sweating my balls off.”

“I’m just telling you to pick someone different.” Cash was no monk, not by a long shot, but when it came to women, there were a lot of guys who were much worse. “Can’t you grab the footage from her and be done with it? I’ve seen you pick a pocket or two when necessary.”

No harm, no foul, and Bobo’s face would stay out of the press until the DEA took him down next month on their timetable.

“I’d steal her camera, but Karen doesn’t want me to. She wants you to deal with it,” Justin said.