“WE’VE GOT A not-so-small problem,” Vic said, and her heart sank.
Rina stared at her boss, who’d managed to find the loudest Hawaiian shirt she’d ever seen and pair it with bright orange swim trunks. How everyone else on this project managed to slip time in for vacation while she’d been holed up in this cubicle was beyond her, but now wasn’t the time for complaints. “Okay. Tell me.”
“This is shaping up to be the best video in the series. The best work you’ve ever done,” he said, and she waited, held her breath because so far she hadn’t heard anything that constituted a problem. “But Zoot’s assistant never got a release form from one of the surfers. That guy named Cash.”
Without a signed release form, she wouldn’t be allowed to use Cash’s face on film. These days, many people even balked at being a faceless image on a screen, and Vic insisted on signed releases for everyone captured on film in his video productions.
Her stomach sank and she could literally feel her big chance slipping through her fingers. She fisted her hands in an attempt to stop that from happening.
“Are you sure? Maybe the paperwork just got misplaced.” She heard the panic in her voice and she wished Stella was here with her instead of with Zoot in a jeep headed to the other side of the island.
“I’m sure. You’ll have to cut him out.”
“Vic, cutting him out is going to ruin everything,” she said. Everything. It would also require days of work, and the video just wouldn’t have the same impact.
Cash’s face—and her career dreams—flashed before her eyes. To have to hire a big-name surfer would cost money the production company didn’t have, and their focus on this particular line of videos was not to showcase pros, but rather, rabid fanatics of the sport who wanted to turn pro and devoted all their time and energy to it.
“I don’t see any other choice.”
“I can track him down,” she said, and Vic sighed and shook his head.
“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