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.
“I’ll take care of it, but I don’t understand what this woman wants with me.”
“Karen said something about you being in a surfing video. That you needed to sign a release.”
“I was caught on film?” Cash cursed softly under his breath.
“Brah, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Bad enough she got Bobo, but I don’t think having your face plastered everywhere flying through the deep blue sea is going to make anyone we know happy.”
“Yeah, definitely not.”
“Want me to trail documentary woman until she finds you?” Justin interrupted. “It’s either that or I pick her up and she gets held by the DEA till it all goes down.”
Cash ran a hand through his hair, realized they only had three more days left on this assignment, and then the mothership of the SEALs would be calling them home. “But that could be weeks away. Besides, we’d have to hold her and her whole group, too.”
“Karen’s prepared to do that if necessary.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not in the mood to babysit anyone. Look, I’m on my way to paddle out and catch some waves at the main beach anyway. Tail her until she makes contact,” Cash instructed.
“Then it’s up to you to use your charms to snag that tape.”
“Hmmm, I get all the rough assignments,” he said, hoping he could simply poach the footage from her bag, somehow, without having to get involved any further.
“And I get to pound the pavement all damned day. From now on, you ask for my help, I’m not taking the shit jobs,” Justin threatened.
He laughed. “Not my fault you always refused my surf lessons in favor of those dumb bikes.”
“Wait, next time I get leave, I’m actually going to take it. On my dumb bike.”
“Like you know how to relax.”
“I’m planning on relaxing in a few hours, in fact. My own personal version of the night shift. So hang ten, brother,” Justin said before clicking off, and Cash wondered just how big a screwup this new plan could prove to be.
2
THREE
