The Eleventh Hour. Wendy Etherington
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“Laine is a photographer for Century magazine,” Steve said to Cara as he rose.
“I’d rather not have most of what I’m doing recorded,” Cara said, scowling. “Except by me. Sorry.”
Laine liked the idea of a female arson investigator in the middle of the disaster. And she thought Cara’s intense personality would come across dramatically in the pictures. “I’ll let you see any photos I’m considering for publication. You’ll have the opportunity to sign—or not sign—a release.”
“I’ll consider it,” Cara said.
“Great.” She looked up at Steve, ignoring the warmth flooding her body. “I’d like to shoot you and Josh and the others, too. When’s your next day on-site?”
“The day after tomorrow—Tuesday.”
Laine shook Steve’s hand. “I’ll see you then, I guess.”
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