Page 12 of The Fire Line

Navarro had been on the ranch barely long enough to unpack and had already become a remarkably persistent thorn in Harris’s side. Worse, Harris was beginning to recognize his footsteps. A man shouldn’t become identifiable by sound that quickly unless he was family or livestock.

He tightened the bolt. It was already seated properly, but another quarter turn gave him something to do besides look at Navarro.

“The burn scar,” Navarro said.

“No.”

Silence.

“Interesting.” Navarro unfolded the map. “I was under the impression questions traditionally came before answers.”

“Know what map that is.”

“Then we’re saving time.”

Harris finally looked at him. The sunglasses had pushed Navarro’s hair back from his face, which was worse than when it fell forward. Harris had already spent forty-one minutes across from that face yesterday. He did not need another unobstructed view of it today.

Navarro’s mouth twitched. There was no discouraging the man. Harris had tried bluntness, silence, direct refusal, and looking openly annoyed. Navarro treated all four as conversational conditions rather than deterrents.

The burn scar and creek restoration had been included in the production agreement from the beginning, along with ranch support for locations the crew could not reasonably reach alone. Harris remembered arguing about that provision until Evan and Elise had reminded him, repeatedly, how much the production was paying.

Money the ranch needed. A fact that had already forced Harris into one interview and was now standing in front of him wearing sunglasses in his hair.

“Priya says somebody from the ranch has to take us,” Navarro said.

“Yup.”

“Okay, so who?”

“Me or Evan.”

“And Evan has a wedding arriving tomorrow.”

Harris stared at him.

Navarro gave him an innocent look that fooled nobody. “I do occasionally gather information when nobody is filming.”

Persistent bastard.

Harris could tell him to wait until Evan had time. Next week would be reasonable. So would the week after that, depending on how difficult Harris felt like being.

Unfortunately, the agreement said otherwise.

“We need the footage,” Navarro continued. “One day. Small crew. We follow your rules, close every gate, stay where you tell us, and nobody touches anything they shouldn’t.”

“You always make promises for other people?”

“Only professionally.”

Something at the corner of Harris’s mouth threatened him. He turned back to the trough before Navarro could mistake it for encouragement.

“When?” Navarro asked.

Harris should have said next week. “Wednesday. Six.”

For once, the man had nothing ready. The silence lasted just long enough to be satisfying. “Done.”

“One camera operator. Pack light.”