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In the helicopter’s front passenger seat, Romy finally looked up from behind her camera to point at the colourful painted roofs of the tiny outback town called Elsie Creek. ‘What is up with those roofs? They’re amazing.’

Stone shrugged from the pilot’s seat. ‘Someone did them one day. No one knows who, they just showed up. One by one.’ But he liked the quirky two-dimensional cartoon images that made this small town stand out from the sky.

‘So, the snail holding the mail in its mouth is for?’ Romy’s warm tone of voice was both friendly and sweet over the speakers. Even the clunky headphones suited her.

‘The post office.’ Stone glided over the town where various rooftop images stood boldly under the sunshine.

There was a retro fifties glamorous woman in curlers stretched over the hairdressing salon.

Across the road was a cracked spanner in the works covering the hardware store’s roof.

The strong arm of the law covered the police station, that stood next to the Dalmatian peeing on a fire hydrant for the fire station.

‘Is that the Mad Hatter with a teacup?’

‘Yep. It’s giving shade to the tea house. It’s the town’s local arts and crafts museum. A good place to support the local artists if you’re a tourist.’ He glanced back at Julian, the sulking tourist hogging the back seat.

‘Sounds good…’ Again, Romy hid behind her camera to see the world through the lens, like most tourists.

Stone landed his chopper in a large dusty paddock at the back of the pub. Only a couple of vehicles were parked nearby, typical for a Monday morning. He helped Romy unload her bulky cases that she cleverly built into one big case. ‘That’s a lot of luggage for a day trip?’

‘I only landed in the Northern Territory at midnight, and I didn’t know what to expect, so I brought all my luggage.’

‘What did Julian tell you?’

The pompous twit was too busy preening himself on the other side of the chopper to notice anything.

‘Julian said we were filming a documentary about crocodiles. I even brought out my drones.’ She patted her cases. ‘I’d assumed we’d have more time.’

‘How many drones do you have?’

‘Two.’ This time she patted the larger case. ‘This one is for long range, tough enough to handle your torrential outback rains. It’s my latest gadget.’ But the smile that came with it was even more impressive.

‘So you’re not carrying just the one camera?’

‘Five, if you count the drones and my phone camera.’

No wonder she had so much luggage. ‘So, you really film documentaries? As your day job?’

‘Yeah. But this is my first chance at crocodiles.’ She frowned at Julian.

‘You don’t know your director?’

She shook her head. ‘Not personally. But I checked out his credentials, mostly by word of mouth.’

Stone narrowed his eyes at her. ‘How far back did you check out this guy?’

‘Obviously not far enough. Are you sure I can’t come with you to the hatchery? I can talk to Julian about staying for a bit.’ She tucked her sandy-blonde hair neatly behind one ear. It was barely long enough to brush her shoulders, but just long enough to tuck into the tiniest of ponytails.

Everything about her was neatly tucked away. Compact. Easy and fuss free.

Her cargo pants were tucked into her sturdy boots, an obvious sign of someone with trekking experience. Her backpack, worn. Her nails were clipped short, her small strong hands almost as dirty as his from digging around the swamp, and she wore no jewellery except for her sports watch.

Yet, her understated beauty was both practical and pretty, especially when her brown eyes lit up, like the first time he’d pointed out a crocodile to her.

She was passionate about nature. He’d spotted that pretty quickly. And how she’d noticed everything, carefully taking in the details that most people never saw, but she did.

‘Please? I’ll shout you a purely platonic dinner at the pub, where I’ll pick your brains about crocodiles. Or I could buy you a carton of beer to help you spill your secrets?’

‘Stop, you’ll make me blush. I’m not that easy.’ Yeah, he was.

Although, she was talking his language…

‘As long as you leave your cameras and your phone in the car, you might convince me to take you.’

‘You’re not flying in?’

‘Those places are strict about their security. They won’t let just anyone inside.’

Now her eyes shone, as she curled her lips over to hide her smile, preparing to beg for a seat on his chariot.

She’d suck at poker.

‘How about I make it lunch and two cartons of beer?’

‘Just the beer. I’m picky who I eat with.’ Not really, but he liked this game.

Romy gasped at him in mock horror. Only to grin—and what a sweet grin it was.

‘Sorry to be a buzzkill, but if you want to hop on this ride, you’d better sort out your boss.’

‘He’s not my boss.’

Stone arched an eyebrow. ‘Isn’t Julian the one paying the bills?’ Julian did pay for this torturous trip with the tourists.

Romy dropped her sturdy bags to land with a soft thud in the dust beside Stone. ‘Stay there, Stone. I’ll be right back.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ He angled his head and watched her tight little butt shift in those cargo pants as she marched to the pompous twit calling himself a film producer.

‘I’m going to the hatchery with Stone.’

‘Ooh, good.’ Julian rubbed his hands together like some creepy horror movie villain. ‘Be sure to capture lots of footage for me.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not? I’m paying you to film.’

‘It’s a restricted area.’

‘I know it is. Hello, that’s why we’re here. Find the egg collector and follow the money trail from the—’

‘ Swamp to luxury .’ Romy dropped her hands on her hips. It was a cute pose for someone who was trying to look intimidating.

‘I get it now.’ Stone pointed at the dick. Even though it was none of his business, Stone didn’t want to miss the nitty-gritty side of this reality show. ‘It’s why he’s being coy.’

‘Huh?’ Over her shoulder, Romy peeked back at Stone.

‘Julian wants to use this film to get the attention of the fashion houses. Don’t you, mate?’ The writing was on the pub’s wall.

Romy turned to face Julian. ‘What does Stone mean by that?’

Hey, the tosser wanted drama, so now it was all happening, centre stage: lights, camera, action . ‘I’ve got to admit, mate, you’ll have that unique angle of swamp to luxury .’

‘I’m glad someone else can see it.’ Julian brushed down his fancy shirt, designer label, of course. It matched the fancy runners that had never seen dirt until today. This guy was all about labels.

‘Can someone please share it with me? I’m the one shooting the film.’

‘You said documentaries cater to a niche market,’ replied Stone, even though he was glaring at the dick with the weedy moustache. ‘Julian is after the attention of a very niche market—the big players of the fashion industry. The elites.’

‘How?’ Romy asked Julian.

‘Why, we’re showcasing their leather’s journey.

Romanticising the wild origins of their high-end leather products.

’ Julian waved his hands in the air like some drama school dropout.

‘I want footage of crocodile wranglers, like Dick Dundee here, wrestling crocodiles, in the fight of their life while collecting eggs.’

Stone crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the twit. ‘If you want to see how much of a dick I can be, you keep calling me that, slick, and we’ll see how hard I bite.’

Julian took a wary step back from Stone, while still appealing his case to Romy. ‘I want to charm the fashion houses by positioning their use of crocodile leather as an exclusive luxury item with a thrilling backstory.’ He pointed at Stone’s crocodile leather boots and belt.

‘For what?’ Romy’s frown didn’t sit right with Stone.

Julian took a deep breath as if to begin some drawn-out dreary monologue. ‘Look, if a highly coveted crocodile leather designer handbag is being sold for thirty thousand dollars—’

‘Don’t forget the special editions and custom orders, mate,’ butted in Stone. ‘Some start with a lowly scratching fee of a hundred k, as a deposit.’

‘How do you know?’

‘The question is why don’t you?’ Stone waved his hand over the guy’s clothing, all designer labelled.

Even his man bag had some designer label tag to it.

‘FYI, your backpack is a knockoff. Pick it up from the street hawkers in Bali, did we?’ Stone sneered at the rest of the pompous twit’s outfit, giving Julian a proper snobby dressing down.

‘No. I—’

‘I bet you’re hoping for a discount, or something off the rack for this film. Aren’t you?’

Julian dusted off some invisible fluff from his shirt. ‘Of course, I wouldn’t say no. Those bags, like a Birkin, are an investment that hold their value.’

‘Are you saying that you’re going to use this film as advertising. For them? The fashion houses. For the rich people—the elites?’ Romy’s face practically melted with shock. ‘For a handbag?’

‘You didn’t know?’ Stone asked.

She shook her head as her jaw hung slack, but her wide eyes remained on Julian.

Well, hell. Didn’t Stone just ruin their party of three.

‘I… Um… We…’ Julian nervously tugged on his collar while struggling to swallow.

‘I’m guessing you don’t do that kind of filming, Romy?’ Her name was as unusual as the female staring down her director.

Romy shook her head. Still silent. Still staring down Julian.

How long before Julian cracked?

Stone started counting. One Mississippi… Two Mississippi… Three Mississippi…

‘Look…’ Stone got bored waiting. ‘You two go duke it out in the pub or something. I’m outta here. I’ve got eggs to deliver.’ And the clock was ticking on keeping these babies comfortable.

‘Me too.’ Romy rushed after him.

Stone didn’t have the heart to say no to her.

‘Does this mean you’ll get the footage for me at that crocodile farm?’ Julian’s voice was extremely high-pitched.

‘No. I quit! ’ Romy hoisted her backpack over her shoulder, then flipped out some roller-wheels on her stacked cases, to drag them across the dusty car park.

‘You can’t quit. I hired you , remember,’ yelped out Julian.

‘I QUIT! You should have told me this film was going to be a fancy marketing tool for a fashion house. That’s not a documentary. You should look up the dictionary definition of what a documentary is.’

‘Would you have come?’

‘No.’

‘Well, you’re fired then.’

‘You can’t fire someone who’s already quit.’ Stone chuckled as he unlocked his twin-cab ute, that had seen better days. ‘Here, let me take that.’ He scooped up Romy’s drone cases. ‘I’ll tuck them in the back seat.’

‘Thank you.’

‘But they’ll be staying in the back seat while we visit the hatchery.’ Stone wasn’t going to let anyone ruin his relationship with the crocodile farmers.

‘Of course.’

He hesitated, narrowing his eyes at her.

‘Cross my heart.’ She even drew a cross over her heart. ‘I swear I’ll leave them in the car and not take one picture.’

‘Good.’

‘Unless I get permission.’ She jumped into the passenger seat.

‘Fine. You can babysit the eggs.’ Stone carefully placed the cooler in her lap, then gave Julian a cheeky one-fingered salute, who finally got what he wanted—drama!