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‘You know the locals call crocodiles snapping handbags ?’

‘It’s sad.’

‘Says the lady wearing leather boots, a leather belt, and—’

‘Okay, I get it.’

‘Cowhide is a by-product of the meat and dairy industries. Same thing, except it’s the other way around where they raise crocs for their skin and sell crocodile meat as a by-product.’

‘What does crocodile taste like?’ She couldn’t imagine it.

‘Like a fish mated with a chicken. I’ll let you try some. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?’

There was that strange connection to poultry again.

‘I only eat a little meat when I’m travelling.

Although I could never say no to Mum’s Sunday roasts, or Dad’s summer barbecues.

I just forget where it comes from when my parents dish up dinner.

’ Eek, she’d just let spill that she still lived at home with her parents.

But why pay rent, when she was rarely home, chasing filmmaking projects.

‘But you eat eggs and cheese? Don’t you?’

She looked down at the cooler holding the wild crocodile eggs. It had her rethinking her diet choices.

‘Don’t look at them like that. Wild crocodiles have been producing eggs for a millennium, and people have been hunting those eggs since their arrival.

It’s part of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders’ culture.

Today, we’re just keeping their numbers down in the wild, so they don’t overpopulate the waterways, to then have people want to cull them to near extinction—which they nearly did just over fifty years ago. ’

‘I didn’t know that.’ But she heard Stone’s fierce protectiveness over these creatures, which was strange for a crocodile hunter. ‘Hey, which do you prefer—to hunt them or leave them be? When their leather is worth a lot more than their meat.’

‘I prefer them being left in the wild than having them trapped in some chicken cage. But, like I said, they don’t breed well in captivity.’

She tapped some notes into her phone to remind her about researching this topic.

‘Are you making a Disney movie or a documentary?’

‘Are you reading over my shoulder again?’

He shrugged.

‘Eyes back on the road, cowboy.’

Surprisingly, Stone did as he was told.

‘Look, I’m not oblivious to how things work in the world. I’ve filmed wild animals hunting other animals, like dingoes hunting wallabies.’

‘You didn’t drop your camera and shoo away the big bad beasts to save the defenceless underdogs?’

‘I’ve wanted to. But it’s the number one rule to documenting Mother Nature. I’m only there to observe, not interfere.’ Who was going to hire her now, after her confrontation with her director?

‘So if you could make a documentary your way, what would you do?’

‘I’d explore a topic in a way that shows both sides of the story. Not one side, like Julian’s vision.’ She frowned in the town’s direction.

‘I’m guessing by that glare you didn’t like what Julian was doing?’

‘You were there when I quit, right?’

Stone’s confident grin matched the glimmer in his eyes. ‘How about you explain your interpretation of what a documentary is.’

‘Fine. A documentary presents the facts about a person or an event—in this case the wildlife. It shows the good, the bad, and the ugly, to let people make up their own minds on the subject.’ Her heart pounded as she spoke with a passion that filled her with fire.

Every time. ‘If done correctly, documentaries can create conversations as well as educate and entertain people. They have power in them. When really, it’s Mother Nature who puts on the show, and I’m just there playing paparazzo trying to capture those moments for people to see in their living rooms.’

‘Why don’t you do it, then?’

‘Huh?’

‘Make the documentary yourself.’

‘I’d need funding.’

‘For what? You have the camera equipment. And I’m pretty sure you’d have access to some apps to do your own editing, too.’

‘But…’ She shuffled uncomfortably in her seat, mindful of not disturbing the cooler on her lap.

But Stone still watched her, while being protective over the eggs. ‘What extra work do you need to do, if you went on your own?’

‘It’s huge.’ She sighed, letting the vehicle’s cool air wrap around her while watching the sun bake the outback’s soil into a rich powdery red that matched the distant escarpment.

‘I’d have to tell a complete story in a 30 to 90-minute film.

That would involve researching, scripting, filming, and editing hours of footage to tell a story that has a central theme or message to it. ’

‘And you and Julian were going to do all that in three hours of paid flight time. With me?’

She sat back with her crossed arms resting on the lid of the chunky blue cooler. ‘It’s stupid, I know. But I did get some decent footage of you…’ A lot more than Stone realised, but her camera just ate him up. ‘Are you sure I can’t sneak a camera inside this crocodile farm?’

‘No.’ Stone was adamant, too. ‘But I think you should do it.’

‘Do what? Sneak my camera inside?’ Oh, hello.

‘I meant do the documentary. Then use Julian’s contacts to help with the distribution and apply for this film grant.’

‘How do you know about that?’

Stone smirked while casually steering them down the dirt road.

‘Did you read Julian’s phone over his shoulder too?’

‘No. His laptop.’

‘That is a terrible habit, you know.’

But Stone just chuckled as the ute hit the crest, giving them a view of the dusty red road that stretched for miles to nowhere. Where was this farm?

‘I bet you’re dying to know what Julian’s email said.’ The taunting tone in Stone’s voice had her teething her bottom lip, desperate to be a good person.

What would her mother say about being nosy?

Aw, who was she kidding, when she was more like her devious dad who’d want to know everything. ‘Did this email say anything about what Julian’s documentary was about?’

‘Nope. Just that they wanted him to provide a brief film pitch in hope of optioning it for money to buy some film equipment and hire a team.’

Her stomach plummeted at being so used like that, when she’d thought she was on a team making a documentary that mattered.

‘It’s called a pilot.’ She’d done a few for TV series that went nowhere. But it wasn’t where she wanted her career as a videographer to lead, especially not some heavily manipulated reality show to score cheap ratings.

‘How about filming a documentary about crocodile conservation? Done in a way where everyone in the industry wins.’ Stone kept his eyes on the road, with that limp wrist on top of the steering wheel.

‘Who else is in this industry besides the crocodile catchers and the fashion houses?’

‘There are plenty of Indigenous rangers who ethically collect crocodile eggs for these farms, too, you know.’

‘Really?’ If she was so clueless to this world, the general population might be the same. Maybe there was an opportunity for her. ‘How else does the crocodile affect the Indigenous?’

‘Some Aboriginal communities have the crocodile as their totem, or they hunt them as part of their traditions. They’re also an apex animal that is needed to keep a balance to the wildlife.

If not managed correctly, it can get out of control and cause a rippling effect on the other animal species that roam this region.

I heard farmers down south are having trouble with the roos, because they hunted out all the dingoes. ’

‘I had no idea.’ The topic of these man-killers could be big enough to want to bite into. But could she do her own documentary?

‘Do you think you can keep an open mind to that?’ Stone gave her a look she didn’t dare look away from. ‘Reckon you can see the bigger picture of these complex creatures and the world they live in, to give that unique perspective they deserve?’

She narrowed her eyes at the crocodile wrangler being serious—it was such a sexy look on this guy.

What was Stone getting out of this if she did? He must have an angle.

‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’ Already the overwhelm began to creep across her shoulders, and that was just on the research and planning side of things.

‘Start?’ Stone laughed as he slowed the ute down to turn right. ‘Listen, shortcake, you started this way back at the pub, leaving us with a cliffhanger when you hit your first commercial break. This is the next act of your story.’

The ute rolled to a stop before a tall metal fence. Rolls and rolls of barbed wire ran along the top, with towering security cameras glaring down at them. On the heavy metal gate, a huge red sign screamed out:

DANGER!

Do Not Enter.

Trespassers will be prosecuted.

No exceptions.

Romy swallowed air. ‘Is this a crocodile farm? Or a prison?’