Free No Return by Brett Battles Page A

loaded the camera bag and the backup system into the rear of the Escape, then joined Anna in leaning against the front fender.
    “Should we make sure they’re alive?” she asked.
    He checked the time on his phone. “Nah. Let’s give them until seven forty-five.”
    It was 7:39 when Dione shuffled out of the courtyard corridor, face slack and a pair of Jackie O sunglasses covering her eyes. She was followed thirty seconds later by Alison, who merely looked tired, then by Tony, and finally by the host of Close to Home .
    “I could have sworn we had to shovel Monroe into bed last night,” Anna whispered to Wes.
    Monroe was showing no ill effects from the tequila fest the night before.
    “Maybe she’s always hungover,” Wes suggested.
    Anna stifled a snort.
    “Where’s Danny?” Dione said, her voice at least an octave lower than usual.
    Shrugs, and a few I-don’t-knows.
    “Has anyone called him?” she asked.
    No one spoke up.
    “Great,” she said as she pulled out her cellphone.
    Two seconds later Wes heard another phone ringing in the distance.
    “I’m coming,” Danny yelled.
    They could all now see the second cameraman walking quickly toward them down the sidewalk that ran along the motel. And he wasn’t alone.
    Dori was draped under his arm, sporting the same age-inappropriate dress she’d been wearing the night before. They stopped in front of a Lincoln sedan, shared a few words, then kissed for several seconds.
    Alison let out a groan. “I really didn’t need to see that first thing in the morning.”
    “I really didn’t need to see that ever,” Tony said.
    As Danny and Dori parted, Dori looked over and gave Wes a small wave.
    This elicited a raised eyebrow from Anna.
    “Don’t ask,” Wes said.
    “Morning, gang,” Danny said as he jogged over, surprisingly spry after a night of drinking. “Sorry I’m late. I got a little sidetracked.”
    “Can we just go?” Dione asked wearily.
    Their first stop was Robber’s Roost. It was basically a large, fractured boulder, with a couple of smaller piles of rock nearby, that bandits in the 1800s had used as a lookout for spotting stagecoaches bound for Los Angeles. It wasn’t exactly the easiest place to shoot, but was a natural location for Close to Home .
    Tony went up and down the rocks over a dozen times, wearing his hiking boots and a wide grin as he hauled equipment, then escorted Monroe into place.
    “This is awesome,” he said as he helped Dione up the side of the rock.
    She groaned, then pushed her glasses up her nose. “ ‘Awesome’ isn’t quite the word I’d use.”
    When they rolled into Red Rock Canyon just before 11 a.m., they were surprisingly still on schedule. The canyon was a fascinating mix of cliff faces, buttes, and tributary ravines lined by erosion-carved rocks. The colors, too, were striking—deep reds, whites, and, of course, nearly every shade of brown.
    They spent the first hour and a half shooting B-roll, then broke for lunch at twelve-thirty.
    Wes was just taking a bite of a roasted turkey sandwich when a dark sedan turned off the highway and drove slowly toward them, parking just behind the SUVs.
    He took a step toward the sedan as the door opened and Lars got out.
    “We can’t be in trouble,” Dione scoffed. “I got all the right permits.”
    “Relax,” Wes said. “It’s not the park service. It’s a friend of mine.”
    “Hey, Wes,” Lars said as he walked up.
    “Didn’t expect to see you out here.”
    “I was passing by and realized it was you and your friends, so thought I’d stop.”
    “You saw us from the road?” Wes asked, surprised.
    “Yeah. When I noticed the cameras, I figured it had to be you.”
    “Everyone, this is my old friend, Lars Andersen,” Wes said to the crew. “We grew up together. Lars, this is Danny, Alison, Tony, Dione, Anna, and Monroe.”
    There were a lot of hellos and nice-to-meet-yous.
    “So this is what Hollywood’s like, huh?” Lars said to Wes, once everyone