". . . redress, reload, redo . . . let's go, people, we haven't got all day."

Unhooking his radio's microphone from the neck of his T-shirt, he waited for a break in the tumbling current of voices. "Adam, it's Tony. CB wants to see me, but I gave Catherine her heads-up on the way. Over."

His head murmured soon at him.

Soon?

"Yeah, great." The first a.s.sistant director turned his head from the microphone and carried on a low-voiced conversation as Tony followed Veronica along the hall, envying the way she could move through the costumes without actually touching them. She was what? Ninety pounds soaking wet? "Listen, Tony, while youre pa.s.sing, tell Everett that Lee's got that cowlick thing happening again and we need him in here."

"Roger, that." He holstered and peeled off into makeup to deliver his message, emerging to find Veronica waiting for him practically quivering.

"Amy said Mr. Bane wanted to see you right away!"

Tony frowned and shook his head. What was her damage? He'd been moving toward the office since she'd given him the message. "You're going to give yourself an ulcer if you don't calm down."

Wide eyes widened impossibly further. "It's my first day!"

"And all I'm saying is that you need to pace yourself."

As they emerged out into the pandemonium of the office, Amy stood, leaned out around Rachel, and beckoned them over to her desk without pausing her conversation. "...

that's right, two hundred gallons of #556. Well, it might be battleship gray on your side of the border but ours are more a morning-after green. Yeah, great. Thanks. New supplier in Seattle," she said, hanging up. "Charlie knew someone who'd cut us a deal."

"Who's . . . ?" Veronica began.

"One of the construction crew." Her gaze switching to Tony, she added, "Hail the conquering hero! So, for an encore, do you think you could save Canadian television?"

"No."

"Way to stop and consider it. Fine. Veronica, you've got dry cleaning to pick up. Here's the slips." Amy shoved a sheaf of pink paper into the new PA's hand and closed her fingers around it. "And if Mr. Palimpter tries to make you pay, remind him that we're on monthly billing and if he wants to know where his payment is for last the two months, tell him you're just the messenger and he's not to shoot you."

"Is he likely to?""Probably not."

"Doesn't the dry cleaner deliver?" Tony asked, abandoning an attempt to read what looked like a legal doc.u.ment upside down.

Amy snorted. "Not for about two months now, funny thing. Oh, and while you're out grab two grande Caffe Americanos, a tall cinnamon-spiced mochaccino, and three tall, bold of the day unless they're Sulawesi, then get two of them and one decaf. Don't panic, I wrote it down." She s.n.a.t.c.hed a ripped corner of paper clipped to a twenty up off her desk. "I had to print kind of small, but you should be able to read it."

"Unless they're Sulwhat's?"

"Sulawesi. Go! And smile, you're in show business! So . . ." As Veronica ran for the door, she sat back down and flipped a strand of fuchsia hair back off her face. ". . . Zev's still in with Mr. Bane, which gives you time to tell me all about last night."

Tony shrugged. "What's to tell? I'm just not as used to this stuff as Daniel's guys, so I panicked first." Four years with Henry had taught him the most believable way to lie usually involved the truth. "You think it's safe sending her for coffee? Isn't that how you lost the last one?" Deflecting attention he'd always been good at.

"Trial by fire. If she can handle Starbucks at lunchtime, she can handle . . . CB Productions, can I help you? One moment please." Jabbing at the hold b.u.t.ton, she leaned across her desk and yelled, "Barb, line three!"

A faint, "Thanks, sweetie," drifted out of the accounting office.

"Intercom busted again?"

"Still. Too bad it wasn't Lee in the car. You could have given him mouth to mouth."

"It was a car crash; he wasn't drowning."

Amy looked arch. "So?"

Before Tony could think of a suitable reply, the boss' door opened and Zev emerged carrying a stack of CDs.

"Well?" Amy asked.

"He wants Wagner."

"Under the stunt? Isn't that a little . . . Wagnerian?"

Zev grinned. "Actually, yes." Spotting Tony, he flushed and nodded toward the office.

"CB says you can go right in."

The static in Tony's radio seemed to be making patterns that were almost words.

"Tony?"

He flicked at his ear jack and shot Zev half a rea.s.suring smile as he started toward the open door. "It's nothing."

"If you're sure ..."

"Oh, yeah." No. Maybe.

To give CB credit, he'd spent no more cash on his office than he had on anyone else's.

The vertical blinds had come with the building, the rug that covered the industrial tile floor was the same cheap knockoff they used in Raymond Dark's study, and the furniture had been jazzed up by the set builders to look less like Wal-Mart and more like Ethan Allan. The tropical fish tank and the three surviving fish had been used as a prop in episode two.

Not that it mattered because at six six and close to three hundred pounds, Chester Bane dominated any room he was in.

As Tony stepped onto the rug, he lifted his head slowly.

Like a lion at feeding time . . .

If lions had significantly receding hairlines and noses that had been broken more than once while playing pro football.

"Tony Foster?"

"Yes, sir."

Lying flat on the desk, the huge hands covered a good portion of the available s.p.a.ce.

"You're the set PA?"

"Yes." Tony found himself staring at the manicured fingernails and had to force himself to look away. They'd met three or four times since he'd started working for Darkest Night- Tony couldn't decide if CB really had forgotten him or was just trying to screw with his head. If the latter, it was working.

"You did good work last night."

"Thank you."

"A man who thinks quickly and can get the job done can go far in this business. Are you planning on going far, Tony Foster?"

"Yes, sir."

"Think quickly and get the job done." The dark eyes narrowed slightly under scant brows. "And keep your tongue between your teeth; that's the trick."

A warning? Or was he being paranoid? If I haven't said anything yet, I'm not likely to start talking now seemed like an impolitic response. Tony settled for another, "Yes, sir."

"Good." One finger began to tap a slow rhythm against the desk.

Was he being dismissed?

"So. Get back to work."

Apparently.

"Yes, sir." Resisting the urge to back from the room, Tony turned and left; walking as fast as he could without making it seem like he was running away.

He stepped back into the production office as Arra emerged from the kitchen, a pale green mug cupped between both hands. Their eyes met.

And the voice in his ear breathed a name he didn't quite catch.

What the . . . ? Flicking a finger against his ear jack, Tony bent to adjust the volume on his radio, wondering where the h.e.l.l the barely audible voice was coming from. He had to be picking up bleed through from someone else's frequency.

When he looked up again, Arra was gone."TONY? WHERE THE h.e.l.l IS CATHERINE?"

With Adam's unmistakable bellow echoing inside his skull, he cranked the volume back down. "I'm on my way back to the set, I'll get her."

Amy glanced up from the photocopier as he pa.s.sed her desk. "What did the boss want?"

"Are you planning on going far, Tony Foster?"

"Honestly?" He shrugged. "I'm not really sure."

Mason Reed, in full Raymond Dark, was standing just inside the soundstage door. He jumped as he saw Tony, turned the movement into an overly flamboyant gesture, and snapped, "The girl is not on the set."

"Adam told me. I'm going to get her now."

"I was looking for her."

Tony had no intention of arguing with him although it was obvious he'd been having a quick smoke-the gesture hadn't waved off all the evidence. Legally, he couldn't smoke on the soundstage, but the whole crew knew he did it whenever he had a break but not enough time to return to his dressing room. Stars didn't stand outside in the rain with the rest of the addicted.

Used to skirting Mason's ego for the sake of the shooting schedule, they ignored him for the most part, accepted his lame excuses at face value, and b.i.t.c.hed about it behind his back.

Mason, who seemed to think no one knew, maintained a carefully crafted public image of an athletic nonsmoker making sure he was photographed on all the right ski hills and bike trails.

Actors, Tony snorted silently, as he walked back toward the auxiliary dressing rooms. It's all "fool the eye. Don't look at the man behind the curtain."

He rapped against the plywood door, knuckles impacting the strip of duct tape at about the middle of the Catherine.

No answer.

About to call out, he discovered he had no idea of what her actual name was. If he thought of her at all, she was just Catherine-her actual ident.i.ty wiped out by the bit part she was playing. Unexpectedly bothered by this, he pulled the day's side from his pocket and stepped back into the light- nearly stepping on Mason who'd apparently followed him. "Sorry."

The actor's lip curled. "Why don't you just open the door?"

"Well, she could be ..."

"Could be?" His tone was mocking and Tony realized with some dismay that the young actress was about to pay the price for Mason almost having been caught with a cancer stick on the soundstage. "I don't care what she could be; she should be on the set right now and I have no intention of waiting any longer." He curled his fingers around the cheap aluminum doork.n.o.b, twisted, twisted harder, and yanked.With a rush of cool air, shadow spilled out onto the sound-stage, pooling on the concrete, running into the cracks and dips in the floor.

A body followed.

She'd been pressed up against the door, her right arm tucked across the small of her back, her fingers clamped around the doork.n.o.b. They retained their hold as she fell backward. She dangled for a moment, then cheap nails pulled out of the chipboard and with a shriek of metal against wood, the door came off its hinges.

A small bounce as the back of her head impacted with concrete.

Enough of a bounce to rearrange her features into the n.o.body's home expression of death.

Enough to wipe away the expression the body had worn on its way to the floor.

Terror.

She looked as though she'd been scared to death.

Mason scowled down at his errant guest star. "Catherine? Get up!"

"She's dead." Tony shoved the sides back in his pocket and unhooked his microphone.

"What? Don't be ridiculous; she doesn't die until tomorrow afternoon."

"And her name was Nikki Waugh." It was the name he'd almost heard out in the office.

He'd realized it the moment he'd read it on the cast list.

"Was?" Mason sounded like he was about to fall apart, like his hindbrain knew what the more civilized bits refused to acknowledge, so Tony let it go. Reality would bite him in the a.s.s soon enough.

At least Nikki's shadow seemed to be staying where it belonged.