"And you call me immoral," Wilder said. "What do you do, pimp for him?"

Lucy's hand jerked, and his hand moved a fraction of a second later, not much, just enough to let her know he'd have stopped her, his eyes on hers.

She drew in her breath and felt herself flush, and he must have seen it because he didn't move away.

"Come on, Armstrong, I didn't know she was with him," he said and smiled at her, apologetic, and the impact of the first smile she'd ever seen from him made her dizzy.

With rage. Dizzy with overwhelming rage, damn it. Fucking Army asshole.

"And anyway," Wilder continued, "it won't happen again."

Lucy took another deep breath. "Here's the thing. I need Bryce happy and working until we're done early Friday morning. Our backer has made his support of this movie contingent on our finishing by early Friday morning."

"Friday morning?" he said, the smile gone from his eyes.

"If we don't get this done on time, the shooting stops and we're in breach of contract and I'm liable for four million dollars. Which I don't have. And I don't want to lose everything because we get behind because Bryce can't work because he's unhappy because you screwed his girlfriend."

She stopped because he hadn't said anything, no expression at all in those flat blue eyes, but he was listening, more alert now than when she'd begun talking.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Right. Okay." She took a deep breath. "Please don't sleep with Althea again."

His face was wooden, but he nodded. "Already told you, I won't."

"Even if she's in your bed," she pushed.

"It won't matter. I won't be there."

Where will yon be? She didn't care where he'd be. "Thank you."

He nodded again.

Show some expression, damn it. Then her treacherous mind added, I bet you showed some with Althea.

She squared her shoulders. "I apologize for… before. I wouldn't have hit you."

"I wouldn't have let you."

Lucy looked up at the night sky, trying to keep her temper. "You're an arrogant son of a bitch, Rambo."

"Not always," he said, and turned away to go with Bryce, and Lucy looked past him and realized they'd had an audience.

Across the lot, Connor watched Wilder, his face like stone. Beside him, a strange woman dressed in a flight suit, brunette but thicker and tougher than Stephanie, stared at Wilder, too, her face as hard as Connor's. Karen, the pilot, Lucy thought. Caught between them, Doc, the little ex-Green Beret with the glasses, looked way out of his league.

And they were all probably in cahoots with Finnegan.

"Oh, hell," Lucy said, and called after him. "Wilder? Be careful."

He looked back, surprised. "Careful about what?"

She walked closer to him. "The backer, Finnegan, called me this morning and told me he knew you were here. He wanted me to fire you.

"He called you?" Wilder said.

"Okay, the interesting part of that sentence was that he wanted me to fire you," Lucy said, exasperated. "And I never told him you were here, so how did he know that?"

"Nash-"

"Nope."

Wilder went very still. "You got a spy on the set."

"Yes." Lucy took a deep breath. "Look, it's not just Finnegan. Connor and Stephanie want you gone, too. And Doc and Karen, the helicopter pilot, are staring at you right now. You've pretty much pissed everybody off, so watch your back."

He glanced over and nodded. "How about you?"

"Me?" Lucy blinked at him, surprised.

"Do you want me g-" He looked down, and she followed his eyes to see Pepper tugging on his pant leg. "Hello, P.L."

"Hello, J.T.," Pepper said, beaming at him. "Thank you very much for the Wonder Woman stuff. I got you this as a thank-you." She held up the Superman key chain, which he took soberly.

"Thank you very much," he said. "It's just what I needed."

Pepper nodded. "It's okay that the doll wasn't a Barbie. Aunt Lucy says Wonder Woman can kick Barbie's ass."

"I said 'butt,' " Lucy said.

"Wrong doll, huh?" Wilder said to Lucy.

"It's all right," she told him. "Pepper loves it."

"A Wonder Woman Barbie would be good, though," Pepper said, not looking at anybody in particular.

"Pepper!"

Bryce called, "J.T!" across the lot, and Wilder said, "I have to go." He nodded at Pepper. "I'll be careful, but she's the one to watch out for. She's little and there's a big old one-eyed gator in the water that comes up on land every once in a while. I don't think he's much afraid of people."

"Moot?" Lucy said.

"Moot?" Wilder said.

"That's what Althea called the one-eyed alligator she saw under the bridge yesterday. There can't be a lot of one-eyed gators around."

Wilder smiled. "Moot. I like that."

He almost seemed human, Lucy thought. But then he said, "You have a good afternoon," nodded to Pepper, and walked away to go be a hotshot and get laid with his actor buddy in Savannah.

Well, she'd warned him off Althea and tipped him to his unpopularity. She'd done all she could. The bastard.

"I really like J.T.," Pepper said.

Lucy watched him climb into the car, torn between wanting to kill him and just wanting him. "Yeah," she said, "he's a peach."

Gloom came to stand beside her. "You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" Lucy snapped.

Gloom sighed. "Well, at least this time you fell for a good one."

"I have not fallen for anybody," Lucy said and walked away before she betrayed herself again.

The sun was setting as Wilder leaned his head against the leather rest and Bryce took a corner a little too fast. The day so far had been a bust. Bryce had driven around in circles-literally-as Savannah seemed filled with parks right in the middle of where the road was supposed to go. Plus, traffic was a bitch, and not for the first time Wilder felt slightly better about having a job where a commute meant a C-130 Hercules cargo-plane ride that ended in a parachute drop, even if the landings were always a bit dicey.

They weren't the only ones lost; a gray Ford sedan had been behind them off and on all afternoon. If Bryce had been a master spy, Wilder would have worried, but as it was, he figured the sedan was just as confused by Savannah as Bryce was.

The bar Bryce finally picked was a dive two blocks away from the waterfront, a place Wilder would never have gone into. But he was tired of driving around in circles and feeling bad about Althea. The right thing to do would have been to come clean: Hey, buddy, your girl was in my bed when I got there, so I screwed her brains out, but I didn't know she was yours, so no harm, no foul, right? Yeah, that would make things better.

He went into the bar with Bryce.

It wasn't a biker dive or he wouldn't have let Bryce go through the door. More a locals-only dive, since everyone in the place gave them the once-over as they walked in. He steered Bryce toward a booth, but Bryce had his mind set differently, and one thing Wilder had learned was that it was hard to redirect Bryce's train of thought once the tracks were laid.

"Let's sit at the bar."

Bad idea, Wilder thought, but kept his mouth shut. Everyone was giving him shit for saying things were wrong, and then there was Althea. Bryce parked himself in the middle of the U-shaped bar, loudly pulling out one of the bar stools and straddling it. Wilder slid around the stool to Bryce's left, careful not to jostle the fat man on the next perch. He didn't like the position, but anyplace at the bar put his back to some part of the room. He wished they could go someplace a little more upscale and better populated with women, since he wouldn't be seeing Althea naked again. After all, what was the point of being out with a moderately famous actor with a toy car if you couldn't be his wingman?

Or we could go back to the set, he thought, although the only thing there was Armstrong bitching at him, so what was the point? Although she'd been worried about him, too-

"Hey," Bryce said.

The bartender had been ignoring them to let them know they weren't accorded the same status as the regulars. Wilder expected this, but Bryce was apparently from a different place. Pluto, maybe, Wilder thought as Bryce slapped his hand on the bar.

"Barkeep."

Who the hell uses that word? Wilder wondered as everyone in hearing distance turned and looked once more.

The bartender was a big guy with white hair and didn't look very happy to be on his feet. He slowly shuffled the short distance from where had been lounging, reading a newspaper.

"Yeah?"

Bryce straightened. ''Can I see your wine list?"

He did not fucking say that. Wilder was already pretending he didn't know the guy he'd walked in with. His wingman was flying solo.

"Red and white," the bartender growled. "That's the list." He shifted his attention to Wilder. "What do you want to see?"

"Bud. Draft. For both of us." He couldn't leave Bryce that open without some covering fire.

The bartender seemed mollified but Wilder noticed he filled the dirty mugs half full of foam.

"Thank you," Wilder said quickly as Bryce prepared to complain, undoubtedly about the dirty mugs, the foam, and the lack of a medium-priced merlot.

"Eight bucks."

Now Wilder was getting ticked. Four bucks for a crappy draft of Bud, there damn well better be naked women dancing on the bar. He was tired of getting fucked with. Plus, he had a headache, and he still hadn't sorted out the mess Crawford had handed him last night. And then there was Althea, whose effect was more powerful than any hangover and, for some reason, almost as bad. And Armstrong, mad at him and sleeping with Nash.