Daisy shook her head, and then the camper door opened again and Stephanie said, "I need to see you." She frowned at the iPod, where Kirsty was singing about not making love on a mountaintop.

Lucy frowned back at her. "We're talking here."

"It's okay." Daisy smiled weakly at Stephanie. "What's up?"

Stephanie climbed into the camper. "There's a problem."

I know and I was solving it before you barged in here. Lucy smiled at her tightly. "Really? What a surprise." She looked at Daisy. "Cheese stick? Root beer?" Hemlock?

Stephanie ignored Daisy to scowl at Lucy, her body rigid with dislike. "It's that knife of Bryce's. Friday's dailies came back. He keeps buckling it on different sides."

In spite of everything, Lucy grinned. The knife was a real problem for continuity-that would be Daisy, who should have caught it that the knife was wrong-but Lucy couldn't think about it without laughing. A fight with a gladiator, Wilder had said. A tight-ass with a sense of humor. There couldn't be a lot of those.

"And now he wants to strap it on his calf."

"His calf. Lucy couldn't help herself, she laughed out loud, picturing Bryce hobbling across the set, the knife splinted to his leg.

Stephanie was disgusted. "Because of what his consultant said."

"Ah. His consultant." Thank you, Captain Wilder, for your inspiring lecture on jaw-jamming Navy SEALs and their handy-dandy calf knives. Lucy looked over at Daisy. "How many shots do we have of the knife on the wrong side, Daisy?"

"Four. None on the calf." Daisy stopped smiling. "I missed it at first, but then I made sure that it stayed on that side for the rest of that scene. I don't think anybody will notice."

"Okay, then," Lucy said to Stephanie. "For the stuff we've already shot, left, right, even Bryce doesn't know. Let the microminds find it and post it on the Internet, I don't care."

"That's obvious," Stephanie snapped.

Lucy met Daisy's eyes. "Go check on Pepper. We'll talk tonight after the shoot's over."

Daisy nodded and escaped, edging around Stephanie to get out the door.

"Sit," Lucy said, and Stephanie looked mutinous, but she sat down in one of the swivel chairs. "We appear to have some problems."

Stephanie's chin went up. "Problems?"

Lucy leaned forward. "I know it's been rough, losing your director the way you did, but there are only four days left on the shoot, so if you could hold it together until Friday-"

"I am holding it together," Stephanie said sharply. "What did I do?"

"Well, to begin with, you're gone chasing Connor most of the time, so as an assistant you're not much help."

Stephanie jerked back but Lucy kept going.

"Then you patronized Althea on the set today, and she's not stupid, Stephanie. She plays dumb but she knew what you were doing and she didn't like it. That's no way to treat your actors. If you want a career in film, you should know that already."

Stephanie flushed. "But-"

"Also, you told Althea that if she slept with seventy-five people, she'd find the right man."

"What?" Stephanie looked outraged for a moment, and then her face cleared. "Oh, for the love of God. That woman is a moron."

Lucy repressed a spurt of irritation. "No, she's not. She's just confused. What did you tell her?"

Stephanie sighed. "She was flirting with Nash." Her jaw hardened. "She's been chasing him, really blatantly."

Lucy thought, Hello, hypocrite.

"I think maybe she wanted to make Bryce jealous, use Connor as a backup plan. I heard her talking to Connor about her future, about wanting security, like she thought he was going to give it to her."

"Right," Lucy said. "Now, about the seventy-five bed partners…"

Stephanie kept on as if she hadn't spoken. "And she's mad at Bryce because he's spending a lot of time with Mary Vanity so-"

"Mary Vanity?"

"One of the makeup girls. We always call hair and makeup the Vanities, and the one Bryce is paying attention to is Mary, so she's Mary Vanity."

"Right," Lucy said. "So how did you get from Bryce doing Mary Vanity to seventy-five men for Althea?"

"I didn't. I was trying to get her away from Nash, and I told her about this study I'd read that said once you'd slept with twelve people, you should pick the next best one because you'd have a seventy-five percent chance of being happy with him."

Lucy blinked at her. "And you told her this because…"

"I thought she had to be past twelve men by now," Stephanie said, her nostrils flaring. "And given where she probably came from, Bryce has to be the best one."

"Seventy-one men," Lucy said. "And two women."

"And she confused the seventy-five percent with the twelve." Stephanie rolled her eyes. "What an idiot."

"I don't think she ever claimed to be good at math. But from now on, don't give her dating advice. Just kneecap her if she tries to sleep with anybody but our star."

Stephanie nodded, and Lucy added, "Kidding."

"Of course," Stephanie said, her voice as flat as Wilder's.

"And I need the full script," Lucy said.

Stephanie reached into her bag and handed one over.

"Excellent," Lucy said. "Thank you very much."

"You're welcome," Stephanie said, in a voice that telegraphed, Drop dead.

Pepper opened the door to the camper. "Aunt Lucy, we are saving you a seat. There's lasagna!"

"Excellent, Pepper," Lucy said. "I'll be right out."

Pepper sat down on the step, and Lucy stood up. "We'll talk tomorrow," she said to Stephanie. "After I've read the script. I have some questions-"

"Fine." Stephanie stood, too. "One more thing." She looked stern. "About Wilder. He's upsetting Nash. He has to go."

"He stays," Lucy said.

Stephanie shook her head, disgusted, and went down the steps, almost trampling Pepper.

Pepper stood up. "I think we should have lasagna with J.T."

"J.T., huh?" Lucy said. "Well, J.T. had an appointment so he's gone. But I will have lasagna with you."

"Is he coming back?" Pepper said, looking alarmed.

"Tomorrow."

"Good." She took Lucy's hand.

"That remains to be seen," Lucy said and let Pepper pull her over to the catering tables, pretty sure the lasagna was going to be the high point of her night.

Forty-seven bucks lighter, Wilder pushed open the door to Eddy's, his Jax Comix bag in hand, and looked around. The only person in the steamy little diner who looked remotely official was a kid who couldn't have been more than twenty, tops, sitting at a corner table, watching the door.

Wilder's eyes flickered about the room, cataloging the other occupants in the dim light before coming back to rest on the kid. He had to be the contact. Pathetic. Armstrong would have bitten him in half. After she tied him up.

Wilder shook his head to get rid of the Lasso of Truth. Damn women. He figured this was why they didn't let women into Special Forces. Messed with a man's thinking ability.

Wilder walked up to him. "Who the hell are you?"

The kid slid awkwardly out of his chair. "Crawford." He extended his hand.

Wilder ignored it. "You called me?"

"Yes." Crawford lowered his hand, wiping it on his sport coat as he sat back down. "I'm your handler."

First the clusterfuck, now this. There was a reason Special Ops said that CIA stood for Clowns in Action.

The kid was in his seat. Wilder pointed to the other side of the scarred Formica table. "You sit there."

Crawford shrugged and moved, his back to the rest of the diner. Wilder took the chair across from him, dropping the Comix bag on the floor. "Why do I need a handler? I'm on leave."

The kid ducked his head. "Uh, not exactly."

Resignation settled in. He'd known it was too good to be true. "Then what exactly?"

Crawford's face scrunched up in confusion. "What?"