She swung, using the back of her fist to connect forcefully with the side of his throat. As the gun clattered out of his hand, she brought her stiffened open hand down on the back of his neck. Panting, she looked down at him, crumpled half in and half out of her office. She wanted to run, just run, but forced herself to think clearly.

Hooking her hands under his arms, she dragged him inside. After a quick fumble through her top desk drawer, she found the key. The room was hardly as long as he was, sprawled on the floor. She stepped over him, shut the door and locked him in.

She shook her head to clear the buzzing that filled it and gave herself a moment, leaning back against the wall and catching her breath. The wounded man a few steps away groaned, and she was beside him instantly.

“Help’s coming,” she murmured. “You’re going to be all right.”

“Jermaine …”

“Yes, yes, I know. It’s taken care of. You mustn’t try to talk.” Pressure, she thought. She had to stop the bleeding. She dragged a hand through her hair and tried to think. Towels. “Try not to move,” she told him. “I’m going to get something to stop the bleeding.”

“Was waiting—was hiding.”

“He’s locked up,” she assured him. “Don’t talk anymore. I won’t be gone long.”

She rose, intending to run to the nearest bathroom for towels, when she heard a noise behind her. She spun around, but the hall was empty. Moistening her dry lips, she stared at her office door. Was he conscious again already? It hit her then, coldly, that she hadn’t taken the gun. It was locked in with him. If he woke up and found it …

Then she heard voices out front and ran toward them.

The stage was dark. She hit the main switch, flooding the stage with light. Her chest heaved with a sob at the sound of Alexander’s voice. As he climbed the steps to the stage she was racing across it. His apology for being later than he’d promised never materialized. He had her by the arms, holding firmly.

“What is it?”

“The man, Deboque’s agent—he’s locked in my office. He shot a man, one of your guards, I think. I’ve already called an ambulance and the police.”

“Did he hurt you?” Even as he took the first quick look, his hands moved to her shoulder. “There’s blood.”

“Not mine, the guard’s. Alex, he needs attention. And in my office—”

“It’s all right.” His arm circled her as he turned to his own bodyguards. “See to it. I’ll stay here with her.”

“He has a gun,” she began.