The door opened. A large hand between his shoulder blades shoved him into the dark soundstage. Stumbling forward, he missed the sound of the door closing behind him, but as he found his balance, he clearly heard the snap of the lock reengaging. It was the first sound in a while to drown out the pounding of his heart. So much for rescue.

Tony strained to see as Mouse dragged him off to the left, moving unerringly around bits of set and equipment, the ambient light from the exit signs and various scattered power indicators obviously enough for him to maneuver. Unlike Lee last night, he didn’t bother turning on the overhead lights. Hang on . . .

Shadows required a minimum amount of light for . . . well, definition was probably the closest word. A shadow without definition would be fuzzy. Fuzzy meant a weaker shadow, right? Not the shadow in Mouse but Mouse’s shadow. The shadow actually holding him.

He took a tentative breath through his mouth.

Found he could breathe.

Ripping free of Mouse’s loose grip on the back of his neck, Tony ran for the far end of the soundstage and the door to the production offices. It can’t be much after 9:00. 9:30 tops. Maybe quarter to ten. Ow! Son of a bitch! He stumbled around whatever he’d run into—a light pole from the crash as it hit the floor—bounced off a wall, got his bearings, and lengthened his stride. No way the geeks in post were gone so early. It wasn’t like they had somewhere to go on a Friday night. All he had to do was get to the . . .

The rounded edge of Raymond Dark’s leather wing chair caught him across the stomach. Gasping for breath, he fell forward, rolled across the seat on his shoulders, and hit the floor. He was still fighting to untangle his feet from the coffee table when the lights came on. Definitely a good news/bad news situation. He could see—he kicked himself free and scrambled to his feet—but the moment Mouse caught up to him, he’d be . . .

The fake Persian rug spread over the concrete floor did nothing to cushion the impact. He rolled sideways, slammed up against Mouse’s legs, and was hauled to his feet.

“You done?”

The knee in the crotch took the big man completely by surprise. More than willing to fight dirty—the definition of someone who fought fair against a guy twice his size was loser—Tony put everything he had in it and hit the ground running. Fingers closed around a handful of his jacket. He squirmed free.

And then he was back on the floor, the rug grinding into his cheek, a massive knee grinding into the center of his back.

Oh, yeah, I’m done.