He’d gone chasing off after Lee in such a hurry yesterday afternoon, Tony’s brain reminded him.

Chasing off after Lee before Peter had called a wrap.

Without even considering what he was doing, he’d just left work.

Crap.

“I can explain.”

“Good.”

“Remember how you sent me in to check on Lee? To see if he was all right because he was acting so strangely on the set? Well, he just left, in one hell of a hurry, and so I went after him because I didn’t know if he was all right.” He flashed the smile he’d perfected on Toronto street corners staring up at uniformed cops and had kept around to grease his way through slightly more legal problems with authority. “See?”

“You ran out after Lee because I told you to go check on him?”

“Yes.”

“You were so worried about him, you forgot you were still wearing your radio. Remembered to turn it off, but forgot you were wearing it.”

Tony glanced down at the holster riding his hip. “Yeah. I was worried.”

“And how was he?”

Controlled by a minion of the Shadowlord.

Flat on his ass under a gate leading to another world.

Sloshing with vodka . . .

None of the above.

“I . . . uh, I never actually caught up to him.”

“So you’re saying you left early and still didn’t do what I asked you to?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

Peter stared at him for a long moment, then snorted softly. “You just used up all your saved-the-stuntman goodwill, Tony. Next time you run off like that, you can return the radio and keep on going.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Tell Alan Wu I need him on set to run over his blocking the moment he’s done then hit the office and see if those dialogue changes are ready. And,” he raised his voice, “I’d like to get started on time for a change, people! Why aren’t those cameras set?”

As Tony hurried for the exit, he heard the soundstage begin to rev up behind him. And the good news, he still had a job. And the bad news, that job was still at ground zero for a Shadowlord invasion.

Unless it wasn’t.

Seven fifty-one.

Three and a half hours.

He hated waiting.

Alan Wu, who played Detective Emanuel Chan, Darkest Night’s recurring police presence, guaranteed at least one day’s work a week, was still in the chair when Tony reached the makeup room.

“Look at this hair, Tony.” Everett waved a thick strand of black hair in Tony’s general direction without much regard for the head it was attached to. “Don’t quote me on this, but is this not beautiful hair?”