Adam stood at Lee’s feet, pencil tapping against the edge of his clipboard, eyes narrowed as though he was working out the logistics in his head. “Should we call a doctor?”

Suddenly aware he was flat on the floor and the center of attention—and not the kind of attention actors required—Lee struggled to sit up. “I’m fine.”

Tony inched back, aware he had no right to be inside the other man’s personal space but unwilling to surrender his position entirely.

“Screaming and collapsing doesn’t generally indicate fine,” Laura told him, helping him sit up. Her tone was so matter-of-fact it cut the ground out from under rising panic.

Drawing in a deep breath, Lee managed a wobbly smile. “That was then, this is now.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

The smile wobbled a little more. “No. I was cold then . . .”

“He should see a doctor.”

“Hey, I’m good.” He sounded fine. But then three weeks ago he’d sounded like a fifteenth-century Italian nobleman by way of a Canadian screenwriter, so Tony wasn’t putting much stock in the pronouncement.

Neither was Laura. “Something caused that reaction. It would be wise to see a doctor.”

He stood as Lee did, fairly certain the other man had no idea whose shoulder he was using and, considering their interaction over the past two days, just as happy. The last thing he wanted was to be tied in Lee’s mind to personal disaster. Although given the whole memory-loss, screaming-and-falling-over thing, it might already be too late.

Lee glanced around at his audience. “We’re behind already.”

Heads nodded. Someone had died and the show had gone on. Falling over and screaming was fairly far down the list in comparison.

“We’ll be farther behind if this continues,” Laura pointed out reasonably. “It could be something serious. It might be nothing. But you should know.”

Heads nodded again. The same heads.

Hands spread, Lee smiled; the wobbles under control, the only indication that anything had happened a certain tightness around his eyes. He was a better actor than most people gave him credit for. “I’m fine.”

“Obviously, you’re not.” The deep voice pulled everyone’s attention around. CB, who never came out on the soundstage while they were shooting, stood at the edge of the set. It looked significantly smaller than it had. He waited until the murmurs of surprise died down—waited with an attitude that clearly said they’d better die down damned fast—and then continued. “You are too valuable to me and to this show to allow what might be a potentially serious situation to continue. Do you have a doctor in the area, Mr. Nicholas?”

“No, I . . .”

“Then you will see mine. I will take you myself. Now.”

“But the scene . . .”

“Reaction shots can be done without you.”

Tony wondered how CB knew they were on reaction shots. Direct video feed to his office? Psychic powers? Lucky guess?