At least that’s what Tony thought he’d said. The words had run together into one long, embarrassed sound. Fortunately, months on the ear jack had made him pretty skilled at working out the inaudible. “Hey, Zev?”

The music director paused, one foot over the threshold.

“That piece behind Mason at the window last ep? With all the strings? It really rocked.”

“Thank you.” His shadow slipped through the closing door at the last minute.

I’m losing my mind.

“He likes you.”

“What?” Caught up in concerns about his own sanity, it took Tony a moment to figure out what Amy was talking about. “Who? Zev?”

“Duh. He’s a nice guy. Oh, but wait, why would you notice a nice guy who likes you when there’s . . .” She paused and smirked.

“What?” Tony demanded as the pause lengthened.

Behind him, the front door opened and a familiar velvet voice said, “Man, you would not believe the traffic out there! I almost had to take the bike up on the fucking sidewalk at one point.”

Answering Amy’s sarcastic kissy face with a single finger, Tony turned.

Lee Nicholas, aka James Taylor Grant, Raymond Dark’s junior partner and the vampire detective’s eyes and ears in the light, was six foot one with short dark hair, green eyes, chiseled cheekbones and the kind of body that owed as much to lucky genetics as his personal trainer. Although the show kept him in preppy casual, he was currently wearing a black leather jacket, faded jeans, black leather chaps, motorcycle boots . . . When he unzipped the jacket to expose a tight black T-shirt, Tony felt his mouth go dry.

“Hey, Lee, how many cows were killed for that outfit?”

“Not a one.” He grinned down at Amy, showing perfect teeth and a dimple one of the more poetic on-line fan sites had described as wicked. “They all lived long, fulfilled bovine lives and died happily of old age. How many migrant workers did you exploit for all that cotton?”

“I picked every blossom with my own lily white . . . CB Productions, can I help you? Left you on hold?” Mouthing oops she waved both Tony and Lee away from her desk.

“So, you’re off the set.” He handed Tony his helmet in full realization that it would be taken and carried for him. “Has Peter finished up early?”

“No. Uh, late. That is, he’s going to be finishing late and he wanted me to tell you that you wouldn’t be needed on the set until after, you know, lunch.” Tony smiled weakly, fully realizing how he sounded. He’d been taking care of himself, one way or another, since he was fourteen. He’d seen things that redefined the word terrifying. He’d fought against the darkness—not metaphorically, literally fought against the darkness. Well, helped . . . He was twenty-four years old for Christ’s sake! And yet he couldn’t talk to Lee Nicholas without coming across like a babbling idiot. Idiot being a particularly apt description since the actor was straight with a well documented weakness for the kind of blondes he couldn’t take home to Mother.