"Military consultant," Nash said, a little too loudly. "We don't need one."

"Well, it's certainly something to talk about," Armstrong said cheerfully, with a note under her voice that made it clear that she'd be the one directing the conversation when it happened. She caught the little girl's hand and tried to hold it, but the kid pulled away.

"I want J.T.," Bryce said, getting that mule look that Wilder had learned to avoid in the two days they'd been together. "I'm paying for him, he's my hire, and I want him."

Armstrong nodded, still cheerful although her jaw was set now. "We will definitely discuss it. But now about your character…" She began to talk to Bryce about his role, which distracted him, and Wilder relaxed enough to let his eyes scan the set again. People standing or sitting, doing nothing, the lanky guy, Gloom, watching Connor with undisguised loathing, the little kid-

The little kid had climbed onto the bridge rail, wobbling as she tried to straddle it and hold the binoculars to her eyes, and it was a damn long way down to the Savannah River. Wilder was moving even before he realized it.

"Pepper!" Armstrong yelled a moment later and lunged for her, but Wilder was already scooping the kid off the rail and putting her on the ground. She looked up at him, blue-eyed and annoyed, and he said, "Please do not do that again," just as Nash reached them.

The kid frowned up at him. "Why?"

"Because I said so!" Nash exploded as Armstrong dropped to her knees and grabbed the little girl, hugging her close.

Wilder kept his eyes on the kid, trying to figure out what would make sense to her but not scare her. "Because it's too far up. When you fell, you would hit the water too fast for the molecules to part for you, and you would die." Oh, that was good. Always smooth with the lines for women.

Pepper blinked at him, squirming in Armstrong's arms. "Okay, but I was trying to tell you, I saw something." The little girl wriggled free and straightened her T-shirt. "Something in the swamp. Like a ghost. Or something." She sighed, exasperated, and looked up at Wilder. "So who are you?"

Wilder was taken aback for a minute, but then he figured the kid had a point. He'd just moved her out of a place she wanted to be without asking her. The least he could do was tell her his name. He went down on one knee so he could look her in the eye and extended his hand. "I'm J. T. Wilder."

"I'm P. L. Armstrong." The kid took his hand and shook it. Wilder almost smiled. Smart kid.

"Jesus Christ," Nash said from behind them.

Armstrong stood up. "Thank you very much, Captain Wilder." She met his eyes and held them for a moment too long, long enough to make Nash draw in his breath and Wilder straighten. "We're very grateful to you," she said.

How grateful? he thought, and then got a grip. Get out of the kill zone, he told himself, and then she smiled at him, nodded at Bryce and said, "We'll talk more later about your role," and took the kid's hand to lead her back to the monitors.

Wilder watched them walk away, trying to get his detachment back. Mother and daughter. They didn't look anything alike, and neither Nash or Gloom read right for the father, but Armstrong was definitely in mother mode…

That was one hell of a woman.

Out of the kill zone, damn it.

He turned and looked out to the swamp. What had the kid seen out there? She might be little but she wasn't stupid. He stared out into the wilderness and then back at the human jungle on the bridge. Danger everywhere.

Clusterfuck, he thought and went back to scanning the swamp.

In the swamp north of the bridge, not far from the base camp where the trailers and trucks were circled, Tyler Branch sat cross-legged with his sniper rifle and laughed at the Stranger in military uniform standing on the bridge looking for him.

"Never gonna happen, asshole," he said and put the sight of his rifle on the guy's head. "Pow," he said, seeing the word in a big yellow comic-book star. "Pow. POW."

Jesus, he was bored. That's why he'd stood up and shown himself to that spoiled brat Kid, just to watch her freak out. It had been worth it, she'd almost fallen off the bridge trying to get a better look. That would have been cool. And nobody would believe her if she told, even if they did all fuss over her all the time. She was a kid. Nobody paid any attention to kids. Nobody sure as hell had ever paid attention to him, anyway.

Now they paid attention. Because when Tyler Branch moved, things died. He smiled to himself. Pretty damn cool, that's what he was.

And pretty damn bored. Four more days of this crap before he'd get to shoot anything. Even the Stranger showing up was boring. The Director, now, she wasn't bad. He found her and let the sight pan down her body. She was a big woman with a damn good ass. A J.Lo ass. Something there to grab on to.

"Oh, yeah, something there," he said out loud and startled himself.

Talking to himself. Bad sign. If he didn't do something soon, he'd start hitting on the gators, thinking, Nice scales, I should get me some of that. If it wasn't for the money, he'd have been gone by now, but money could buy a lot of good things. Like women. Women always wanted a piece of you, a piece of your wanted anyway. Guys with money, they had all the women they warred cause they had lots of pieces. And that was gonna be him. Women paying attention to him all over the place. Women dying to pay attention to him. He put the sight back on the Director's ass, then moved it down the bridge to the Actress climbing up onto the hood of the little red convertible. Now there was a woman. Jesus, those tits-

A rustling sound to his right made him look. Less than six feet away, a nine-foot alligator was crawling up out of the dark water, trying to catch the late afternoon sun.

The reptile paused, half out of the water, and its massive head swung back and forth, nostrils flaring. The head came to a halt, one black eyeball secreted underneath scaly ridges staring straight at Tyler, the other missing, a thick scar marking the spot. The gator's mouth opened ever so slightly, revealing jagged teeth, and the single eye stared back, unblinking.

"You want a piece of me?" Tyler growled low, baring his teeth. He slowly got to his feet and took a couple of steps up the bank, water dripping off his body.

The gator lifted one large front leg to move forward, and Tyler hissed. Back off, lizard breath.

The clawed foot paused in midair. Then the gator pulled the leg back and slowly retreated, slithering into the dark water. The large tail swung, pulling it back twenty feet, where it stopped, eye and nostrils above the water, watching.

Believe it, buddy, I own this swamp. Holding the rifle above the water with one hand, Tyler reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a beer. It wasn't ice-cold, but a beer was a beer, especially when he was waist deep in a swamp staring down a gator. He popped the top and drained it in one steady gulp. He crushed the can and put it back in the same pocket. Pack it out if you pack it in.

He turned his attention back to the bridge. Come on, he thought. Take off your clothes. Shoot somebody. Bleed. Die. SOMETHING!' Jesus.

The Kid was there, still with the binoculars. Staring right the hick at him. Tyler blinked, sure his mind was playing tricks on him, but nope, there she was, little blond head just topping the concrete railing, the binoculars resting on it, and the two blacks lenses trained his way.

No fucking way she could see him now. For a second, Tyler's finger slid over the trigger, tempted to send a round straight through the left lens right into her beady little eyeball. Now that would be a shot. Too bad she hadn't fallen off the bridge. He could have hit her before she hit the water.