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interior. Cautiously, he took one step, and then another. The projectionist tried the same maneuver—only Derek caught the bag mid-swing. That crap may have worked once, but twice? Not on Derek’s watch. He dragged the kid toward him until their noses were touching. Derek could smell the fear seeping out of the kid’s pores.
    “Are we having fun yet?” Derek asked.
    The kid cocked his arm back. Before Derek could untangle his hand from the gym bag, the projectionist punched Derek in the nose. Derek stumbled back a step, surprised to be caught off guard. That’s what six months away from D.C. got you. He swiped the back of his hand under his nose and got a smear of blood for his effort.
    “That’s it!” Derek ground his teeth. “No more Mr. Nice Guy!”
    The projectionist must have believed him, because he tried to rabbit again. Before he could get a head of steam, Derek lunged and tackled him at the base of the stairs. The floor groaned under the unwelcome weight. A crack announced the first floorboard breaking. A pop announced the second and the third. Then the floor dropped out, and they plummeted to the ground floor.
    Luckily they were horizontal during their plunge, and Derek’s shoulder took the brunt of the impact. Still. Damn.
    A cloud of dust and dirt hung in the air. The look on Fred’s face when they landed not more than a foot away from him was nearly comical. Derek would have laughed if every inch of his body weren’t shrieking its displeasure.
    Fanning the dust out of his face, Fred said, “Nice job.”
    Derek sat up, straddling the kid, his knee jammed into his back while he yanked the projectionist’s arms, causing him to grunt. A little payback for trashing two agents.
    Hearing the satisfying click of the cuffs, Derek read him his rights. “Moron, you are under arrest for the theft and intent to sell for profit ...”
    The projectionist sobbed. “I wasn’t going to sell it,” he said. His snot and tears left streaks of dirt on his face.
    “I was only gonna show it and return it!”
    “Sure, and I’ve got some dry land in the Everglades,” Derek grumbled as he pulled the projectionist to his feet. “You’ve got the right—”
    “No. I’m serious,” the kid interrupted, choking on a hiccup. “Ask anyone invited!
    Derek spun the projectionist around to face him.
    “Why would you risk hard time to watch a stupid movie?” Derek asked. Not that he really cared, but he had to ask. None of this made any sense. At least, not enough for him to miss the Chargers game.
    “No, you don’t understand. This is Terror in the Trees !” he exclaimed, as if that explained it all.
    Derek glanced at Fred to see if he had the slightest clue as to what this kid was talking about. Judging by the frown, Fred had no idea, either.
    The projectionist tried to explain, his eyes ricocheting between Derek and Fred. “They pulled the film off the festival circuit, and it won’t be seen again until it goes in wide release.”
    Still confused, Derek asked, “Why not just wait, and pay your fifteen bucks?”
    Like every other law-abiding citizen.
    “They’re gonna cut seven whole minutes out! The best parts! This was the only way to see the whole thing, the directors’ true vision!” Excitement shone in the kid’s eyes as he continued without taking a breath. “The Baxter brothers have opened a new world of terror!”
    “Watch out,” Fred said, smirking. “I think he’s going religious on you.”
    Derek shook his head. He didn’t give a damn if it was the freakin’ reincarnated Marx brothers. Derek had seen too many scenes go down so much worse than tonight. Chasing this punk around the crumbling dump of a building could have killed them all. And for what? A stupid movie called the Birds in the Trees , or whatever the hell it was.
    “You definitely have the right to remain silent ...”
    Please, God, let him remain silent.
     
     
     
    * * * * *
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 2
     
     
    Derek paused at the