Quite frankly she was ashamed of having to tell him she didn’t have her life together, not even when she was young. She wanted him to see only her good side, not all the floundering and angst she’d gone through before she realized what she needed—and wanted in her life. For all the crazy things going on around her now, she knew she was right to have come home. She loved her club. She loved the intimacy of it and the fact that she could control when she performed and how often. She was certain she would fit into the community given time, and the paparazzi would lose interest and eventually leave her alone.

She didn’t want him to think she was a loser sitting in her hotel room, feeling sorry for herself and not even watching the news when other people were suffering, being murdered and he was trying hard to put a stop to it.

“I’m glad you’ve come home. Butterfield’s upset because he’s losing his money ticket.”

“He says I’m letting my fans down,” she said. “And I suppose he’s right.”

“If they’re fans, Blue, they’ll love what you love. Just because you aren’t singin’ rock and roll like your father, that doesn’t take away your voice.”

She smiled at him. She couldn’t help it. He talked in that velvety smooth tone and looked at her with those piercing, amazing eyes of his and her stomach did flip-flops. Her heart beat far too fast and her mouth went dry. He just had so much charisma, a magnetic pull she couldn’t seem to ever resist. She knew better than to fall for his charm—he’d made it very clear his attraction had little to do with her—but still, she found it hard not to react to him.

“Thanks, Remy. I hope you’re right, but if not, I know the club is what I want.”

“Good girl. I think the club suits you, but more than that, you need to do what makes you happy.”

“I didn’t have anything at all to do with those murders, Remy,” she said, making certain to look him in the eye. She was in the same city where every one of the murders occurred.

“I know that. I can’t imagine you hoisting a grown man up a tree, let alone carvin’ him up. I didn’t think for one moment you had anything to do with the murders, Bijou,” Remy said. “But it’s very possible you know the killer.”