“Not really. I locate an upscale neighborhood and stuff the mailboxes with flyers that show samples of my work. It generally does the trick, although not in a town like Rawlins Creek where there isn’t an upscale neighborhood.”

“Which explains the beaver suit. How old are you, anyway?”

“Thirty. And, no, I’m not lying. I can’t help the way I look.”

“Safe Net.”

Blue jumped as a disembodied female voice invaded the interior of the car.

“Checking in to see if we can be of assistance,” the voice purred.

Dean passed a slow-moving tractor. “Elaine?”

“It’s Claire. Elaine’s off today.”

The voice was coming from the car’s speakers.

“Hey, Claire. I haven’t talked to you in a while.”

“I had to go visit my mom. So how’s the road treating you?”

“No complaints.”

“On your way to Chicago, why don’t you stop off in St. Louis? I have a couple of steaks in my freezer with your name on them.”

Dean adjusted the sun visor. “You’re too good to me, sweetheart.”

“Nothing’s too good for my favorite Safe Net customer.”

When he finally disconnected, Blue rolled her eyes. “You’ve got them lined up and taking numbers, don’t you? What a waste.”

He refused to play her game. “Don’t you ever get the urge to settle down in one place? Or does the witness protection program keep you on the move?”

“Too much world to see for me to settle down. Maybe I’ll start thinking about it when I’m forty. Your lady friend mentioned Chicago. I thought you were going to Tennessee.”

“I am. But Chicago’s home.”

Now she remembered. He played for the Chicago Stars. She gazed longingly at the sports car’s impressive instrument panel and gearshift paddles. “I’ll be happy to take over the driving.”

“It’d be too confusing for you to drive a car that doesn’t give off smoke.” He turned up the satellite radio, a combination of oldies rock and newer tunes.

For the next twenty miles, she listened to music and tried to appreciate the scenery, but she was too worried. She needed a distraction, and she considered ruffling his feathers by asking him what he found most attractive in a man, but it was to her advantage to maintain the fiction that he was gay, and she didn’t want to push him too far. Still, she couldn’t resist inquiring if he wouldn’t rather find a station that played Streisand.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” he replied with starchy dignity, “but those of us in the gay community get a little tired of the old stereotypes.”

She did her best to sound contrite. “I apologize.”

“Apology accepted.”