“The thing is, Blue, I’m not only a pretty face, I’m also a businessman, which means I expect a return on my investment.” He should feel as smarmy as he sounded, but he was enjoying himself too much.

“You’re getting an original Blue Bailey portrait,” she said. “You’re also getting a security guard for your car and a bodyguard to hold off your fans. Honestly, I should charge you. I think I will. Two hundred dollars between here and Nashville.”

Before he could tell her what he thought of that idea, Safe Net interrupted.

“Hi, Boo, it’s Steph.”

Blue leaned toward the speaker. “Boo, you devil. What did you do with my panties?”

A long silence followed. He glowered at her. “I can’t talk now, Steph. I’m listening to an audiobook, and somebody’s about to get stabbed to death.”

The Beav pulled the aviators down on her nose as he disconnected and peered at him over the top. “Sorry. I was bored.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. She was at his mercy, but she refused to give an inch. Intriguing.

He turned up the radio and helped out the Gin Blossoms with a damn good drum fill on the steering wheel. Blue, however, stayed lost in her own world. She didn’t even comment when he flipped the station after Jack Patriot came on again with “Why Not Smile?”

Blue barely heard the radio playing in the background. She was so far out of her element with Dean Robillard that he might have been from a different universe. The trick was not letting him realize she knew it. She wondered if he’d bought into her lie about Monty and the bank accounts. He didn’t give much away, so it was hard to tell, but she couldn’t bear having him know her own mother was the villain.

Virginia was Blue’s only relative, so it had been natural for her to be the cosigner on all Blue’s accounts. Her mother was the last person to steal from anyone. Virginia happily bought her clothes at Salvation Army thrift stores and slept on friends’ couches when she was in the States. Only a humanitarian crisis of epic proportions could have made her take Blue’s money.

Blue had discovered the theft on Friday, three days ago, when she’d tried to use her ATM card. Virginia had left a message on her cell.

“I only have a few minutes, sweetheart. I got into your bank accounts today. I’ll write as soon as I can to explain everything.” Her mother rarely lost control, but Virginia’s soft, sweet voice had broken. “Forgive me, my love. I’m in Colombia. A group of girls I’ve been working with was kidnapped yesterday by one of those armed bands of marauders. They’ll be…raped, forced to become killers themselves. I—I can’t let that happen. I can buy their freedom with your money. I know you’ll see this as an unforgivable breach of trust, my darling, but you’re strong and others aren’t. Please forgive me and—and remember how much I love you.”