But it was clear that he would never act on his secret hope—beyond microsecond glances and making sure her guitars were ready for battle.

Tye Slocum defined the difference between the normal and the mad.

It was then that a man in chinos and starched dress shirt, without tie, came up to Kayleigh and Dance. He was in his midthirties and had a boyish grin. Curly black hair was losing the war against a shiny scalp.

“Kayleigh, hi.” Nothing more for a moment, other than a polite nod to Dance. “I’m Art Francesco.” Both Dance and Kayleigh regarded him cautiously until his all-access badge dangled forward.

“Hi,” Kayleigh said absently. Dance assumed he was a friend of Bishop’s; she thought she’d seen them talking earlier that night in the parking lot.

“I’m so sorry about everything’s that happened. Your dad told me. What a terrible time. But that guy’s in jail, right?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God. Well, just wanted to say how happy I am we’re going to do business together.”

“Uh-hum. And who are you again?”

He frowned. “Art. Art Francesco.” A pause and when she gave no reaction the man added, “Your father mentioned I’d be coming tonight, didn’t he?”

“Afraid he didn’t.”

He laughed. “Isn’t that just like Bishop—a genius, you know. Sometimes details elude him.”

A card appeared.

Dance didn’t have to be a kinesics expert to note the shock that went through Kayleigh’s body. The agent glanced at the singer’s hand. The card was JBT Global Entertainment.

“What do you mean, doing business?”

Francesco licked the corner of his mouth. “Well, I’m sorry. But—”

“What is this?” Kayleigh snapped.

“Well, I thought your father…. He didn’t say he hadn’t told you. I just talked—”

“Tell me what?”

“Jesus Christ. Look, I’m sorry. He said he was going to tell you this morning, after we signed up everything. But with that crazy man, maybe he forgot or was distracted.”

“Signed up what?”

“Well, you. Signed up you. He’s … I’m sorry, Kayleigh. Oh, shit. I really thought you knew.” Francesco looked miserable. “Look, why don’t you talk to your father?”

The singer stepped forward. She’d just survived a homicidal stalker. She wasn’t going to be put off by a suit from L.A. “You tell me. Now.”

“He just signed you with Global. He’s not renewing with Barry Zeigler and your label.”

“What?”

“Can he do that?” Dance asked.

Jaw set in anger, Kayleigh muttered, “Yeah, he can. It was set up that way when I was a minor. I never changed it. But he never did anything that I didn’t agree with. Until now.”

Francesco said, “Oh, but it’s a great deal, Kayleigh. And the money! … You won’t believe the money. You’ve got hundred-percent creative control. Bishop and his lawyers drove a really tough bargain. It’s a three-sixty deal. We’ll handle all your concert tours, your recordings, production, CDs, download platforms, marketing, advertising … everything. You’ll go international, big-time. We’ve already got commitments from CMT and MTV, and HBO is interested in a special. That all happened just today after he signed up. And Starbucks and Target both want exclusive albums. This is taking you to a whole new level. We’ll get you into amphitheaters, Vegas, London. You’ll never have to play little … places like this again.”