But I was alone now, staring at the slightly uncomfortable face of a girl who knew who I was . . . who Bonnie Rae Shelby was. Her supervisor stood behind her, prepared to jump in if she needed to.

“So I can’t get any money from my account even though there’s half a million dollars in there.”

“Actually, ma’am,” the supervisor spoke up. “There’s only about ten thousand dollars in the account. A large sum was removed two days ago.”

I choked as if I’d been sucker punched. Gran was the only one who could walk into a bank and pull five hundred grand from my account. “But you just said no money could be removed from the account without both parties present,” I gasped.

“The money must have been withdrawn before the alert was placed on the account,” the older woman answered neatly. The expression on her face indicated she believed I was the reason there was a fraud alert on the account. And I guess I was. But it was my money.

I stood staring at them for the space of two deep breaths. They stared back. I didn’t stop to think about the consequences of what I did next. I was too angry. I reached forward and snatched up the neat little pile of cash still sitting in front of the fresh-faced teller. Sorry, Cassie. You snooze you lose. The receipt was tucked inside the envelope as well.

“Consider the account closed then, ladies,” I called out over my shoulder as I walked swiftly toward the door.

“Ma’am! You can’t do that!” the supervisor called out behind me.

“I just did. And I have a receipt.”

“We’ll call the police!”

“I’m sure you will. Tell them I said hi.”

I pushed out of the little building, the money still clenched in my hand. There was no security guard to stop me, no alarms clanging as I reached for the door of Bear’s black Charger.

“Drive,” I said, as I slid inside.

Chapter Fourteen

ST LOUIS WAS BARELY in their rearview mirror before they were pulling off in a little town called Pacific to gas up. Finn was jittery, and Bonnie seemed rattled too, because when he wasn’t looking in the rearview mirror, he caught her throwing furtive looks behind them too. She was trying to be sneaky about it, but she wasn’t great at keeping her feelings hidden. She’d been upset when she came out of the bank in St. Louis, though she hadn’t said much about it. She’d muttered something about a “reckoning,” but when he’d questioned her, she just shook her head and said, “I’m damn tired of my life. And I’m tired of the people in it, present company excluded. I’ve made a lot of people wealthy, and you better believe there will be a reckoning.”

She sounded cute when she said reckoning. Reckonin’ was how she said it, like she was on the set of a Clint Eastwood western. But Finn didn’t laugh. Bonnie Rae had been used and emotionally abused on her road to fame and fortune, and he was going to help her get her reckoning, even it meant putting his own ass on the line. Even if it meant showing up at an event like the Oscars in all his bad boy glory, just so Bonnie Rae could stick it to her gran.

While he’d filled the tank and picked up two sandwiches at the gas station, Bonnie ran across the street to a little clothing store for a few things. Finn had groaned inwardly, thinking he would be waiting forever, but Bonnie was back in roughly the same amount of time it took him to fulfill his assignments. She had a clean shirt for each of them, plus underwear and socks for both of them as well—which she cheerfully informed him she was wearing, along with a white V-necked T-shirt that looked a whole lot better than the one she’d borrowed from him, although he’d kind of liked the idea of her wearing his shirt.

He wondered what she’d done with the skull panties, but didn’t ask. He marveled how easy she was to please, how such little things like clean panties and a new shirt could make her smile, and thought again about the reckoning. Interesting that he was thinking about meting out justice as he slowed and came to a stop at the red light just before the freeway entrance.

A panhandler stood on the median entreating drivers for mercy and cash. Bonnie watched him as Finn waited for the light to turn—Finn always felt bad not giving people who begged for help the dignity of eye contact, but eye contact was a signal that the window was coming down, and money was going to exchange hands. Sure enough, Bonnie reached for her purse, and Finn shot her a look that said “no.” She sat back regretfully. Good girl. Maybe she was learning.

The panhandler’s hair was a wild mess—Finn had never seen a bigger fro, not even at Norfolk, where hair like that was a symbol of rebellion. The man’s beard was greying and equally matted, and he had crazy eyes, wide and bulging, reminding Finn a little of Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction. He wore socks—no shoes, just socks—and a huge, pea green army duster. From what Finn could see, the man wore all his clothes layered beneath, making him impossibly bulky and probably extremely ripe, even in the cold sunshine. He turned his cardboard sign toward them just as the light turned green, and Finn looked away as the cars in front of them started to inch forward.

“Stop! Finn! Pull over! Pull over!” Bonnie cried, her hand on the door handle as she turned in her seat, staring at something beyond her shoulder.

“Stop!” she screeched again, so instead of turning and following the line of cars in front of them onto the ramp, he went straight ahead and flipped on his hazard lights as he veered across traffic onto the narrow shoulder of the road. Maybe he was so responsive because Bonnie was pounding on his arm and shrieking for him to stop.