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complete stop and started to enter the license plate number in my phone when the car suddenly revved to life and skidded away. I only had a partial plate but I saved it anyway. If he continued to loiter, I’d happily call the Palm Beach PD and they could deal with him.
    I put the groceries away, cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. The guest bath door was closed as I went passed on my way to the bedroom. I changed out of my clothes and donned lightweight drawstring pants with little hearts on them and a plain white cami. I pulled my hair back and washed my face. I was tired and I had to be at work by nine-ish. If not Margaret Ford, receptionist and all-around pain in the ass, would rat me out to Vain Victor Dane, the managing partner. Just thinking about him made me want to groan.
    I sat on my bed and powered up my laptop. I had to check the status of several auctions on eBay. The first one I checked was my bid on several links for a Rolex. Since I can’t afford the watch, I’m buying the pieces so I can assemble my own. I was still the high bidder with four hours left to go. For good measure I upped my bid by one hundred dollars. My next stop was a gently used Coach bag. It had a small tear on the inside lining but the exterior was pristine. That auction had only minutes left. After rubbing my hands together, I pulled up the screen to place a bid but I didn’t hit enter. Instead I was waiting for the auction clock to hit two seconds, then I’d sweep in and steal the bag from some unsuspecting buyer.
    “Be prepared to be disappointed,” I told the screen. My hand hovered over the enter key as the clock hit four seconds, then three. Then I heard a shriek.
    I practically tossed my laptop to the side and ran toward the guestroom. I opened the door to find my mother sitting on the bed with a computer next to her. “What is wrong?” I asked. “And when did you enter the computer age?”
    “Look at this,” she said as she turned the state of the art MAC in my direction.
    Moving closer, I read the email. “The price just went up to six hundred grand.”

Fear is a good motivator.
    Scared shitless is a great one.

Chapter Three
    “T his is good,” I explained.
    My mother tightened the belt on her silk robe. Peeking out of the top I noticed she wore the matching negligee underneath. Even in a crisis she didn’t compromise her style.
    “How is that possible? And why raise the price on me?”
    “It’s good because I can have the IT guys at work backtrack the ISP on the email. They can target the exact location where it originated. Could lead us straight to the blackmailer.”
    “What about the price increase? I haven’t done anything.”
    I shrugged. “Maybe he’s pissed that you aren’t at your house. Did he ever call, maybe tell you to stay put?”
    “No phone calls. Just the note. All that said was to keep vigil for the next note.”
    “Being here isn’t exactly like lying in wait at your own place. But let’s not worry about that now.”
    She gave me a hostile look. “Exactly what do you think I should be worried about?”
    “Global warming. Or the sabre rattling out of North Korea. Or maybe voting irregularities in Latin America.”
    “Your sarcasm is not appreciated.”
    “C’mon. That was a little bit funny.”
    “I’m not in the mood.”
    “Message received. What’s with the computer?” I tenderly brushed my fingers over the state-of-the-art beauty.
    “Deacon insisted. He travels a lot for work and it’s just easier for us to keep in touch over computer mail.”
    Absently I said, “Email.” I clicked the screen back to a shot of her inbox. A few spams but most of the emails were from [email protected]. “He must be smitten. He emails you like five times a day.”
    We had a mother-daughter breakthrough when my mother patted the seat next to her on the bed. “He really is a wonderful man,” she gushed. “So touching.” She clicked open one of the emails.