Paul considered the request. “About that, I’ve been thinking . . .”
Madison sat up straighter, watching as he swiped a meaty hand across his chin. At first sight, he resembled an ordinary schlump stuck in a boring midlevel job. The kind of guy who after yet another long, soul-sucking day at the office returned home to a crappy apartment and an indifferent cat, only to eat a microwaved dinner in front of the TV. Though the quilt of scars crisscrossing his knuckles hinted at a much darker existence.
“Maybe you’re right.”
Madison froze, afraid to so much as move lest he sense her real reason for asking. As good as she was at reading him, he was far better at reading her.
“I’d like to stay put until you’re back on your feet. So as long as you promise to stay out of sight, I can’t see why you shouldn’t be reunited with Blue.”
“Seriously?” Even though she had other motives for asking, the thought of seeing her scraggly mutt brought tears to her eyes. Though sadly, the reunion would have to wait. Madison had more urgent matters to deal with. “Because if you’re not serious, if you’re just trying to—”
Paul raised a hand to silence her. “You have my word. I was thinking I’d pay Emily a visit anyway. May as well return with Blue.”
“Emily?” Madison frowned at the mention of her assistant’s name. “I thought you said you didn’t know where she was.” Her voice rose with suspicion.
“I didn’t. She went AWOL for a bit. But I just heard she landed a new assistant gig.”
Madison was in no mood for the hesitation she sensed in his reply. “Yeah, with who?” She studied him shrewdly.
“Heather Rollins.”
Madison started, her face taking a comic turn with popping eyes and a dramatically dropped jaw. If she’d tried that on a film set, any director worth his salt would yell Cut! and pull her aside to talk. But in real life, she truly was shocked. “Seriously. Emily is working for Heather?” She shook her head. Most of the world considered her dead, and yet Heather was still competing against a ghost, trying to claim bits of Madison’s life for her own.
Once upon a time, they’d been friends, though it didn’t take long to notice how Heather was always trying to best Madison by going after the same parts, the same clothes, the same agent, the same boys—what a bore. Of course Heather never actually attained any of those things, and Madison had chosen to ignore her lame attempts, even felt sorry for her. How exhausting it must be to always yearn for the peak when the spot was clearly reserved for someone more deserving. It wasn’t long before Madison grew tired of her games and cut Heather off.
And now Heather was poised to claim the space that had once belonged to Madison. She had Emily, access to Blue . . . it stung in a way Madison refused to tolerate.
“I want my dog. Now.” Madison fixed her gaze on Paul. “I don’t want her anywhere near Blue.”
The thought of Heather so much as petting Blue was intolerable. Then again, Blue had much higher standards and probably wouldn’t allow it. He’d never learned to like Ryan, and always used to growl whenever he came around. Blue was a dog of great discernment. The thought brought a fleeting smile to Madison’s face.
“Rumor has it Heather is now dating Mateo Luna.”
Madison watched as Paul slipped a tweed blazer over his pale blue button-down shirt. Outside, the temperature soared to the triple digits, and yet Paul dressed like he was off to the bank to ask for a loan.
“Am I supposed to know who that is?” Madison frowned. She was mainly surprised Heather wasn’t dating Ryan Hawthorne. It would only make sense.
“Mateo used to date Layla Harrison, who is now dating Tommy Phillips.”
Madison turned the information around in her head. It was interesting, in a minor, D-list, gossipy sort of way. But it hardly seemed worthy of discussion. Was Paul interested in this stuff? Because Madison no longer was.
“Heard she’s working on getting him a part on her new show.”
“How do you know all this?” Madison observed him from under a skeptical brow.
“It’s my job to keep abreast of anything connected to you. However tangentially.”
Madison cocked her head and gathered her hair into her fist. “Cable or network?”
Paul looked at her.
“The show—is it on cable or network?”
Madison starred in movies—big-budget Hollywood movies. She had no time for small-screen nonsense. And yet, it was no secret that the paradigm had shifted, and now loads of A-list actresses were clamoring for the good, juicy roles that the smarter TV shows offered.
Was it possible Heather had scored such a role?
One that might’ve gone to Madison had she not been abducted?
She was seriously working herself into an agitated state and was growing increasingly annoyed with the way Paul was hedging the answer. It was a simple question. What the hell was he up to?
When she caught his amused expression, she flushed with shame. Yep, he could read her like a book. Heather wasn’t the only one who got competitive. His look reminded her as much.
“Network,” he said, chasing it with the kind of teeth-baring grin he rarely indulged in.
Madison rolled her eyes and mumbled unintelligibly under her breath. She knew she was acting awful and spoiled, but she hated the way her life was on hold and seemingly no longer hers to control. Still, it was a relief to know Heather hadn’t scored a big, splashy cable gig. If nothing else, it assured Madison that she hadn’t fallen too far behind while she’d been off the radar.
“So, back to Blue.” She adopted a steadier, more serious tone. “How soon can I see him?”
The question was more loaded than it seemed on the surface. Paul kept a number of safe houses stashed in remote areas of California and beyond, including a few in and around LA. On the drive over, he’d made her hide beneath a blanket in the back, thereby prohibiting any chance she might’ve had to see where they were going. From the moment they’d arrived, she wasn’t allowed outside. She hoped his answer would provide some insight into their general whereabouts.
If Blue was with Emily and Emily was working for Heather, then that meant Blue was in LA. The amount of time it would take Paul to make the round trip might clue her in as to how far away they currently were.
“I have a few other things to take care of first, so it might be a while.”
That didn’t help.
“Though I promise to have you two reunited by the end of the day.”
Madison fought to maintain her composure. “That would be great, really great.” She cringed a little when she said it. It sounded false and ingratiating, but Paul didn’t seem to notice. “Just as long as you’re sure you can pull it off without raising suspicion.”
Paul lifted a brow, and Madison fell silent. Not once since she’d known him had he ever had a problem getting what he wanted.
Madison rubbed her fingers over the burn scar on the inside of her arm. There was a new scar just above it, from where the tracker had been torn from her flesh. Whoever had done it had clumsily stitched her up again. So by the time Paul had found her, an infection was setting in. Luckily, Paul knew his way around such things and got her cleaned up and restitched. He must’ve done a good job, since all her various wounds seemed to be healing a lot faster than her ankle was.
The tracker had wound up next to a body so ravaged by coyotes that everyone had at first mistaken it for hers. Apparently, Layla, Tommy, Aster, and Ryan had been out looking for her. How funny it would be when she managed to track them down first.
“You going to be okay, staying here alone?”
Madison struggled to a sitting position, making it appear so much harder, and much more painful, than it actually was.
“I’ll be fine.” She spoke through gritted teeth. “But maybe you can give me another pill?”
Paul rubbed at his chin, looking conflicted. “They’re highly addictive.”
Madison groaned. “Fine, then. Leave me alone
for hours on end with nothing to do but think about how much pain I’m in so I can relive all the terrible things I’ve been through.”
Without a word, he brought her two tablets and a tall glass of water. “Four hours between these. No sooner.”
“You’re going to be gone that long?”
Where the hell were they?
“Probably not,” he said. “But just in case.”
She placed the tablet onto her tongue and went through the motions of pretending to swallow.
When he finally grabbed his laptop, pocketed his keys, and headed out the front door, Madison reached for her crutches and rushed toward the window, where she watched through the curtains as the tires crunched over the gravel and the car backed down the drive. Once he’d pulled onto the unpaved road and driven out of sight, Madison hurriedly changed into one of the disguises Paul had brought along in the event they needed to go out in public.
With her wig adjusted and makeup in place, Madison stood before a mirror and searched her reflection. She had no idea if it would work, but she was committed to trying.
She made for the safe and punched in the code. All that time pretending to sleep had paid off. Paul grew careless when he assumed no one was watching, making the combination easy to crack. Inside, just as she’d hoped, she found an envelope stuffed thick with cash, the key to the old Jeep he used for local errands and stored in the shed, a burner phone, and a gun.
She reached for the pistol and curled her fingers around the grip. The weapon felt big, weighty, but reassuring all the same. She lifted her arm, aimed the barrel toward the opposite wall, and feigned pulling the trigger. Thanks to Paul’s training, she was more than capable of handling it. Madison was far more adept than most people realized when it came to such things.
She was just securing the money and gun into her bag when she noticed a plastic ID card hidden under a stack of fake passports.
It was from West Virginia, and at first she wondered if it might be her own, or even Paul’s.
But as soon as she flipped it over and saw the face and name labeled on the front, she had all the proof she needed to know she’d been right all along. Paul had been lying when he claimed he didn’t know the first thing about the man he’d murdered.
Madison studied the man’s face and realized she’d never really forgotten him. What memory—perhaps in an effort to protect her—had relegated to a blur, was now staring right back at her.
This was the man who’d found her in the middle of Death Valley.
The one who’d dragged her back to his shack and tried to assault her, until Paul came along and planted a bullet in the side of his head.
Even on his ID, he looked dodgy, seedy, and yet vaguely familiar.
Although she didn’t recognize the name, she knew better than to pretend the West Virginia ID was a coincidence.
Now more than ever she was convinced that everything that’d happened to her was directly related to what had gone down one decade before.
The past never really stayed buried.
And now hers was rising up to haunt her.
After memorizing the face and corresponding stats, she carefully placed the ID in the center of the safe, so Paul would know without question that Madison was onto him.
She struggled to her feet and took a few tentative steps. Her ankle was tender, but she was determined to manage without any sort of crutch, literal or figurative. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she limped out the front door, more than ready to reenter the world.
EIGHT
LONG ROAD OUT OF EDEN
Layla pulled into the parking lot, slipped free of her car, and searched for Trena’s dark red Lexus coupe as she found her way to the entrance of Lake Shrine. She’d made a point to arrive early, thinking it might give her the upper hand, or at least help to restore some of the confidence she’d recently lost.
From the moment she’d woken from her nap, she was inundated with texts, emails, and voice messages. It seemed every major news outlet had gotten wind of her blog post and wanted an interview.
Wearily, she deleted them all and gave her father strict instructions to hang up on anyone who dared to call and ask about it.
Trena’s was the only call she’d returned, though she still wasn’t sure why, other than the fact that she and Trena shared a connection. They’d met the first day Madison was presumed missing, and as much as Layla had grown to distrust and resent Trena, there was a time, not long ago, when Layla had believed in, and even admired her.
Now she viewed Trena as yet another morally ambiguous sellout in a city that specialized in them.
Still, Layla was smart enough to know when she was in over her head. She hoped Trena could help her make sense of the mess she’d found herself in.
Layla walked along the sun-dappled pathway. With the swan-filled lake on one side, and a fragrant garden tangled with blooms on the other, she took in the golden lotus archway, the houseboat, the statue of Krishna playing his flute, and the sarcophagus said to contain Gandhi’s ashes, and made her way past the windmill to the small, quiet cove with low marble benches.
As a kid, she’d visited frequently with her dad, but years had passed since she’d last made the trip. It was the perfect spot to meet, one of the few places in LA she could count on to remain paparazzi free.
“Well, this is unexpected.”
Layla’s heart sank when she saw that Trena had arrived early. Then again, Trena was always one step ahead. Resigned to the situation, Layla claimed the opposite bench.
“What surprises you most, the location or my willingness to meet?” Layla asked.
“Wasn’t sure you’d show.” A slight breeze kicked up and Layla watched as Trena lifted a hand in an attempt to keep her wild mane of bronze curls from blowing into her face.
“Why? Because you implicated me in a crime I didn’t commit?” Layla was tired, but not too tired to call her out. But again, Trena was a pro and took the harsh words in stride.
“How you holding up?” She studied Layla with concern.
Layla sighed. There was no point in pretending she was any better off than she was. “I watched your show last night.”
Trena arched a perfectly groomed brow. “You and a million other people.” Though the words reeked of smug self-satisfaction, the delivery was the opposite. Trena was merely stating a fact.
“How’d you get ahold of Madison’s birth certificate?” Layla figured Trena would hedge on the answer.
“My source came through.” Trena lifted her slim shoulders and crossed her legs at the knee. “How’d you get ahold of Madison’s diary? Or at least I hope that’s her diary, because if not . . .” She left the sentence unfinished. When Layla didn’t take the bait, Trena said, “Last time we met, you asked about libel laws. I’m guessing that’s why?”
Layla gave a quick nod and waited for a hand-holding couple to move well out of earshot. Maybe she’d made a mistake choosing such a public place to meet?
Sensing Layla’s concern, Trena leaned toward her and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I guess your post means you’ve determined it is in fact Madison’s?”
Layla screwed her eyes shut and slowly shook her head. When she opened them, she said, “My blog was hacked.” One look at Trena’s sardonic smirk was all it took for Layla to know her words had not landed the way she’d intended. “I mean, yeah. Obviously, the post was mine. I wrote the opening. Only I left it in my draft folder. I guess someone got tired of waiting.”
“Who got tired?” Trena’s voice took on a confessional tone.
“I don’t know. I don’t have a clue who’s behind this. Some anonymous person has been sending me packages that contain stuff about Madison, mainly diary entries, and they always include a threatening note.”
“What kind of threats?” The cautious look on Trena’s face made Layla wonder if she knew more than she was letting on.
Layla shrugged. “Some that came true.” She focused on the shiny Cartier watch encirc
ling Trena’s wrist. A recent upgrade from the Timex she’d once worn.
Trena caught Layla looking and flashed the diamond bezel in a way that caused the stones to catch the light and glint. “A gift from my producer,” she said. “One of the perks of bringing in the highest ratings in the network’s history.”
“Guess your producer owes us all a watch then. Seeing as how you couldn’t have told the story without the access we gave you.”
Layla shot Trena a look that dared her to refute it, but Trena didn’t so much as flinch. She just smiled seamlessly and said, “For the record, you’re not the only one who’s received threatening notes. It’s why I was with Larsen the night you were arrested. I wanted there to be a record in case I went missing. I think you know how the night unraveled from there.”
“Any suspects? Regarding the sender, I mean.”
Trena bit her lip in a way that seemed false. Like she was trying to appear conflicted, when in fact, she felt just the opposite. “At first I thought it might be James.” She worked her lip and paused. “You know, the bouncer at Night for Night?”
“And now?” Layla prompted, striving to keep her face free of suspicion. No point in letting Trena know she doubted her story.
Trena adopted a faraway gaze. Lifting her shoulders, she said, “Why don’t you delete the blog post?”
“It’s a little late, don’t you think?”
“So what’re you going to do?”
Layla sighed. “Whatever they tell me to.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“I can’t even tell you how many death threats I’ve received. I feel unsafe just sitting here now.”
“Some people are immune to facts,” Trena said. “No matter what kind of proof you show them, they’ll always default to their personal paranoia and bias. But while your fear is understandable, make no mistake: this is exactly the moment you decide who you’re going to be. When your back’s against the wall, that’s when you discover what you’re really made of.”