Blacklist

by Alyson Noel

  “Is this about Madison?” Trena sensed it was, but she needed Layla to confirm it.

  Layla hesitated, but ultimately conceded a nod.

  “Well, Madison’s a public figure, so . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get that.” Layla waved her hand impatiently. “What I meant was, what if someone posted something like a piece of writing or something they attributed to Madison? But then later, it turned out they’d been tricked and that it wasn’t from Madison at all. Could that be considered libel?”

  So this was why she was acting so jumpy when she first arrived—she was haunted, afraid someone was setting her up. After what had happened to Aster, Layla had good reason to be paranoid. Whoever was behind all this had considerable reach.

  Trena leaned back in her seat and pretended to put serious thought to the dilemma. “If I knew about your situation, then I might be of more help.”

  Layla clamped her lips shut, as though forcing herself to keep from saying something she feared she’d only live to regret. Though the way she pulled her purse onto her lap and toyed with the strap hinted at a deeper desire to reveal whatever she was hiding in there.

  Trena sat across from her, silently willing her to hand over the goods, when the next thing she knew, Layla clutched the bag to her chest and shot up from the table.

  “I gotta go,” she said, voice edged with panic.

  Trena forced herself to remain calm. “Sure you can’t stay?”

  Layla shook her head and shifted her weight from foot to foot as though she couldn’t get out of there quickly enough.

  “Okay. Well, call me if you need anything.” Trena kept her tone cool and her expression cooler. “You know I’m here for you.”

  Layla nodded distractedly, looked all around, and bolted past the hostess stand and out the front door.

  A moment later, Trena tossed a handful of bills onto the table and slipped out behind her.

  Careful to keep a few car lengths between them, she followed Layla all the way to Aster’s building, where she parked outside and debated what to do.

  Layla knew something, something that maybe Trena could use. But at the moment, the girl was too paranoid to confide anything, leaving Trena no choice but to follow Layla and keep her under surveillance until Trena found a way to regain Layla’s trust.

  She adjusted her seat and prepared to settle in. There was no telling how long it might take. Lowering her window in search of fresh air, she was instantly slammed by a blast of heat so intense it was like sitting in a dry sauna. She was tempted to put it back up and rely on the air conditioner instead, but with less than a quarter tank of gas to spare, she had no choice but to make peace with the sweat.

  But it’s a dry heat! the locals liked to say. All Trena knew was that the thought of sitting in a car for an interminable amount of time on a triple-digit day was a miserable fate either way.

  Her belly grumbled, and Trena cursed herself for not grabbing a bite at the restaurant while she’d had the chance. Who knew how long she’d be forced to sit in her car, waiting for Layla to emerge?

  She popped open the glove box in search of an energy bar, a bag of M&M’s, something to tide her over so she wouldn’t faint from starvation. Spying an almond biscotti she’d picked up at Starbucks a week earlier, she tore open the wrapper and popped a small broken piece into her mouth. It was stale, and she couldn’t help cringing a little as her teeth crushed against it. She was seriously considering spitting it out when she noticed what looked to be an unmarked police car parked on the opposite side of the street.

  Forcing down the biscotti with a sip from the bottle of water she always kept on hand, Trena leaned out the window, lifted her shades, and squinted into the sun. Her gaze widened in surprise when she saw it was Detective Larsen slumped behind the wheel of the unmarked car, his gaze fixed on Aster’s building.

  TWENTY

  I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER

  “It’s official, I have a stalker.” Layla dropped dramatically onto the couch and glanced between Aster, Ryan, and Aster’s little brother, Javen, who was hunched over a computer, typing furiously while Aster and Ryan anxiously looked on from their place on the couch. “Someone left a note on my car threatening my well-being if I don’t post Madison’s diary entries on my blog.”

  “So why don’t you?” Ryan asked.

  Layla shrugged. “Because they’re only interesting if they really are written by Madison. And even then, they’re only interesting because they reveal a side of her no one has seen.”

  “Sounds like reason enough to me,” Aster said, never once taking her eyes off her brother.

  Layla pushed away from the couch and headed for the window, wondering why she hadn’t shared her suspicions that Emerson might somehow be involved. “I guess I just feel like I need more proof,” she said, musing on how the statement applied equally to both her suspicions about her coworker and the diary entries. She needed more proof. They all did. They had plenty of bits and pieces, but nothing concrete, nothing real to go on. “If I just randomly publish them without revealing who wrote them, no one will care. If I claim they’re from Madison’s diary and it turns out they’re not, then I can be sued for libel, which I really don’t need.”

  “Maybe you should consult Trena?” Ryan ventured. “You know, get some feedback on the best way to handle it.”

  Layla made a considering face, but it was mostly for their benefit. “Journalists can get kind of competitive, and I’m not sure I trust her,” she said, deciding not to tell them about their meeting, and how she wasn’t questioning just Trena, but also the company she kept. It was probably just a coincidence that Trena’s assistant reminded her of someone she’d seen at the Unrivaled interviews, except Layla didn’t believe in coincidence, and as a journalist, she’d learned to rely on her instincts.

  “I’m not sure you should trust anyone.” Aster shot Layla a look she couldn’t quite read. Though if she had to guess, she’d say there was something deeply suspicious lurking behind it.

  “What exactly are you getting at?” Layla asked, figuring she might as well put it out there. She had enough games in her life. She didn’t have the patience to take on another.

  Aster and Ryan exchanged a meaningful glance before Aster stretched her long bare legs before her, flexed her ankles, and said, “I guess I’m just wondering why your dad’s artwork is all over the building I woke up in that morning.”

  “You found the building?” Layla looked from Aster to Ryan, wondering why they hadn’t bothered to mention it until now. This was big news—really big, in fact.

  “Don’t change the subject,” Aster snapped.

  “But . . . that is the subject.” Layla frowned, not getting what Aster was suddenly so worked up about.

  “Just answer the question!” Aster was agitated, and when Ryan tried to calm her by placing his hand over hers, she promptly snatched hers away and focused on where her brother was working in the corner.

  “Listen, I don’t know what this is about.” Layla spoke carefully, afraid of setting her off and inciting a meltdown. “Actually, let me rephrase that. I do know what you’re getting at. And before we both say things we cannot take back, let me assure you that my dad is a well-known artist. Which means his artwork hangs in many spaces, both private and public, throughout the city and beyond. So, if you saw his work somewhere, that doesn’t mean—”

  “Two pieces. I saw two pieces in the same building!” Aster narrowed her eyes on Layla’s. “That seems a little excessive, don’t you think?”

  “Not really, no.” Layla struggled to not take offense, which was virtually impossible with Aster seeming to imply that Layla somehow had something to do with setting Aster up. Or was she implying her dad was at fault? Either way, it was crazy, mind-boggling proof that Aster was seriously starting to lose it.

  “And there was a hole in one of the paintings.”

  Layla wondered if she looked as incredulous on the outside as she felt on the inside. “We
ll, I can assure you that I’d never do that. It’s like book burning—it’s unholy, sacrilegious.”

  Ryan shook his head at Aster before turning to Layla with an apologetic look. “Listen, I think we’re all a little on edge here. So . . .” He frowned as Aster sprang from the couch and went to check on her brother.

  “Did you find anything?” Aster’s tone was impatient, her body jumpy and restless.

  “Maybe.” Javen stopped typing and swiveled around to face her, and once again Layla was struck by how much he resembled his sister. He might even be the slightest bit prettier, as impossible as that seemed.

  “Don’t mess with me, Javen.” Aster thrust a hand on her hip. “This is important. My life is at stake.”

  “But why is it important?” His dark, long-lashed eyes flashed on hers. “Why should this place possibly matter? How exactly does it fit in?”

  Aster looked away. Her expression completely shut down in a way Layla found frustrating. If she didn’t want to tell her little brother, so be it. But why wouldn’t she at least confide in her lawyers? Why did she continue acting so stubborn, insisting on doing things her way, which as far as Layla was concerned, was veering more and more toward the wrong way?

  Well, if Aster wouldn’t tell anyone, then maybe Layla would. With the way she’d acted so nice and ingratiating, as opposed to her usual, hurried, superior self, Trena was clearly desperate for info. Layla fingered her phone, tempted by the idea of setting up another meeting just as soon as she left.

  “Is this where you spent the night when you came home that morning wearing some guy’s clothes?” Javen looked as though he already knew the answer; he was just willing his sister to show a little faith and confirm it.

  Aster glared. “Are we really doing this? Are you really going to play me when I’m this desperate? What do you want this time—the keys to my car? Because you can’t have it—it’s been impounded.”

  “I don’t want anything.” Javen spoke quietly, though he didn’t seem particularly stunned by the comment. Layla could only imagine what it must’ve been like to grow up in Aster’s shadow. “I’m just wondering why I’m seeing footage of you entering that apartment.”

  “Wait—what?” In a flash, Aster was practically on top of him and grasping at the computer, but Javen was quicker and slammed the lid shut.

  “I have answers,” he said. “But first I have questions.” He guarded the laptop in his arms as Aster stood shaking and furious before him. “As a reminder, hacking is illegal. Just because the feed was particularly easy to hack into doesn’t mean I can’t get in serious trouble for the things you’re asking me to do.”

  Layla watched as Aster visibly softened, but only a little.

  “Fine,” she finally relented. “I was there. Obviously, I was there. Question is, who was there with me?”

  Javen studied her for a long moment. “I only saw them from behind.”

  Aster stood before him, holding her breath.

  “But from the long hair and clothes, it looks like a girl. And just so you know, the apartment was secured in your name.”

  Aster wobbled precariously, looking as though she might faint. In an instant, Ryan shot away from the couch and appeared right beside her, though Aster was quick to recover and push him away.

  “I’m all right,” she snapped. And then to Javen, she said, “I need to see that. I need to see everything.”

  Without a word, Javen propped open the lid and walked them through the hallway’s surveillance video, which showed Aster weaving down the hall, hanging on to someone shorter, with long brown hair. When they reached the room, the girl sank a hand into Aster’s purse, procured the key fob, and let them both in.

  “I don’t get it,” she said. “There are witnesses who swear they saw me get into a car with some unidentified guy. No one ever mentioned a girl. And why was the key fob in my purse? Until that moment, I’d never been there before.”

  “Maybe she was waiting inside the car and no one saw her, or maybe she met up with you at the building. As for the key fob, she probably slipped it in there on purpose, knowing the surveillance video would make it look like you rented the place. Not to mention, did you ever actually finish watching the video?” Layla asked, causing Aster to whirl on her in anger, as a knowing look crossed Javen’s face.

  “No,” Aster finally admitted.

  “Well, maybe you should.” Layla refused to be deterred. “Maybe it’s not at all what you think.”

  “So, you’re saying I ditched Ryan at the club so I could go back to my secret luxury love nest—a place so secret I didn’t even know about it—so I could hook up with some chick with long brown hair wearing Rag & Bone skinny jeans?”

  “You can tell the designer from that?” Layla pointed at the screen. She knew it was unimportant, but in a strange way, it was undoubtedly impressive. Aster was like a fashion detective.

  Aster stood before them, her fingers nervously working the gold-and-diamond hamsa pendant that hung from her neck.

  “Keep watching.” Javen fast-forwarded for a bit, before hitting the play button again. A moment later, they watched the girl leave, her head dipped in a way that made it impossible to make out her face. According to the time stamp, about fourteen minutes had passed.

  “So, it was a quickie then.” Aster sank to the floor and dropped her head in her hands.

  “Is anyone thinking what I’m thinking?” Layla glanced at each of them. “That maybe the girl was Madison?”

  Aster groaned, Ryan looked intrigued, and Javen just shrugged.

  “I know it sounds like a stretch, but Ryan, you said yourself that Madison talked about hiding out for a while. You also mentioned that she went a little overboard with your staged public breakup. So what if she planned this whole thing? What if she’s hiding out somewhere on some white-sand tropical beach, laughing at all of us? What if she’s just trying to punish Aster for a bit, before she resurfaces and reclaims her spot as the world’s most loved celebrity, thereby getting Aster off the hook for her murder?”

  “That’s insane,” Aster said, though her face seemed to question the possibility. “I mean, it is insane, right? Because as much as I want to believe it, wouldn’t that make Madison a total sociopath?”

  Layla shrugged. “Vindictive, yes. But a psychopath? Not necessarily.”

  “But what about the blood?” Aster asked.

  “And the dress,” Ryan said.

  “I can continue watching the footage, and I’ll let you know if I see anyone else coming or going,” Javen said. “But there’s no telling how long that might take. I do have school, you know. Not to mention, Mom and Dad and Nanny Mitra are breathing down my neck, sure that I’m sneaking out to come here, despite their strictest orders to steer clear. As if.” He rolled his eyes, prompting Aster to laugh, but only for a second before her face fell serious again.

  “Okay,” Ryan said. “So far we know that someone rented the apartment in Aster’s name, someone drugged Aster, and someone led Aster to the apartment, where they spent fourteen minutes and change—”

  “Which is long enough for them to have convinced you to do a striptease, put you to bed, and messed up the room to make it look like a wild party occurred,” Layla finished.

  “So what do we do now?” Aster’s shoulders sank in exhaustion. “Or, more accurately, how do we find Madison? How do we convince people that she really is alive?”

  “Listen,” Layla said. “This all makes perfect sense and I know I’m the one who brought it up, but what about the diary entries? Why would Madison send us those and threaten me to post them? They make her look kind of awful and expose all her lies.”

  “Who said Madison’s behind that?” Ryan said. “Maybe it’s just a Madison hater being opportunistic.”

  “Like they’re sick of her being hailed as a saint, and they want the public to know who this chick really was.” Javen nodded assuredly, as though he’d just solved the case.

  “So they’re parallel c
rimes, but not necessarily connected?” Aster took a moment to consider it.

  “Well, I know what I’m going to do,” Layla said, taking a moment to review the plan in her head before she divulged it. “I’m going to issue a challenge on my blog and see where it leads. It’s the only way I can think of to communicate, since my stalker always seems to know exactly where to find me, but I have no idea where to begin looking for them. Mind if I borrow that computer?”

  Javen passed the laptop to Layla, who quickly logged in and posted a brief message on her blog.

  BEAUTIFUL IDOLS

  The Tail Tale of the Not-So-Curious Cat

  If you want the cat to play

  Then give her something juicy to say

  You’ll need to go the extra mile

  And send her something worthwhile

  Otherwise, don’t waste her time

  With your pitiful list of petty crimes.

  “What’s with the rhyme?” Aster peered over her shoulder.

  “It’s our thing.” Layla cringed as she reread it. “And don’t judge. I’m a journalist, not a poet. This is the best I can do on short notice.”

  “You sure you want to post that?” Ryan’s voice was skeptical.

  “It’s already done.” Layla returned the computer to Javen. “Now we wait and see if they bite. And Aster, it’s time you watch that DVD. I’ll watch it with you, if you want. For all we know there could be a clue on there. But either way, we need to get a better idea of exactly what happened to you, once and for all.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  GUILTY FILTHY SOUL

  Aster Amirpour pulled the brim of her hat so low it nearly covered her face as she pumped the gas pedal impatiently with her foot, inching the car forward bit by bit as she waited for her parents to open the gate.

  With the crowd of paparazzi gathered outside her car, banging on the windows and shouting her name, the intervening seconds seemed to drag on for an eternity. Finally the gate slowly eased open and Aster shot forward, leaving the swarm in her wake as she sped down the drive and came to a skidding halt in front of the garage.