Blacklist

by Alyson Noel

  Without missing a beat, Javen said, “About as good as you agreeing to read the first fifty pages of The Great Gatsby, which I need to be proficient in by first period tomorrow.”

  “Just a thought . . .” Mateo shrugged, prompting Tommy to smirk, and Layla to shake her head and roll her eyes at Tommy for smirking.

  “Though I will run a search on Dalton, and let you know what I find.”

  “What about all that stuff about Paul, or P as she calls him, and their destinies being entwined because of the choices they made six years before. You think that’s just histrionic teenager talk, or do you think it’s real?” Tommy snuck a peek at Layla, feeling proud to have asked a valid question as opposed to the nonsense Mateo had come up with.

  “I think there could be something to it,” Layla said, checking her laptop again. “Six years before the time the entry was written puts Madison at age eight. Same age she was when her house burned down and she lost her parents. Do you think she had something to do with it?”

  “You mean like, she murdered her own parents as a child and an adult helped her cover the crime—is that what you’re saying?” Ryan looked appalled, and while Tommy agreed it was indeed appalling, they should at least take a moment to consider it.

  “She writes that he put his life on the line, that he knows all her secrets.” Layla frowned. “What else could it mean?”

  “Maybe it was an accident,” Aster said. “Maybe she was playing with matches or something and the next thing she knew her house was in flames.”

  “Maybe,” Tommy conceded. “But is that really worth working so hard to bury and invent an entirely new past for yourself?”

  “Maybe it was the only way she could adjust. Maybe—”

  “I’m hearing a whole lot of maybes,” Mateo interjected.

  “Just trying to build a theory, bro.” Tommy scowled.

  “Well, maybe,” Layla emphasized the word, “Mateo is right. And maybe it’s better if we stick with the facts that we know, which are that Paul helped Madison out of a jam when she was eight, and their lives have been entwined ever since.”

  Mateo nodded, seemingly pleased. Tommy nodded too, but only because he knew Layla was annoyed with him.

  They all fell quiet for a moment until Javen piped up. “If anyone’s up for a little road trip, I think I just found our first real lead.” He wagged his eyebrows and grinned, as Aster bounced from the couch and went to stand beside him. “Turns out, Paul kept a cabin. A rather remote cabin, way out in Joshua Tree.”

  Aster pumped her foot against the rug, making a dull thumping sound. “Are you sure? Because that just seems so unlikely. It’s just such a hipster, whiskey-swilling, spiritual-seeking, boho-chic getaway . . . and from what we know about Paul, he doesn’t seem like the type to hang in a place like that.” Her skeptical tone matched her expression.

  “But what do we really know about Paul?” Tommy came to rest on the arm of the couch. “The guy’s a fixer, which probably makes him a little scary to deal with, but does that also mean he lacks appreciation for deeper meditation on the meaning of life or even the occasional whiskey shot?”

  Layla rolled her eyes, which wasn’t exactly the reaction Tommy was after. Then she turned to everyone else and said, “Does anyone have a picture of Paul, so we can at least know who we’re looking for?” A second later, Ryan whipped out his phone and passed it around. By the time it reached Layla, she gasped. “Oh my God, I know him.”

  The room fell silent, as five heads swiveled toward her, waiting for her to explain.

  “He’s the one who served me the restraining order that Madison filed against me.”

  “Are you sure?” Mateo’s voice was just caring enough, and just gentle enough, to make Tommy seethe.

  “Definitely.” Layla continued to study the picture. “I mean, he’s so beige he’s easy to forget, and yet I have a really similar picture.” After scrolling through the pics on her phone, she held it up beside Ryan’s. “Tell me this isn’t the same guy.”

  “Where’d you get that?” Ryan leaned closer, taking a moment to study the pic.

  Layla paused a beat before saying, “Heather.” Her gaze settled on Mateo when she said, “She used to feed me pics for my blog. It’s a little arrangement we had. She told me to send myself whatever I wanted. She had tons of pics of Madison too, which I found kind of weird. She seemed a little obsessed with her.”

  Ryan nodded. “Mad couldn’t stand her. Said they used to be friends, but then Heather freaked out and started acting really jealous when Madison hit it big. She copied everything Madison did. It drove her crazy.”

  “Do you think Heather has something to do with this?” Aster’s eyes went wide, but Mateo was quick to dissuade her.

  “Heather’s a little intense,” he said. “And she’s definitely ambitious, but I hardly think she’d take Madison down in hopes of taking her place, which is what you all seem to be implying.”

  “It does sound a little too much like a Dateline special,” Aster conceded.

  “Which are all based on true crime stories,” Tommy pointed out, more than willing to throw Heather under the bus, at least temporarily, if for no other reason than her connection to Mateo. Guilt by association, as they say.

  “Point is”—Layla looked directly at him—“Heather is competitive as hell, and more than a little conniving, but I’m pretty sure it ends there. Seriously, forget I even mentioned it. We can’t afford to get sidetracked.”

  “So, if Paul served you those papers, does that mean the restraining order was faked, since he’s not really a lawyer—at least not that we know of?” Mateo asked.

  Layla shook her head. “Unfortunately, Detective Larsen was all too aware of it, which means Paul could’ve been acting as a process server. Lots of law firms use PIs for stuff like that.”

  “So, where does this leave us?” Aster asked.

  “Taking a field trip to Joshua Tree?” Tommy ventured, hoping Mateo would have the good sense to stay behind. No one liked a fifth wheel.

  Aster checked her watch, then stood and stretched her arms high overhead. “What is that, like a two-hour drive?”

  “Two and a half,” Javen said. “I’m printing the address along with a map. Pretty sure this place is way off the grid, so your GPS may not recognize it.”

  Aster moved around the apartment, collecting her keys and bag, preparing to leave.

  “One more thing,” Javen said, his voice adopting a high, worried pitch. “I found a weird code on one of those papers you gave me last time I helped you.”

  Aster impatiently jangled her keys in her hand. “Go on.”

  “It was a series of numbers, like a bar code or something. It was the only thing on it, and I didn’t know what it was, so I decided to run a search on it.”

  “And . . .”

  Javen swallowed, his big brown eyes moving among them, and said, “It’s a tracker.”

  Aster waited for him to continue.

  “Madison had a tracking device, a microchip implant.”

  “Like . . . the kind you put in your dog in case it gets lost?”

  Javen nodded. “It’s not as uncommon as you think, or at least not among the super rich, the super famous, the super powerful, and other super people who receive lots of death threats.”

  “Did Madison get a lot of death threats?” Layla asked.

  “Fame attracts haters, and Madison had more than her share,” Ryan told her.

  “Did you know about the tracker?” Aster turned to Ryan, but he just shrugged.

  “I had no idea. And I never saw any sort of weird markings or scars . . . other than that burn scar on her arm, but she got that from the fire. Or at least that’s what she claims. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

  “Well, we know the house burned down, so there’s a good chance the scar really is a result of that event,” Tommy said. “But maybe it’s also where they decided to hide the tracking device, you know, in order to conceal it better.�
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  “Why would Madison even have a tracking device unless she was worried about this exact sort of thing happening?” Aster asked. “Could it just be because she’s famous—or is it connected to whatever the Ghost covered up in her past?”

  “More importantly,” Layla said, “if Madison has a tracking device, and Paul knows about it, then why hasn’t he found her by now? Why is she still missing? Is it no longer working? Are they both in on her fake disappearance? Or is she really in danger and her kidnapper, who may or may not be Paul, ripped it out of her?”

  The room fell silent as the question hung heavy between them.

  “I’m really starting to think the Ghost is behind all this,” Tommy said.

  “But why would he go after her?” Mateo asked. “Why now?”

  “Who knows why people do what they do?” Aster frowned.

  “While I can’t answer any of that, I can tell you that the tracker is, in fact, still working,” Javen said. “There are different kinds, but this particular one charges whenever it’s in a Wi-Fi zone. And if I’m not mistaken, it’s transmitting a signal at this very moment somewhere near the Joshua Tree address I just printed for you. I think we should hurry.”

  “Oh, no.” Aster plucked the address from the printer and shoved it into her oversize bag. “While I appreciate all you’ve done so far, there’s no we in this scenario. Your next destination is back to Beverly Hills before Mom and Dad implant a tracker in you.” Javen started to protest, but Aster quickly shot him down. “Seriously, Javen. Go home and read The Great Gatsby so you don’t get kicked out of school and end up a delinquent like me.”

  He crossed his arms and glared, but after a moment he relented. “Fine.” He sighed. “But you’ll need to call me when you get there, so I can lead you right to it.”

  “And how will you do that?”

  “I’ll track your whereabouts through the location device on your phone.”

  Aster shook her head and swooped in to hug him. “What would I do without my computer whiz of a baby brother?” She squeezed him until he laughingly pleaded for mercy and worked himself free.

  Mateo was the only one who remained on the couch, wearing a skeptical face. “Uh, don’t you guys think we should maybe call the cops and tell ’em what we know?”

  He’d barely finished the thought when everyone turned and shouted, “No!”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Layla said, trying to soften the blow, which annoyed Tommy to no end. Why did she insist on putting baby bumpers around him? If Mateo couldn’t handle the sharp edges, then clearly he should leave.

  Aster stood before Mateo and said, “My trial is less than a month away. My attorneys aren’t all that forthcoming with their strategy, and I can only assume it’s because they don’t actually have one. It’s on me to figure this out, but so far, there’s not much to go on—nothing that will hold up in court, anyway. I’m pretty sure I lost my necklace—my easily identifiable necklace—at what has now become a crime scene. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the blood-collecting kit I found at that same crime scene is probably reduced to a pile of melted plastic by now, thanks to the explosion and resulting fire that took place just after we left. I know you mean well, and you’re eager to do the right thing, but as you can see, with my future looking so bleak, I can’t possibly call the very people who are actively prosecuting me, and expect them to help me.”

  Tommy was awestruck. He couldn’t have delivered it better.

  Mateo responded by flashing his palms in surrender and following them all out the door. “Listen,” he said, “I think I’m going to sit this one out.”

  Tommy grinned. The news had never been sweeter.

  “I have a dinner meeting I can’t miss, and there’s no way I can go all the way out there and do . . . whatever you plan to do, and make it back in time.”

  “And Heather?” Tommy fixed his gaze on Mateo’s. “Will she be at your dinner meeting?”

  Mateo raised a brow.

  Tommy shrugged and looked to Layla just in time to catch her narrowing her eyes and frowning at him.

  While he didn’t exactly enjoy being on the receiving end of her judgmental look, in the end, his point was made. Mateo was missing the field trip so he could hang out with Heather. He figured Layla could use the reminder.

  “Oh, and I think we should take two cars,” Aster said, ushering everyone to the elevator bank. “Just in case, you know?”

  “In case what?” Layla squinted.

  “In case you two change your mind.” Aster shot them each a pointed look, and Tommy made no move to argue. A couple of hours alone in the car with Layla was something he looked forward to.

  THIRTY-SIX

  EVIL WAYS

  Breaking News: Office Park Explosion Possibly Linked to the Disappearance of Madison Brooks?

  By Trena Moretti

  Two firefighters were injured when a five-alarm fire tore through the Acacia Office Park in West Hollywood early Sunday morning, according to fire officials.

  Though details of the firefighters’ injuries were not readily available, sources tell us both were taken to Cedars-Sinai hospital, where they’re expected to make a full recovery.

  The fire broke out shortly after 1:25 a.m., caused by a series of explosions that tore through the building’s first and second floors.

  According to authorities, an anonymous call was made to 911 at one a.m. to report an alarm sounding. When first responders arrived on the scene, they found no signs of smoke or flames. It was only upon checking the premises that the explosions occurred and quickly ripped through the building.

  An abandoned car was discovered in the adjacent parking lot, and though there’s no official word from LAPD, an insider tells us the car is thought to belong to missing celebrity Madison Brooks.

  Madison Brooks went missing in July, and authorities have been searching for her car ever since. Night for Night club promoter Aster Amirpour has been charged with Madison’s murder and was recently released on bail while she awaits trial for first-degree murder.

  We’ve also learned that a witness has come forward who claims to have seen two people running from the building shortly before the explosion. Though the witness was unable to identify the suspects’ age or sex, authorities are asking anyone with information regarding their identities to please come forward.

  We’ll have more as this story develops.

  Trena Moretti posted her story and sipped her chai tea in disturbed silence. There was nothing new there—nothing that hadn’t already been previously reported or at the very least hinted at. And the last bit about Aster left Trena feeling unsettled. It seemed to imply the girl was somehow involved, when Trena’s only intent had been to relay the facts as she knew them.

  And yet, there was no denying that Aster’s recent release overlapping with suspected arson and the discovery of Madison’s car wouldn’t be viewed as coincidence by most. Though what Trena had failed to include, as she was still awaiting confirmation, was that the fire had originated in an office occupied by a private detective who was directly linked to Madison.

  Clearly someone was out to frame Aster Amirpour, but Trena was no closer to guessing who that might be. And while Priya assured her she was close to pinning down exactly where Madison had been during the time between losing her parents and moving to Connecticut, she’d yet to provide anything useful. Was it possible the girl was leading her on? One thing was sure, if Priya didn’t produce something soon, Trena would have no qualms about firing her.

  She reached for her phone and purposefully scrolled through her contacts. Maybe she should call Layla and see what she knew. Trena had spotted her briefly at Ira’s tequila launch, though Layla had disappeared long before Trena had a chance to approach her. And at the time, Trena had been too busy flirting with James to care.

  James. What was his part in all this? Trena was sure that he had one. Hell, that was why she went after him in the first place—or at least it was one of th
e reasons. Though after the events of the morning, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d gotten in too deep. The look he’d given her—the way his fingers had circled her throat, demonstrating just how easily he could crush the life out of her with one single squeeze—had left her deeply regretting her rush to get involved with him.

  She polished off her tea and made for the shower, eager to wash away the dark thoughts and the film of sweat covering her body courtesy of her daily six-mile run.

  After stepping out of her tank top and shorts, she turned on the taps and ducked under the luxurious rain showerhead, which had the seemingly magical ability to instantly quiet her mind and send her troubles shooting straight down the drain.

  Her eyes shut tightly against the spray, she was blindly reaching for her shower gel and sponge when she heard a noise that seemed to be emanating from the kitchen.

  Only that was impossible. She always locked the front door without fail. Having grown up in a crime-ridden neighborhood, she’d learned that lesson early on. Also, for the entire month of August she’d kept all the windows closed, favoring the cool relief of the air conditioner over the blistering LA heat.

  When she heard the scuffling sound again, she shut the taps and stood naked and shivering with her ear cocked toward the door. Finally convincing herself she’d imagined it, she went about sudsing her body, when the sound was repeated.

  She yanked a towel from its hook, wrapped it tightly around her, and crept toward the kitchen. She told herself it was nothing—that the morning had left her paranoid and imagining things—that her only immediate problem was the soap she was dripping all over the rug.

  Until she stood in the doorway of her kitchen and gaped in horror at the sight of a large black cat sitting on the counter beside her computer, its front legs heavily bandaged.

  Trena glanced around the small space, ensuring no one was there, before she approached the unhappy cat, which hissed and swiped at her as she struggled to remove the small note that hung from its neck: