Blacklist

by Alyson Noel

  He met Layla’s eye and they exchanged a worried look. He was just about to propose that they cut their losses and go, maybe even find a way to alert the local police, when Ryan burst through the door.

  “I think I might’ve found something,” he said. “Come on!” He led them all to a small bunker-like structure that stood a dozen yards away from the property. “Gotta belong to Paul, right? I mean, since there’s nothing else around?”

  Tommy studied it, figured Paul probably used it as a garage, or a shed, or a place to hide the bodies his celebrity clients hired him to dispose of. . . .

  He started to walk around it, check it out from all sides, when Layla leaned against him and he decided it was better to stay right where he was.

  “Guys, are you sure about this?” Layla said, her voice betraying a high level of nervousness. “I mean, what if Madison is in there, only she’s not exactly alive?” In spite of the heat, Tommy slipped a comforting arm around her, and to his relief she did nothing to stop him. “I mean, do we really want to trample all over what could possibly be viewed as a crime scene?”

  “Isn’t it a little too late to question that now?” Tommy said, though he kept his tone gentle.

  “Never too late,” Aster replied in all seriousness. “If you guys want to make a run for the car and forget this ever happened, I wouldn’t blame you. But since I don’t have that luxury . . .” Without another word she pushed at the door, but it refused to so much as budge.

  “This looks exactly like the kind of place where you’d keep a hostage.” Ryan studied the door as though looking for a weak spot, a way in. “Maybe Paul really did go rogue and this is where he’s keeping her.”

  Softly, Aster pressed against the door and called Madison’s name as they all paused to listen. “Madison? You in there?” she called again.

  “We need Javen,” Layla said. “If the tracker signal really is transmitting from here, then we need to know if it’s coming from inside. And since we can’t reach him, I’m really starting to think we should let the cops know what we’ve found and let them take it from here.”

  “Still no signal,” Aster said. “And forget about the cops. Seriously. I don’t trust Larsen. For whatever reason, he has it out for me.”

  “Pretty sure this is out of his jurisdiction,” Layla said.

  “Yeah, and as soon as he gets wind of it, he’ll find a way to manipulate the evidence and use it against me—against all of us, probably. Which leaves me no choice but to knock that door down and see what the hell Paul is hiding in there.”

  “Guys, never mind the door, I think we just found our way in.” They followed Ryan to the back of the shed, where he aimed the flashlight on a broken window. “Who wants to go first?”

  FORTY-THREE

  FIGHT SONG

  A long day of relentless desert sun had left the earth so scorched it burned straight into the soft soles of Madison’s feet.

  But that paled in comparison to what the jagged rocks and low-lying shrubs with their razor-sharp spikes had done to her legs, fiercely biting into her flesh and leaving her limbs a bloody, pulped mess.

  Madison fought to ignore the excruciating pain and focused on moving instead. Her pace was labored and slow, her breathing staggered, but as long as she could continue placing one foot in front of the other, she would put enough distance between herself and the shack that she might even start to feel safe once again.

  Somewhere in the not-so-far distance, a pack of coyotes howled. Their eerie chorus combined with the incessant chirping of crickets seemed almost maniacal, as though intended to taunt her, while things slithered at the ground under her feet. Were they snakes? Lizards? She figured it was better not to know.

  Overhead, a constellation of stars shimmered and dazzled, but there was no time to stop and admire them. It was mindless stargazing that had landed her in this mess in the first place. She wondered if, once she finally found her way out, she’d ever be able to view the night sky in the same way again.

  The moon was in its waning phase, making the shadowy landscape appear abstract, almost alien, while providing very little light in which to navigate.

  It was the perfect place to hide a cache of secrets.

  The perfect place to bury a girl.

  A small formation of boulders sprang into view, and Madison changed course and raced toward it. The rocks would provide temporary cover. A place to hide for a moment, long enough to catch her breath and regroup.

  She pushed herself faster, harder, all too aware of how vulnerable she must look—a small, lone figure left to the mercy of the environment, the weather, and predators—both animal and human.

  Her next step saw her foot coming down hard and landing all wrong, with her ankle violently twisting one way, as her body soared in the opposite direction.

  The moment she was falling seemed almost surreal, like time had purposely paused so she could fully experience the horror of what was happening to her. A shriek of pain strangled her throat, her vision blurred to a haze of searing-hot misery, as the ground rose up to meet her and she landed with a thud, curled her knees to her chest, and writhed in a moment of agony so extreme, she was sure she’d never survive it.

  How was it possible for her to have made it so far, only to render herself lame in her eagerness to flee?

  Why had a life that had once seemed to favor her turned so resolutely against her?

  Ripping her scarf from her waist, she wrapped her leg tightly and forced herself to stand.

  Forced herself to work past the screaming white throbbing and start moving again.

  The injury would slow her, but it would not, could not, stop her.

  Calling upon the same infinite reserve of strength she’d used to propel herself out of her impoverished childhood to the top of the Hollywood elite, Madison Brooks gritted her teeth and dragged herself through the night.

  FORTY-FOUR

  GANGSTA’S PARADISE

  The chime of Aster’s phone ringing was so startling it was a moment before she finally got around to answering it.

  “Aster—Aster, you there?” Javen’s voice was cutting in and out. “. . . been trying to . . . you.”

  “Hold—hold on!” Aster shouted. Exiting the empty shack, she put him on speaker so everyone could hear. “Let me find a place with more bars. . . .” She traced a wide circle, frantically searching for a spot where she’d be able to hear him. “How’s this—better? Javen, can you hear me?”

  “A little. Listen . . .”

  “What?” Aster made a face at the phone, as everyone huddled around. “Javen, can you repeat that?”

  “. . . got your location.”

  “And?”

  “. . . you need to keep moving . . . so . . .”

  “Details, Javen, and make it quick! The reception sucks. I could lose you any second.”

  “You’re going to . . . hike . . .”

  Aster stood outside the shack and looked all around. “For a second I thought you said hike.”

  “I did.”

  “But . . .” She looked around again. “There’s nothing out there.”

  “There is . . . on my screen.”

  “Sure you’re not looking at a coyote—or rather a pack of coyotes? We can hear them howling.”

  “. . . trust . . . it’s the tracker . . . weak ping . . . needs Wi-Fi from your phone . . . lead you to it . . .”

  She gazed into the dark, dreading the idea of venturing into it. Other than the wig that might or might not belong to Madison, the cabin and shack hadn’t offered anything of real use, though they had provided more than enough creep for one night. What Javen was asking her to do was unthinkable. And yet, they’d traveled all this way; there was no point in stopping until the search was complete.

  “Fine.” She sighed, resigning herself to the task. “Which way?”

  “Take a few steps . . . I’ll direct . . . there.”

  “What if I lose you again?”

  “We’ll deal .
. .”

  Aster took a step forward, and her friends instantly followed.

  “A little . . . right,” Javen said. “. . . straight.”

  “Right or straight?” Aster made a frustrated face at the phone. After several steps right and then straight, she said, “Anything?”

  “. . . still a ways . . .”

  They trudged along in formation, walking four across as their shoes audibly crunched over the dirt, kicking up great clouds of dust.

  “Closer . . .” Javen’s voice was fading, and Aster stared at her phone in dismay. She was losing bars with each step.

  “I might lose you,” she said.

  “Just keep . . . you’ll find her . . .”

  “That’s what I’m worried about,” Aster mumbled. Not finding Madison alive was beginning to seem like a real possibility. In the heat of summer, everything in the desert looked like death—smelled like death. She prayed they wouldn’t discover Madison as another piece of that decaying landscape.

  “Oh my God—did you guys see that?” Layla said, at the same time Aster’s bars disappeared and she lost her connection with Javen.

  Aster followed the arc of Layla’s pointing finger, but all she could make out were rocks, shrubs, cactus, and darkness, more darkness, always darkness, all of it unfolding to the soundtrack of howling coyotes on the prowl.

  “I saw something running!”

  “Something or someone?” Ryan asked, his voice gone suddenly tense.

  “There it is again! Straight ahead! Did you guys see it?” Layla had picked up the pace and was heading right toward it, as Tommy cursed under his breath and followed.

  Aster desperately tried to reach Javen again, but the connection was lost. He’d told her to forge straight ahead, or at least that was what she thought he’d said, and since that was more or less the direction Layla was headed, she figured they must be on the right track. Still, a better connection and a little more encouragement from the home base would be greatly appreciated.

  After another attempt to reach him, Aster gave up and went back to chasing after Layla, who was several steps ahead, sending a spray of rocks behind her as she led them toward whatever it was she’d seen running.

  In her rush to catch up, Aster nearly ran headfirst into a towering Joshua tree that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

  “Careful.” Ryan reached for her arm in an attempt to steady her as her phone began ringing again.

  She slowed enough to answer it, though she could barely make out what Javen was saying. “Aster!” he screamed. “Shit . . . Aster! I’m at . . . W . . . didn’t go home . . . and now . . . sorry . . . so sorry . . . We’re screwed!” She heard what sounded like a commotion, and then muffled voices, and then the line went dead.

  “Javen!” she shouted. “Javen!” She was just about to try him again, when Layla screamed. The bloodcurdling sound echoed through the night, as Aster and Ryan raced toward her, then stood gaping in dismay at the grisly scene laid out before them.

  FORTY-FIVE

  DON’T FEAR THE REAPER

  Madison limped toward the boulders, only to discover they weren’t really boulders. It was a tree—a large dead tree with mangled bare branches protruding from a wounded, rotted, dry trunk.

  She squinted into the darkness and looked all around, wondering what else she’d gotten wrong. From what little she could see, the landscape appeared to be getting tamer, less wild. Which could possibly mean she was creeping closer to civilization and ultimately finding someone who might be able to help her.

  Carefully, she maneuvered around the tree carcass, practically rendered delirious thanks to the unbearable pain shooting from her ankle and reverberating through her body. Chances were it was broken, which meant walking on it was only making it worse. Still, with her very survival at stake, there was no stopping now. The prospect of a future spent nursing a bum leg could only pale in comparison to what would amount to a certain gruesome death if she stayed.

  Guided by the barest sliver of light, courtesy of the waning moon, Madison stumbled on. Determined to clear her mind of all the things she had to fear, she focused instead on all the wonderful things she’d indulge in once she was safe.

  A long, hot bath with her favorite scented bath oils and salts made the top of the list. And even though she rarely drank, a nice cold glass of champagne would also be nice. Then, after a good night’s sleep on her wildly expensive Sferra sheets, she’d rise to a cup of perfectly brewed cappuccino made with whole milk, not skim, since she could afford the extra calories, and with her beloved dog, Blue, by her side, she’d begin collecting evidence, and answers, and plotting revenge.

  James, Ryan, Aster, Layla, Tommy, Ira, that nosy Trena Moretti—none of them were above suspicion. Reluctantly, she added Paul to the list. If there was one thing she’d learned on her rise from the ashes to the top of the Hollywood heap, it was that when it came right down to it, the only one she could count on, the only one she could truly trust, was herself.

  She was so mired in vengeance fantasies, she missed the sound of staggered breathing, of shoes kicking up dirt—the telling signs of someone rushing up from behind her—until it was too late and they were already on her.

  A strong hand grasped her by the arm and yanked her up hard. The fingers circled and pressed into the burn scar in a way that saw her howling in pain, as a hot ragged breath blasted her cheek and a familiar voice said, “Nothing out there but coyotes. You’ll meet your end, you keep going.” Slowly, they started trudging through the sand, dragging Madison back in the direction she came from. “They don’t call this Death Valley for nothing, you know.”

  FORTY-SIX

  SUGAR, WE’RE GOIN’ DOWN

  “What is that?” Layla cried, staring into what could only be described as a shallow open grave scattered with bones and other unspeakable bits that appeared to be human in origin.

  Aster appeared to be all out of screams, all out of breath, like it took all her will just to sag against Ryan. “Omigodomigodomigod!” she whimpered. “Tell me that’s not Madison!”

  Layla watched as Aster sank to her knees, looking as distraught as she had the day their world turned upside down when she was arrested for Madison’s murder.

  Or maybe their world had turned long before that. Maybe it had happened when they’d first started working for Ira, but they’d been too caught up in the thrill of competition to notice.

  Layla sought refuge in Tommy’s arms, allowing herself to be soothed until her reporter’s instincts kicked in and she went to kneel beside the remains in order to better examine them.

  “Dude, this is so messed up!” Tommy spoke to no one in particular.

  Ryan looked on in shock, seemingly struggling to process the horror they’d stumbled upon.

  “Guys, I—I think I found something.” Layla’s voice was edged with panic, as she fought back the bile that rose high in her throat. “Tommy, hand me that stick.”

  “How can you be sure that’s a stick?” Tommy remained rigidly in place.

  “Just—” Layla sighed and shook her head, as Tommy tentatively reached for what did indeed turn out to be a stick, and passed it to her.

  “What on earth are you doing?” Aster looked on in a mixture of horror and fear as Layla pressed her lips together. Determined to disturb the scene as little as possible, she tapped the suspicious piece and used the pointed end of the stick to drag it toward her.

  “Ryan, Tommy, shine some light on this.” Carefully, she pinched the object between her forefinger and thumb and dropped it on the center of her palm. “It’s the tracker,” she said, her tone lacking any hint of triumph. The moment instead resembled one of staggering defeat.

  “And so . . . that’s it. It really is Madison.” Aster’s words rang as flat and broken as her expression.

  “This is pretty much the worst news ever.” Tommy glanced between the microchip and Layla.

  “Maybe.” Layla bit down on her lip, not entirely sure that was true, but wan
ting a moment to weigh her words before she tried to explain. “Assuming those are Madison’s bones in there, then yeah, it’s truly bad news.”

  “Well, who else would they belong to?” Aster said. “Clearly Paul went rogue and killed her. He buried the bones in the desert where he expected no one to find them, other than the coyotes, and he’s probably on some remote island somewhere. In fact, has anyone looked into Madison’s finances? Because if not, they should. I bet he’s bilked her out of millions.”

  “Of course the cops are watching her finances,” Ryan said. “It’s one of the first things they do. Not to mention how other than a nagging suspicion fueled by a few pieces of circumstantial evidence, we really don’t have any valid proof that Paul’s responsible for any of this. The way the cops will look at it, the whole thing can be made to point right back at Aster. So what if Paul fixed Madison’s past and had access to her deepest, darkest secrets—it certainly doesn’t mean that he killed her. What we need to do is find him and approach him. Only not in a suspicious way—we’ll act as though it’s purely out of concern for Madison. But first, we need to get the hell out of here and away from these bones, before someone blames us for putting them there.” Ryan jumped to his feet and took one last look at the grave. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m hoping that’s not Madison, but with the tracker right there, it’s not looking good.”

  Without another word, Layla wiped the tracker against the leg of her jeans, placed it back where she found it, then stood up to leave.

  The four of them were hurrying back the same way they came, when Layla’s phone chimed with an incoming text.

  Seems the day of reckoning is finally here

  You should’ve listened when I warned you had plenty to fear

  But since you insisted on doing things your way

  You left me no choice but to make sure you pay

  And to think your star once burned so bright