Blacklist

by Alyson Noel

  He swallowed hard and followed her across the sand and back to their respective cars. It was all happening so fast, and while he was happy he’d succeeded at what he’d set out to do, there was no mistaking that the triumph was also tinged with great sadness.

  Then again, all beginnings were endings in disguise, and vice versa. Still, it felt weird to think that it was his kissing another girl—a girl who was the exact opposite of Layla—that had won him the gig.

  Not to mention how he hadn’t yet gotten around to explaining why he wanted the job in the first place. For some strange reason, he needed Heather to know he wasn’t just another fame seeker. He had a higher purpose, a goal.

  He opened his mouth to speak, when she shot him a friendly grin. “Today was fun,” she said. “Let me know how it goes tomorrow, ’kay?” Mateo watched as she slid behind the wheel and closed the door between them.

  Sliding his sunglasses onto his face, he gazed out at the beach through dark-tinted lenses, telling himself there was plenty of time to explain everything later.

  FOURTEEN

  WHISPER TO A SCREAM

  If Layla had to pinpoint one thing that was different about Aster, well, she could never narrow it down to just one thing. As Aster leaned against a black BMW with her arms crossed over her chest, she appeared to be an entirely different person from the girl Layla once knew.

  Where Aster had once conveyed the sort of easy confidence that came from a life where unlimited beauty and wealth seemed to flow without effort, the dark-haired girl standing before her was far more muted, less haughty, and completely lacking in the sort of arrogance that once used to define her.

  Though that wasn’t to say she’d become timid or weak. If anything, she carried a marked air of assuredness that was missing before. Then again, arrogance was often born of insecurity—assuredness was something one earned—which left Layla wondering what the week behind bars had been like for her.

  “My car’s been impounded,” Aster said, patting the trunk. “Apparently, it’s being ripped apart in search of evidence, so Ira loaned me this.” She shook her head in a way that sent her long, dark ponytail sailing over her shoulder, seeming to need a moment to shake free of the thought. “Anyway, thanks for coming.” Her voice was breezy, as though she was hosting some kind of bizarre, high-end block party.

  Though she tried not to be obvious about it, Layla couldn’t help but gape at the giant shiner surrounding Aster’s eye, never mind the thick scab bisecting her lip.

  “You should see the other girl,” Aster quipped, catching Layla staring a few seconds too long.

  Layla shrugged, unsure how to respond.

  “Please.” Aster surveyed the length of the dark and quiet street. “It’s the first thing you noticed. Admit it.”

  “I just assumed it was some kind of smoky eyeliner trend I wasn’t quite up on.” Layla laughed in a way that betrayed just how awkward she felt. “You know how fashion challenged I am.”

  Aster looked her over with a studied gaze. “You’re not nearly as tragic as you used to be. You used to dress like you were asking permission. Now you just own it.” She nodded approvingly toward Layla’s angled blond bob, distressed black skinny jeans, black ankle boots with gold studs, and silk cami. Then, clearly done with the small talk and pleasantries, she pushed away from her car and said, “Listen, I don’t want you to feel weird around me. Aside from this black eye, nothing has changed.” Fielding Layla’s doubtful look, she tried again. “Yes, I’m a little banged up, but I’ll heal. And I really wasn’t kidding when I said you should see the other girl.” There was an edge to her voice that left Layla convinced. “So don’t act so careful around me like I’m some fragile thing that might break. I’m a lot tougher than you think, and I can’t just sit back and trust twelve people who are too stupid to get out of jury duty to believe that I’m innocent. I can’t afford to let it get to that point. I need to clear my name now, and I need your help. Since apparently Tommy can’t be bothered to show, much less reply to my text.”

  “Tommy’s . . .” A dick, a jerk, a giant douche—while they all fit, rather than finish the thought, Layla just rolled her eyes and shook her head, allowing the look to say what words couldn’t.

  “But you brought the keys, right?”

  Layla sighed. With Aster’s question, Layla’s worst fear was confirmed. This wasn’t just some arbitrary address Aster had chosen in an attempt to outwit the paparazzi—if that had been the case, they would’ve met up in her luxury apartment at the W. No, this was Madison’s hood.

  She shot a look around the neighborhood. The street was wide and clean, bordered on either side by a succession of thick walls, big gates, and towering hedges that were impossible to see past. It was the first tier in what Layla suspected would turn out to be a many-layered defense meant to protect the multimillion-dollar properties beyond from prying eyes, prowlers, and people like them who had no business lurking.

  “You’re not proposing we break into her house . . . are you?” Layla already knew the answer but hoped that, just maybe, she’d misread the signs. Night had fallen a couple of hours ago, and the dim burn of streetlamps cast everything around them in a shadowy, sinister glow. Even the stray dog on the far side of the street looked more like a hostile hellhound than the lazy Labradoodle it most likely was.

  “It’s hardly breaking and entering when you have a key.” Aster thrust an open palm toward Layla and wiggled her fingers.

  “I’m not sure that’s true. . . .” Layla sounded nervous. She had good reason to be. Her hand actually shook as she surrendered the keys, not feeling the least bit relieved when the Labradoodle/hellhound moved on. Where had it gone? And worse—would it return with more demon dog friends? “Listen,” she said, already regretting forfeiting the keys. Not like keeping them would’ve changed anything when Aster was so bent on completing her mission. Still, she owed it to both of them to at least try to reason with her. “Don’t you think the cops have already been here? For all we know, they could have someone posted inside right now, just waiting for you to show up.”

  The thought of walking into a trap—even worse, a trap set by Larsen—was reason enough to flee. Though judging by the resolute look on Aster’s face, she wasn’t even close to being swayed.

  “Please.” Aster’s voice was dismissive and brisk. “It’s not like it’s a crime scene. Madison’s blood was found at Night for Night, not here. Sure, they probably checked out the place, but I’m also sure they’re long gone by now, so I really don’t think we have anything to worry about. Still, if you want to bail, now’s your chance. But with or without you, I’m going in. The California death penalty may be dormant, but death row is alive and well. Just because they haven’t executed anyone since 2006 doesn’t mean they won’t change their minds and make me the example. For the first time in my life, I can literally say I have nothing to lose. Which leaves me no choice but to risk it, even if it turns out you’re right and I live to regret it.”

  The words hung heavy between them, and for a change, Layla couldn’t think of a single good retort. “Guess that explains why you’re dressed like a cat burglar.” She motioned toward Aster’s all-black ensemble, which seemed really inappropriate for such a hot summer night, and watched in dismay as Aster dipped an arm into a large black tote bag, retrieved two dark beanies, and tossed one to her.

  “And the video?” She looked at Layla. “I’m assuming you still have it. I gave it to you right before Larsen cuffed me.”

  Layla reached into her bag and handed it over.

  Aster seemed to breathe easier, but Layla was still on edge. What Aster was proposing could end really badly for both of them. Maybe Tommy had been right to call it quits.

  “What exactly is the plan?” Layla asked. “I mean, even if the cops aren’t waiting inside, then surely Madison has a serious alarm system in place. Probably even a guard dog, security cameras, a retina-scanning device . . .” She glanced over Aster’s shoulder, on the lookout for
squad cars, a pack of ravenous hellhounds, a random black cat crossing their path, any sort of omen she could use as a viable excuse to bail while she could. And yet, for whatever reason, she knew that she wouldn’t. She just couldn’t bring herself to let Aster go it alone.

  “This.” Aster nodded toward a row of towering hedges, fidgeting in a way that did not inspire confidence. “This is the plan. It may seem crazy, but I have to do something, and to me this makes sense.” She turned away, tugged her beanie onto her head, and started walking purposefully toward the nearest house. Stopping before the formidable gate, she squinted at the address on her phone. “Last chance to turn back.”

  As tempting as it was to flee to the safety of her car, for better or worse, Layla had committed to this point; she might as well see it through to the end. She watched as Aster pulled on a pair of black leather gloves, headed for the keypad, and punched in the code. The two of them unwittingly held their breath as they waited for the gate to inch open.

  “Someone must’ve changed the code,” Layla said, struggling to hide her relief when the gate didn’t so much as budge.

  “Here, you read it. Maybe I transposed the numbers or something.” Aster thrust the phone at Layla and flexed her fingers as though warming up for a race.

  Layla slowly repeated the numbers as Aster punched them into the pad. Then they stood back and waited, staring hard at the gate. Aster sighed in relief when it slowly eased open. Layla sighed in defeat.

  Together, they began the walk down the long stone drive that led to the house. From the lawn plagued with brown patches and weeds, to the run of untamed rosebushes dropping dead buds along the path like forgotten offerings, it was clear the yard hadn’t been tended to since Madison went missing.

  Still, the garden lights were aglow, which meant the electricity was still humming. Though in light of what they were about to do, Layla took it as an ominous sign. At best the alarm system was still working and fully engaged. At worst, Larsen was inside, raiding Madison’s wine cellar and watching all her premium cable channels, just waiting for the moment they walked through the door.

  What would become of the property and all of Madison’s belongings—the bits and pieces of the life she’d worked so hard to assemble? Just how long would her team of managers keep feeding the banks and utility companies, waiting for her to return, before they decided to call it quits and begin the long process of dismantling the estate?

  There were so many unanswered questions, though Layla chose to voice the one closest to the matter at hand. “So, what exactly are we looking for?” She watched as the heel of Aster’s boot came down hard on a deadhead. The squished and rotted rosebud rocked her off balance for a moment before she righted herself and angrily kicked it aside.

  “Clues, signs, evidence—anything that might hint toward what really happened that night,” Aster whispered, sounding irritated in a way Layla couldn’t ignore. Here she was, risking her life to clear Aster’s name, and Aster had the nerve to get annoyed?

  “Pretty sure the cops already did that,” Layla grumbled.

  Aster paused before the massive front door. “Maybe, maybe not.” She tapped her gold-and-diamond hamsa pendant for luck, though in Layla’s mind Aster was better off ditching that thing. She’d been wearing it the day she got booked for first-degree murder; clearly it didn’t work in her favor. “From the moment they zeroed in on me as their main suspect, I have no reason to think they looked anywhere else. And even if they were here, they didn’t know what to look for, and we do.”

  “We do?” Before Layla could finish, Aster was already rolling her eyes.

  “Anything that bears the name Della, for starters. We need to determine if it’s merely her Starbucks alias, or if it means something more. Also, if we can find anything tracking back to that apartment I woke up in, see if it’s somehow connected to Madison . . . And speaking of Ryan, what’s going on with him?”

  Layla shook her head. “He’s been pretty low profile. Claims he’s trying to sort things out, and is asking the press to respect his privacy during this difficult time.”

  Aster smirked. “That’s code for ‘Don’t bother me until I’ve had a chance to destroy all the evidence.’ Or worse, he’s pointing the evidence toward me to make me look guilty. And now . . . the moment of truth . . .” She gave the door an anxious glance that did not inspire confidence.

  Again, Layla wondered if it was too late to bolt. But the next thing she knew, Aster had inserted what appeared to be the house key into the lock and was slowly turning it until they heard the dead bolt retreating and the door eased open.

  “If the alarm goes off—run!” Aster whispered, taking a tentative step into the entry as Layla stood frozen behind her, waiting for something terrible to happen. When a few moments passed with no sign of chaos, they ventured farther inside.

  “Doesn’t she have a dog?” Layla cringed at the way her voice seemed to echo in the high-ceilinged room.

  “Blue.” Aster nodded. “Not sure who has him now—maybe her assistant, Emily?” Aster turned a slow circle, gazing from the enormous chandelier that dominated the entry to the collection of large black-and-white photographs that covered most of the wall space.

  While the house was decorated in a sort of eclectic, modern Regency style, the oversize prints really stood out. They were haunting, and not at all what Layla expected. Though they were obviously professional quality, pictures of run-down trailer parks and decrepit interiors featuring sagging couches and broken TVs weren’t usually paired with Carrara marble floors and seven-foot-tall hand-blown glass installations that had easily cost somewhere in the six-figure range.

  “It’s a Chihuly.” Layla nodded toward the glimmering cobalt-blue sculpture. “A real one, not a copy. The only other one I’ve seen is in the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas.”

  “Does that mean something?” Aster squinted between the chandelier and Layla, but Layla just shook her head.

  “No. Madison could definitely afford it.” She forced her gaze away from the photo of a gleaming gun placed on a beat-up coffee table and surveyed the rest of the room. She felt shivery and unsure, her limbs gone suddenly heavy, reluctant to move. “It just feels so spooky to be in her space, knowing she may never return.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Aster whirled around to face her.

  “We have no idea what happened—no way of knowing if she’s dead or alive. And why are you looking at me like that when you know it’s the truth? I mean, it was her blood on the terrace,” Layla ventured. “And all over your dress . . .”

  “So why are you here if you assume that I’m guilty?” Aster was enraged, but Layla was too.

  “First of all, I wouldn’t be here if I thought you were guilty. Still, it does seem a little strange that not only is your dress the state’s most valuable piece of evidence, but now you know the code to her gate?”

  Layla remained rooted in place, beginning to regret her decision to come without taking the time to properly think it through. It wasn’t like her to act so impulsively. And yet, somehow she knew Aster wasn’t the killer. Though that didn’t mean she couldn’t do with a little more proof.

  “Seems like a topic we could’ve discussed earlier.” Aster tapped her foot impatiently against the shiny white floor and struggled to contain herself. “But fine, whatever. For the record, I left the dress in the trash in that strange apartment I woke up in, and it certainly wasn’t bloodstained then. Clearly, I was set up and someone purposely planted it in the W laundry. As for the code—” Aster fought back the anger creeping into her voice. “I lifted it from Ryan’s phone. I’m not proud of it, but there it is. I’d been obsessed with Madison for a really long time—long before I hooked up with Ryan, but not in a creepy way or anything like that. Mostly, I admired her. She had everything I wanted to achieve for myself. So one time, when Ryan wasn’t looking, I looked up her contact info and forwarded it to myself, then erased the trail before he could notice. So, yeah, I did that.
And if you think it makes me guilty, then fine, you’re free to leave.” Aster was shaking with a mixture of fury and fear, and Layla could relate. She’d feel exactly the same if she were the one being falsely accused.

  “So—” Layla gazed around the luxuriously appointed space. “Where do we start?”

  It took Aster a moment to process Layla’s intention to stay. But once she had, she sprang into action. “I think it’s better if we split up. We want to be thorough, but quick. We’ve wasted enough time already, don’t you think?” She shot Layla a pointed look. “I’ll take the upstairs, you check down here. Text if you find anything, and I’ll do the same.”

  Without another word, Aster made for the staircase, as Layla headed out to the garage, figuring she’d start there and work her way in.

  Compared to the quaint Venice Beach bungalow Layla had grown up in, Madison’s house seemed far too big for just one person and a medium-sized dog to inhabit. Though compared to current Beverly Hills, Bel Air, Holmby Hills, Platinum Triangle standards, with their penchant for thirty-thousand-square-foot giga-mansions, it seemed downright modest. Still, Layla couldn’t help but wonder if Madison ever got lonely or scared living single among so many unoccupied rooms.

  She moved into the four-car garage, also considered small by the new subterranean twenty-car standard, and with Madison’s car still missing, the empty space seemed almost eerie.

  There was a stack of clear plastic bins piled against a far wall, but a quick check proved they were filled with used, discarded items that were marked for Goodwill. There was a supply of dog food and other assorted dog accessories neatly arranged in the corner, but other than that, the space with its unmarked walls and clean tiled floors made for the most uncluttered, immaculate garage Layla had ever seen.

  A moment later, she let herself back inside, planning to poke around the kitchen and den, when she heard Aster scream, and Layla raced for the stairs, taking them two at a time.