“Well, I’ve got something,” Javen said. “It’s an address, in Ventura County. A different one from where I sent Trena. According to Google Maps, it’s about an hour’s drive.”
Layla hoisted her bag on her shoulder and went to stand beside him. “You actually sent her somewhere legit?”
“I sent her to a tiny parcel of land with a trailer on it.” He shrugged. “This, on the other hand, is a house. And from what I’ve seen, it’s the sort of place Madison would choose to hang out.”
“And if I run into Trena while I’m out there?”
“Out of my jurisdiction. I’m just the hacker. Though you should know, the only side I’m taking is Aster’s, and mine, of course.”
“Duly noted,” Layla said.
She was heading for the door when he called, “Oh, and before you go, can you bring me my Postmates? Pretty sure it was just delivered.”
FOURTEENFUNERAL FOR A FRIEND
For the first time in a long time, Madison Brooks was having fun.
Maybe not fun in the usual pampered, VIP sort of way with all the highly coveted freebies and perks regularly showered on a star of her caliber. But she was out on her own, free to move about as she pleased. After weeks under lock and key, that alone meant everything.
She was also taking the first meaningful step toward revenge. The thought was enough to coax that world-famous grin to her face.
Though she still felt guilty about Blue, Madison knew her beloved mutt would be well looked after. Despite whatever suspicions she might have about Paul, he had a code he’d never deviate from. Paul would kill a human without a second thought, but when it came to animals, he would do no harm. He considered them sacred, and far superior to most people he knew. Madison tended to agree.
She cruised up Hollywood Boulevard and headed toward Sunset. The day was bright and sunny, another scorcher in the making, and it seemed like everywhere she looked she caught a glimpse of her face.
The billboards for her movie were still up. According to Paul, it was the biggest hit of the summer. There was even talk of an Oscar nom for best actress, which meant she’d probably be up for a Golden Globe too.
Of course, she was featured on Trena Moretti’s In-Depth billboards as well. Only on those, Trena’s picture was bigger, leaving no doubt that she was the star of her show.
So much had changed since Madison had been taken. While the frenzied news coverage she’d received didn’t surprise her, it was odd to witness firsthand the sort of cottage industry that had grown in the wake of her disappearance.
She passed a handful of souvenir shops hawking T-shirts that featured her image. The ones that said Missing seemed sweet. The ones that said In Memoriam gave her the creeps.
There were Madison masks, Madison key chains, Madison prayer candles. It was like she was haunting the city, serving as a grim reminder of how a person could be blessed with every conceivable gift—beauty, talent, riches, and stardom—and yet, they could still end up as tragically as any junkie on the street.
For those who had little, her disappearance provided a sense of justice, proving they weren’t the only ones vulnerable to the whims of the universe.
For those who had much, it filled their hearts with terror. If it could happen to Madison Brooks, then no one was safe.
There was no shortage of people looking to make a buck off her story, and she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen once she stepped out of the shadows and reclaimed her place in the spotlight.
Most likely, it wouldn’t make much difference. The leftover merchandise would be sold at a discount while they waited for the next scandal to occur. It was Hollywood, after all. It wasn’t like there was a shortage of celebrity meltdowns.
She drove past the Vesper and Jewel without so much as a glance. But as she approached Night for Night, against her better judgment she eased the Jeep into a nearby parking spot and gazed at the sprawling memorial set up near the entrance.
A sizable crowd gathered around a jumble of stuffed animals, flowers, and crosses nestled alongside several poster-size pictures of her. Tourists. She frowned with derision, a little miffed to find not a single peer among them. They might’ve spared a few minutes the first week, maybe even shared a charming story about the time they’d run into her at Soho House. But as soon as the cameras moved on, they’d return to their regularly scheduled life of detoxing, Botoxing, and fighting their way to the top.
But these people, with their thick-soled sneakers and sunburned shoulders—they were the true fans. The ones who read every interview, who dedicated entire weekends to binge-watching her films and buying every product she was ever paid to endorse, never seeming to notice that she rarely used those products herself. Hell, she didn’t even wear the perfume that featured her name on the label. She preferred a more exclusive brand.
They even bought into her overhyped romance with Ryan. When he’d given her the gold-and-turquoise hoop earrings, you would’ve thought he’d surprised her with the Hope diamond the way they went on about it.
They believed wholly in the gospel of Instagram, Snapchat, and People magazine. PR teams all over the city relied on their continued gullibility.
Madison had burst onto the scene with the necessary good looks and talent to succeed. But it was these very people who’d projected their dreams onto her who had propelled her to the top of the heap.
She watched as a frizzy-haired girl in a garish sundress broke into such a dramatic display of tears, several people nearby moved in to console her.
The girl had probably bought all Madison’s posters—memorized all her movies by heart. If anyone were to recognize her, it would be that girl.
Madison popped open the door and slid from the seat. It was only the second time she’d ventured out in public. The first time, at the
