Tommy glared, silently seething.
“And now you are. So own it, or leave. Your call.”
“Kind of seems like the ‘interview’”—he used air quotes around the word—“ended back in Calabasas.”
“It was never an interview.” Madison paused, letting the words sink in. The game was over. And though she had no idea what would follow, she knew it was time for her to get real too.
Tommy stared in astonishment. She’d just confirmed what he’d already been thinking, but now, from the looks of him, he was having a hard time processing it.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and menacing.
Still, Madison relaxed for the first time that day. Finally, they could start to move forward. She knew he wouldn’t harm her. Tommy wasn’t the type to ever raise a hand to a woman.
“Seriously! What the fuck?” He gazed around wildly. “I mean . . . fuck!” He slammed his fist hard on the wheel, repeating the word, as Madison watched quietly from the passenger seat. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put us through? I went to jail because of you! We all did! I got death threats. My tires were slashed. And you’ve been alive all this time?” He whirled on her. “What the fuck, Madison?”
He’d called her Madison, not MaryDella. She took it as a good sign.
A single tear slid down her face. Crying on cue had always come easily. But while her intent was to appear vulnerable in a way that would make Tommy calm down enough to talk, the flood that followed came of its own accord. Once it started, Madison found it impossible to stop.
It was the first time she’d cried in a really long time. It felt good to finally let it all out.
Tommy glanced from her messed-up ankle to her bandaged hand. “What the hell happened to you?” He reached for her arm and gently pushed up her sleeve, seeing the burn scar and the new one just above it, where her flesh was still tender and pink. He shook his head and sighed. It was the final confirmation he needed.
Next thing she knew, he drew her into his arms. Smoothing a hand down her back, he whispered a string of reassurances she longed to believe.
It was the second time she’d turned to him for solace. She hoped his support would extend a little further. She pulled away and dabbed at her cheeks with the cuff of her sleeve.
“Here.” Tommy pressed a napkin he’d plucked from his cup holder to her cheek. “It’s clean, I promise,” he said, which made them both laugh.
With his other hand, he slid the sunglasses from her face and stared in confusion.
“Contacts,” she whispered.
He gazed at her in wonder. “Down to every last detail.”
“And yet, you still saw right through it.” Her biggest fans hadn’t even recognized her, and yet Tommy had.
“I might’ve kissed and told.” He shot her a guilty look. “But I never forgot the moment you revealed the real you.” He held her gaze until her cheeks begin to heat. The rest of her body soon followed. “Where to now?” he asked, breaking the spell and returning them both back to reality and the decisions ahead.
“You’re not going to turn me in?”
“No,” he said, his voice firm. “Not before you’ve had a chance to explain.”
It was the best scenario she could hope for. “Your mama raised you right,” she told him. “You’re one of the good ones.”
Tommy laughed and engaged the ignition. “Someday, when this is all over, I’ll tell her you said so.”
TWENTY-ONEKILLER QUEEN
Trena stood in the entry of Madison’s trailer, not the least bit surprised to find it unlocked. First thing she’d spotted as she headed for the door were two sets of fresh tire tracks.
Inside, it looked messy, haphazard. Like someone had emptied all the cupboards and drawers, then shoved everything back in a hurry. Though it definitely belonged to Madison. Trena had done a quick bit of research on the property just to make sure Javen wasn’t messing with her. Still, that didn’t mean Madison had recently been there.
After checking out the bathroom and the bedroom alcove, she moved toward the area at the opposite end that was set up like a small den. Her gaze drifted from the stacks of cushions to the pile of art books, before coming to rest on Madison’s diamond-encrusted gold Piaget watch sitting among a pile of crystals. Just like that, her hunch was confirmed: Madison Brooks was alive!
Despite the inflammatory stories she’d reported, Trena had never believed Madison was dead. Her provocative headlines had helped fuel her success, but the watch was the first real piece of proof she’d yet to come across.
The diamonds surrounding the bezel were dull and desperately in need of a cleaning. Even the band was scratched, which seemed odd, considering how Madison was known for being fastidious with her belongings.
Retrieving a pair of latex gloves from her bag, Trena hooked the timepiece with her finger and angled it toward the light. Trena had studied enough video footage and stills of Madison from the night of her breakup with Ryan to know it was the same watch she’d worn at the time. It was the only watch Madison was ever known to wear. And the engraved initials on the back of the case served to confirm it.
She dropped it into a plastic bag and considered how best to proceed. The only real question was whether or not to alert Detective Larsen.
On the one hand, she owed him. It was because of him that she’d been the first to break the Joshua Tree story.
Also, just because Madison was alive didn’t mean she wasn’t in danger.
And yet, the trailer showed no obvious signs of a struggle. Nothing to lead her to believe Madison was being held against her will.
No, something else was going on—something Trena couldn’t quite put her finger on.
Her phone chimed with an incoming message. Not long after she’d started reporting on Madison’s story, she’d set up a
