Someone had sent her a video. It had been filmed with an unsteady hand, but from what Trena could make out, it was taken at the impromptu memorial that Madison’s fans had set up just outside Night for Night.
The usual street music of honking cars and sirens could be heard in the background, as the camera panned across the crowd gathered around the collection of items left in Madison’s memory. The sound of laughter was soon eclipsed by a female voice saying, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Shhh . . . video in progress!” another voice said. And then in a mock-serious tone: “We’re on Hollywood Boulevard outside Night for Night, where MaryDella Slocum was last seen.” Uncontrollable laughter followed, prompting the video to swing wildly before someone else took over.
“And we sincerely hope she turns up dead, because that’s what she deserves for lying to us all these years! RIP, bitch!”
Trena played the video again. And then again. On the third viewing she realized the words weren’t important.
Whoever had shot the video hadn’t intentionally set out to capture the skinny blond girl placing a single turquoise-and-gold hoop earring next to a stuffed teddy bear with angel wings. But as Trena watched it unfold yet again, she narrowed her focus to that girl, noting the way she stiffened and turned after hearing the words, “RIP, bitch!” The girl’s face was hidden behind dark oversize sunglasses, though there was no mistaking it was her.
“Where are you now, Madison?” Trena whispered. “Where have you gone?”
She froze the frame to study the picture when another text arrived.
I have the earring. It’s yours for a price.
Amateurs. Trena smirked. A couple of dumb teens who could be bought off easily. Without hesitation she replied.
I’ll be in touch soon.
She dropped her phone in her bag and started to leave. Then, thinking better, she retrieved the watch from the plastic bag, placed it back where she’d found it, and put in a call to Larsen.
Let him have this one. If nothing else, he would owe her, and it was always better when he was in her debt.
Besides, thanks to the video, Trena was onto a much bigger lead.
TWENTY-TWOLET’S HURT TONIGHT
Tommy pulled up to a surprisingly unassuming home and parked in the drive.
“What is this place?”
“A secret hideaway. Only now that you’re here, I guess it’s not such a secret anymore.” Madison glanced over her shoulder and shot him a look he wasn’t quite sure how to read.
He didn’t want to flatter himself into thinking she was flirting, because it wasn’t that, or at least not entirely, though her expression was unmistakably warm, bordering on intimate. Well, they’d shared a moment. He supposed it was an acknowledgment of that. Either way, he was done deciphering her every move. From this point forward, he planned to sit back and see what unfolded.
The house was remote, with no visible neighbors, which made sense for someone who guarded their privacy as much as Madison. Still, from the pictures he’d seen, the LA house was the stuff of fantasies. It seemed strange to want to escape from a place that represented everything she’d worked so hard to achieve.
Then again, Madison was a true star. Instead of griping over the price of fame, she’d accepted the inevitable and found a temporary escape from the pressure.
She swung the door wide, silenced the alarm, and invited him to follow. He blinked at his surroundings. The space was nothing like he’d expected, even though he hadn’t known what to expect.
The ceilings were lined with thick beams, and the dark wood floors were occasionally interrupted by woven jute rugs. In the den, he found an ivory linen couch, a set of leather club chairs, and what looked to be an original fireplace made of hand-smoothed plaster. Through the French doors just beyond, he could make out a charming garden terrace filled with lanterns, a long table, and a hammock lilting in the breeze in the far corner.
“California ranch chic.” Madison watched him survey the place. “What do you think?”
He turned with a start. While he’d been checking out the property, she’d removed her disguise, leaving her long dark hair tumbling over her shoulders as her violet eyes flashed on his. She was skinny and injured, and her makeup was heavy-handed, but at the moment, it was clear why Madison Brooks was the biggest star in the world. She radiated something that continued to thrive despite whatever had happened to her.
The look she gave him was so intense it set him off balance and left him wondering if she’d guessed at his thoughts. “I think it makes for a nice getaway,” he finally said, forcing a crooked grin to his face.
She glanced around the space and nodded in agreement. “But now that you’ve seen it, I guess I have no choice but to sell it.”
“You’ve never brought anyone here?” He understood the need to be alone, but it seemed strange not to share such a place.
“No one I wasn’t one hundred percent sure I could trust.”
He met her gaze. “So, no one then.”
Motioning for him to sit, she went to grab a couple of beers.
Tommy wasn’t sure he should drink. He was exhausted from the drive and hadn’t the slightest clue what she had in mind. But when Madison emerged from the kitchen, handed him a bottle, and plopped onto the couch beside him, he figured a little blunting of the nerves might do him some good.
“Last time we shared a beer, things didn’t turn out so well for me.” She tapped the bottle to her lip and stared thoughtfully.
“Same.” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then hesitated before placing the beer on the table.
“You’ve got old-school manners. I like that. But this is a coaster-free zone, so . . .” She placed her own beer directly on the table and gestured for him
