He may have nine lives, but you don’t.
“James,” she whispered. Somehow, he’d gotten past her locked door and found his way inside her apartment. She’d made a huge mistake thinking she could use him to further her story, and this was his way of letting her know.
Tentatively, she reached for the cat again, taking a moment to pet it and convince it she wasn’t a threat. Then she slowly went about unwrapping the gauze from its legs, relieved to find it was only for show, the cat was unharmed. If nothing else, at least James drew a line at harming animals.
She thought about calling her source at LAPD and reporting the incident, but just as quickly decided against it. Other than a deep sense of knowing, Trena had no physical proof it was James. Though she vowed to avoid him at all costs, she knew better than to not take his message seriously.
“So,” she said, addressing the cat. She ran a palm over its soft, silky fur and reached for the heart-shaped tag hanging from its pink satin collar. “Someone out there clearly misses you. What do you say we give them a call and tell them you’re okay?”
With the cat cradled in her arms, she punched the number on his tag into her phone and waited for the call to connect, all the while wondering who would miss her if she should ever disappear.
THIRTY-SEVEN
INTERSTATE LOVE SONG
“Thanks for letting me drive.” Ryan snuck a quick peek at Aster before directing his focus back on the road. “I just think it’s better. You seem kind of anxious.”
“Of course I’m anxious. I have good reason to be!” Aster rolled her eyes and sank low in her seat as she stared out the side window at a depressing landscape dominated by superstores, strip malls, and chain restaurants.
Beside her, Ryan fell silent, which only served to annoy Aster more. Aside from feeling anxious, she also felt jumpy, easily annoyed, and vulnerable as hell. It was the vulnerability that grated most. There was something about being alone in the car with Ryan that left her feeling like they were encapsulated together, suspended from time. The destination was confirmed, but the road between seemed malleable, theirs to define.
“Listen,” she started, not really knowing what would follow. But overcome with the need to speak from her heart and get it all out there, she forged on. “I need you to stop being so nice to me.”
There. She’d said it. And there was no missing the uncomprehending look on Ryan’s face.
“Okay, maybe that was the wrong way to phrase it.” She shook her head and tried again. “What I mean is, please stop treating me so delicately. Stop being so overly ingratiating. And stop acting like you’re afraid you might break me.”
He took a moment to digest the words, then nodded in a way so agreeable she couldn’t bring herself to rail against it, though she desperately wanted to. “Just . . . can I ask why?”
Aster frowned, crossed her arms against her chest, and silently fumed. She was mad about the kiss that didn’t happen—the kiss that almost happened—the kiss that part of her desperately wished she’d let happen—but there was no good way to share that with him. A few miles later she’d calmed down enough to reply. “Because your acting so nice makes me think it’s okay to like you.”
Her hands clenched in her lap, as she waited for him to mock her or say something sarcastic in return.
“I get it,” he said, without a trace of cynicism. “Really, I do. And unfortunately, based on my past behavior, particularly the awful things I’ve said in the press, I can’t blame you for not trusting me. But just so you know, I’m not asking you to.”
“Oh, really? Then what’s all this about?” Her hand gestured wildly around the interior of his car. “Why are you even here? Insisting on helping me when there’s so many other things you could be doing with your life!”
“This is me attempting to prove my true intentions the only way I can—through my actions. Look—” He raked a hand through his hair and worked his jaw as he collected his thoughts. “It’s like you said that night you found me at Madison’s. A verbal apology is nothing more than someone humbling themselves enough to admit they were wrong. And while it’s an important first step, it’s what follows the apology where the real work begins. I heard you, loud and clear, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. And so, I’ve come to the conclusion that whether you like it or not, I’m going to be nice to you. And I’m going to continue to be nice to you no matter how hard you try to push me away. And I’m going to do that because I truly believe you’re a person who’s worth being nice to. And, as it happens, I’ve come to care about you a great deal. Which is why I plan to stand by your side and help you get through this mess you currently find yourself in. Then, once it’s over and done with and we’ve successfully put the whole thing behind you, we can decide how to proceed. But for now, that’s my plan—my not-so-secret agenda. My only wish at the moment is that you try to make peace with it.”
He kept his eyes on the road as Aster replayed his words. Despite doing her best to harden her heart against him, there was no doubting he’d meant what he said.
Just as there was no denying she still cared for him too.
Overcome with shyness, she closed her eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”
Then she slipped her hand over his and kept it there for the rest of the drive.
THIRTY-EIGHT
ALL THE YOUNG DUDES
“Mind telling me what the hell happened in there?” Layla took her eyes off the road long enough to glare hard at Tommy.
He fiddled with the stereo. Finally settling on an old David Bowie song, he sat back and gazed out the window contentedly. A little too contentedly, which was why Layla demanded an answer.
“I’m referring to your pissing match with Mateo. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You were like a dog with a fire hydrant, and I was the one getting sprayed.”
Tommy shook his head and cringed. “Jeez, you really have a talent for visuals, you know that?” He tried to make light of it, but Layla wasn’t having it.
They’d had the whole talk. Hell, he was the one who’d insisted on it. All she’d wanted was to get between the sheets and have a little fun. And yet, despite coming to the joint conclusion that they were two more or less responsible adults acting on an undeniable attraction to each other with absolutely no expectations to follow, the second Mateo entered the scene, Tommy had started acting like a big, possessive weenie.
Considering how much effort he usually put toward maintaining his cool guy veneer, it was kind of cute to see him feeling so challenged. And yet, the last thing Layla wanted was to have to answer to someone. Especially when that particular someone had claimed less than twenty-four hours before that they weren’t looking to start a relationship.
At least when she’d said it, she’d meant it.
“So . . . what do you have to say for yourself?” She refused to let it go. “Because if you think you can avoid the subject and pretend it didn’t happen, then allow me to point out that according to the GPS, we have another hour and twenty minutes left on this journey, which may or may not provide an accurate read of unforeseen traffic patterns. Which means this may take even longer. Which also means I’ve got you captive. There’s no wriggling your way out of this one.”
“God, you’re impossible!” Tommy’s face reddened and he tossed a frustrated look her way. “You can’t let things go. You have to examine every little detail of every little thing.”
She rolled her eyes and gripped the wheel hard. “Don’t act like you didn’t know all that when you decided to sleep with me.”
Tommy groaned, knuckled his eyes, turned up the stereo, but Layla held firm.
“Okay, fine,” he finally said. “You’re right. I was a jerk. You think I don’t know that? And while I’m not exactly proud of my actions, I just—” He clenched his jaw, picked at the hole in the knee of his jeans. “I guess I was stupid enough to believe you when you said you guys were over. Seeing you together like that, sitting all
snugged up and cozy, left me feeling like I’d been played.”
Before she could stop herself, Layla burst out laughing.
“Oh, so now this is funny? This is all a big joke to you? Because let me tell you, Layla, you are one sadistic—”
Before he could finish, she said, “No.” She shook her head. “Not a joke—not at all. It’s just—you gotta admit, the phrase snugged up and cozy is kinda hilarious. Not to mention that if anyone in this car is a player, I’m pretty sure it’s you. Let’s not forget how you arrived at the party with one girl, only to go home with another.”
Tommy shrugged and stared out the passenger-side window. After a few moments he said, “Whatever. Listen, can we just rewind?”
Without hesitation, Layla shook her head. There was no erasing the past. It was out there and done with and there was no going back.
“No,” she said. “There’s no rewind.”
Beside her, Tommy sighed.
“But what we can do is move forward from here.”
He turned to her with his best Tommy grin. Between the dimples, the irresistible lips, and the deep denim-blue eyes, Layla could only imagine how many broken hearts that smile was single-handedly responsible for. She hoped she wouldn’t someday count herself among them.
They drove in companionable silence for the next several miles, until Layla said, “Does it ever bother you to know that someone, somewhere, knows exactly what happened to Madison—maybe even someone we know—and they have no problem letting Aster take the fall?”
After a long, considering look, Tommy said, “Every moment of every day.” His words hung heavy between them until Layla turned up the stereo in hopes that Ziggy Stardust might chase them away.
THIRTY-NINE
JANIE’S GOT A GUN
Trena strode into the dimly lit tavern, an homage to wood with its paneled walls, beamed ceilings, and plank floor. It looked exactly like what it was—a popular cop bar known for cheap drinks and cheaper eats. She inhaled the scent of a decade’s worth of spilled beer and passed by a row of empty stools. Within the next hour it would be standing room only.
Grabbing a seat across from her source, she pretended not to notice the way he studied her from under a lowered brow. “You’re late,” he grumbled.
Trena shrugged and reached into her bag. Retrieving the note she’d found earlier attached to the cat, she pushed it across the table toward him.
He looked it over and let out a low whistle. “Looks like you found yourself a hater.”
“I’m told it comes with the territory.” She grabbed the menu and looked it over—carbs, more carbs, and fried carbs. She quickly discarded it.
“Want me to check it out?”
She shook her head, already regretting her decision to show him after having decided not to. Still, if something should happen to her, it would be good to have someone in law enforcement know she’d been threatened.
She plucked it from his meaty fingers and dropped it back in her bag.
“Anything?” He leaned toward her.
Trena took a look at Larsen’s half-eaten cheeseburger and said, “No thanks, I’m not hungry.”
His lip twitched at the side. “I’m asking if you have any intel for me.”
“Isn’t that usually your department?” She arched a brow and looked him over, well aware that his testosterone-fueled meathead routine was mostly an act. Underneath all the overblown muscles and machismo, Larsen was a cool and calculating detective with a serious dark side she did not want to test.
“Tit for tat is always nice.” He took a slow sip of his Coke.
Trena rubbed her lips together, caught in an internal debate. Knowing it was better to give him something, even if it was really just a hint of something, she said, “What do you know about James?”
Larsen squinted until his eyes nearly disappeared behind a set of heavily freckled lids.
“James, the bouncer at Night for Night.”
She watched as he leaned back in his seat and took a moment to consider. “Ambitious, untrustworthy, a thug.” He lifted his shoulders. “Why?”
Trena drummed her fingers on the table, enjoying the ritual of making him wait. “Tit for tat?” Her gaze met his impatient one. “A source claims he was close to Madison. Possibly even on her payroll.”
“We already have our suspect.” Larsen was too quick to dismiss the idea, leaving Trena to wonder what he might know that he was keeping from her.
She nodded agreeably. Keeping her voice light and even, she said, “But what if there’s more to it? What if it goes way deeper than that?”
His lip curled up at the side as his tongue worked to dislodge something from between his back teeth. “Always does.”
Trena waited expectantly, sure there was more, and trying not to cringe in aversion when he replaced his tongue with his finger and started actively picking at one of his molars.
“You ready for this?” At first Trena wasn’t sure if they were still on topic, or if he was about to reveal the culprit that had gotten wedged in his gums. Then he went on to say, “That office park that burned down? The fire started in an office leased by Paul Banks, aka the Ghost—”
“Aka Madison’s fixer,” Trena said, as though speaking to herself. Then, knowing how much he hated being interrupted, she shook her head and said, “Sorry. Go on.”
He heaved a dramatic sigh and shot her an annoyed look, but a moment later, he was talking again. “Anyway . . .” He dragged out the word. “We’re trying to track this Banks guy. Haven’t been able to locate him yet, but considering his line of work, that’s not all that unusual. But get this, you know how Madison’s car was found in the lot?”
Trena mumbled that she did and urged him to continue.
“Madison’s purse—some Céline bag that costs over three thousand dollars, if you can believe that—was found stashed in the trunk. Phone’s still missing, though.”
Trena forced herself to be patient. So far, other than the purse, none of this was news. Though she hoped he would get to it soon.
“Oh, and something else,” he said, as though it were an afterthought, when clearly it was anything but. “You know anything about this?” He slid his phone across the table and displayed a picture of what looked to be a slightly singed gold charm encrusted with diamonds.
“It’s a hamsa hand,” Trena said. “It’s worn as an amulet for protection against the evil eye.” She continued to study the picture as a familiar gnawing stirred in her belly.
“That’s right.” Larson tapped the photo with the tip of a surprisingly neatly buffed and filed nail. “And you happen to know who wears one of these?”
Trena swallowed. She knew exactly who wore one of those. Aster had worn it during the interview and had occasionally fiddled with it when the questions got a little too heated. She chose to remain silent, however. She knew better than to flub his reveal.
“Aster Amirpour.” Larsen’s eyes gleamed when he said it, and Trena could’ve sworn she saw a small glob of spittle soar from the corner of his mouth. “Found it inside that office building. Must’ve fallen right off her.”
“Lots of people wear those, so how can you be so sure it’s hers?” she said, choosing to remain unimpressed for two reasons—one, because it was true, lots of people did wear them—and two, because Larsen’s obsession with the girl was veering toward disturbing.
“Let’s say I’m operating on a hunch. Though there is a witness who recalls seeing a girl who fits her description running from the building.”
“I thought the witness couldn’t identify age or gender.”
“Turns out there was more than one witness.” Larsen pocketed the phone and leaned back in his seat, seemingly satisfied with the way things had gone.
Trena kept her face neutral, but inside, her mind was reeling with all the myriad possibilities. This was potentially big, really big, promising huge rewards for whoever broke the story first, and of course Trena had already decided it would be her. T
hough it would prove devastating for Aster, Trena had never pledged allegiance to anyone but herself. And if it did turn out to be Aster’s necklace, then the girl was beyond hope.
“It’s in the lab as we speak.” Larsen spoke with palpable excitement. “Got a rush order in place. As soon as I get the call, which I’m expecting any minute, well, let’s just say I hope Aster enjoyed her vacation at Camp W, because it’s about to come to an end.”
“I don’t understand why she’d risk it,” Trena wondered aloud. In her head, she was already piecing the article together, and yet, something about it just didn’t make sense.
“Desperate people do desperate things.” Larsen shrugged, as though he’d just provided a brilliant explanation, as opposed to an oft-repeated cliché. “And sometimes, most times, spoiled-brat rich girls forget the rules are meant for them too.”
When his gaze locked on hers, Trena found herself transfixed, unable to breathe. The realization finally dawned on her that the reason she despised Larsen so much was because they were so much alike. They’d both fought their way out of tough neighborhoods, only to emerge mostly unscathed aside from the giant chip they both wore on their shoulders. They resented the rich, the pampered, those to whom much was given and little was expected in return. In Larsen’s eyes, Trena recognized the dark, shadowy part of herself she preferred to keep hidden. But at the moment, there was no avoiding it, it was like gazing into a mirror and seeing her most driven, most ambitious, most unscrupulous self staring back.
The spell finally broke when Larsen’s phone buzzed with an incoming call and he stepped out of the booth to take it, leaving Trena to grip the edge of the table and fight like hell to center herself.
“Bingo!” he said, returning a moment later. “You mind getting that?” He nodded at the check the waitress had left. “Seems I have an arrest to make.”
“So, it was hers?” Trena figured it was, but as a responsible journalist, she needed Larsen to confirm it.
“Oh, it’s hers. Her prints are all over it. You’re welcome to come, if you want to witness firsthand. If not, give me an hour, then feel free to post whatever you want.”