Blacklist

  Trena watched as he made his way out the door; then, reaching for her wallet, she tossed a twenty onto the table and followed.

  FORTY

  HIGHWAY TO HELL

  Ryan pulled to the side of the road as Aster studied the map Javen had printed for her. He was right about the cabin being remote. The car’s GPS had just quit and there was nothing in the vicinity that even resembled a place where someone might live.

  A moment later, Layla pulled up beside them, and Tommy rolled down his window. “I think it’s right up the road there.”

  Aster stared grimly in the direction Tommy was pointing. The sun had fallen, and aside from the moon, a constellation of stars overhead, and the headlights on their cars, the area was enveloped in darkness.

  “Seems kind of spooky,” she said, mostly to herself, though she felt comforted when Ryan was quick to agree.

  “You want to turn back?” Tommy asked, only partially joking.

  Everyone looked at her then, like it really was hers to decide. And in a way, she guessed it was. She had the most riding on the outcome. Which was exactly why she needed to keep moving forward.

  “No. Let’s do this,” she said, thinking if she spoke with conviction she might start to feel it. “You guys follow us.”

  She motioned for Ryan to go, then held fast to the door handle as the car bumped along the deeply rutted drive, occasionally scraping the bottom.

  “There goes the transmission,” Ryan quipped. “Not to worry, though, we’ll fetch it on the way back, along with the tailpipe.”

  Aster squinted into the darkness, unable to discern much of anything other than the ghostly form of a few random Joshua trees, their skeletal limbs reaching up toward the sky as though praising some invisible deity known only to them. “Shit,” she groaned, shaking her phone. “I can’t get a cell signal! You?”

  Ryan checked his cell and shook his head.

  “Great. That’s just great.” She groaned in frustration. “How’s Javen supposed to lead us to the tracker if we can’t reach him?”

  “The tracker’s with Madison,” Ryan reminded her. “If she’s here, then I’m assuming we’ll find her soon enough. According to Javen, it’s a small cabin, which leads me to believe there’s not a whole lot of places for someone to hide.” Aster was about to concede he was probably right, when he said, “Look—just up there—straight ahead. I think that’s it.”

  She leaned forward in her seat and peered through the dust-covered windshield, able to make out a small, one-story structure that, from what she could see, resembled more a shack than a cabin.

  “Jeez,” she mumbled in disdain. “I know the whole point of a second home is to escape the daily grind, but this is ridiculous.”

  “But maybe that’s not the whole point of this place,” Ryan said. “Maybe this isn’t about getting away so much, as it is keeping other people away.”

  Aster took a moment to consider his words. “Sounds kind of Unabomber-ish, don’t you think?”

  Ryan shrugged. “Good place to hide a hostage, that’s all I’m saying.”

  The cabin glowed under the beam of their headlights, and a moment later, Aster directed Ryan to pull over and park. “I don’t want to get too close,” she explained, as Ryan stopped the car and started cranking the wheel hard to the left. “What are you doing?”

  “Positioning for a quick escape, just in case.”

  “Good thinking.” She nodded, impressed with his foresight.

  “Learned that on set for a mystery pilot I shot that was never picked up. Never thought I’d ever use it to aid my own real-life investigation.”

  With both cars situated for a speedy getaway, they relied on the lights from their phones to find their way to the property.

  “How do you feel about snakes?” Layla asked.

  “Do you seriously have to ask?” Aster cried, furious with Layla for mentioning that. Despite the unrelenting desert heat that made LA feel like a mild day at the beach, Aster found herself shivering at the mere thought of snakes slithering around her feet.

  “Not to worry, they only come out during the day,” Ryan said.

  “More movie-set wisdom?” Aster spat, feeling jumpy, on edge, as Ryan laughed and reached for her hand, entwining his fingers with hers.

  “Either way, I’m choosing to believe it,” Layla said.

  They stopped beside an old metal mailbox set on a rusted steel post, and Tommy tugged on the latch and checked out the contents.

  “Mostly all mailers and junk.” He quickly sifted through it.

  “Mostly or all?” Aster asked.

  “You interested in paying his electricity bill?”

  “Maybe.” Aster plucked the envelope from his fingers and plunged it into her purse. “Who knows? It might contain some info we can use later.”

  “Like what—his gross wattage usage?”

  “Like the name he used, his account number, which Javen might be able to use to hack into and find something useful. Or not. Either way, I’m in no position not to take whatever I can successfully walk away with.”

  Tommy flashed his palms in mock surrender and followed them up the dirt path to the single-story cottage with the covered concrete porch. “Now what?” Tommy stopped before the weather-beaten front door.

  Aster nudged him out of the way and tapped her knuckles hard against the wood a few times. “Hello?” she called softly. “Anyone home?”

  “Seriously?” Ryan whispered. “You think that’s a good idea? Announcing us like that?”

  “What—you thought we’d kick the door down instead?”

  Tommy and Ryan seemed disappointed, Layla looked worried.

  When the knock went unanswered, Aster tried her luck turning the knob, but of course it was locked. “Guess we’ll have to work a little harder at this clue, since we weren’t exactly led here.” She glanced between the door and the window. “Looks like we’ll have to break it,” she said.

  “But won’t that set off an alarm?” Layla asked.

  “Providing there is one.” Tommy looked doubtful.

  “I’m not sure he’d bother with an alarm.” Ryan frowned. “It’s pretty much a desert shack, so what would be the point? If he uses this place as a getaway, then I doubt he stores any sensitive information in there.”

  “No sensitive information, just an A-list celebrity.” Layla smirked.

  Tired of the bickering, Aster grabbed a rusted metal table from the porch and said, “Everybody—stand back!” Then, before anyone could stop her, she thrust it right through the window, grinning in triumph when the glass shattered into a million satisfying bits.

  She moved to climb inside, when Ryan stepped in to stop her.

  “Let me,” he said. “Like you said, we have no idea what we might find in there.”

  Aster hesitated a moment, but eventually backed off and watched as Ryan cleared the sill of broken glass before hoisting himself over and inside in one swift, graceful move.

  “Anything?” she asked. Hearing the thud of his feet hitting the floor, Aster rose onto her toes and tried to peer inside, but it was as dark in there as it was on the porch where she stood.

  After what seemed like an agonizingly long moment, Ryan opened the door and stood wide-eyed before them. “Hurry,” he said. Shooting a suspicious look beyond the porch, he quickly ushered them in. “You are not going to believe this.”

  FORTY-ONE

  HOTEL CALIFORNIA

  The first thing Madison noticed when she woke was the heat.

  The unbearable, stifling, relentless heat.

  With her flesh dripping with sweat and her hair fiercely clinging to her cheeks and the back of her neck, she swiped a hand across her forehead and slowly blinked her eyes open.

  The second thing she noticed was that someone had relocated her.

  She sat up with a jolt, then instantly regretted the move when her head pounded with a deep, stabbing ache as a constellation of stars spun before her. Clutching the side of th
e dirty mat she’d slept on, she willed the pain to subside. When it finally dulled to a more tolerable throb, she forced herself to stand and take a look all around.

  How long had she been here?

  Her mind reeled toward the past as she fought to recall. She’d tried to run—tried to outwit her captor—only to be outwitted by them.

  Last thing she remembered was the sharp pinch on her thigh and then . . .

  And then nothing.

  While she’d managed to escape, it hadn’t been on her terms. Someone had moved her, but where—and why—only they knew for sure.

  Had someone come looking for her?

  And if so, how close had they gotten?

  Or had her captor simply thought it prudent to never stay in one place for too long?

  All valid questions best left for another place and time. While Madison had no concept of how long she’d been out, now that she was conscious again, she needed to move quickly. Needed to get a better sense of her new surroundings, then work out a new plan for escape. And this time, there was no room for mistakes.

  The relentless heat, as unbearable as it was, provided her with new hope.

  While the last room hadn’t been air-conditioned, it had been very well insulated, which not only kept it several degrees cooler than the outside temperature, but also made it much more difficult to break out of. But in this room, when Madison pressed her palm flush against the wall, it proved solid enough that it wouldn’t give easily, but not so solid that she couldn’t feel the surge of hot air emanating from beyond.

  Was it possible that if she screamed very loudly someone might actually hear and come running to help her?

  At the moment, she deemed it better not to try. She needed whoever was keeping her to assume she was still knocked out cold.

  Though the room was dark, it wasn’t so dark that Madison couldn’t discern the vague outlines of her various belongings. Locating her cashmere scarf abandoned a few feet from the mat, she wrapped it snugly at her waist and tied the loose ends in a knot. While it was clearly too hot to wear, it could come in handy once she was outside, since there was no telling where she might find herself.

  After exploring every square inch of the floor and running her hands along the walls, checking for shelves, she determined her shoes hadn’t made the trip with her, which was really too bad. Those four-inch stiletto heels could easily take out an eye.

  Other than the mat she’d slept on, and a lone bucket placed in the corner with a roll of toilet paper just beside it, the room was not only decidedly empty but also a major downgrade from her earlier digs, which in comparison seemed downright luxurious. Either she was in a temporary holding cell, or whoever had taken her no longer needed her and they’d dumped her there to die.

  She didn’t plan to stick around long enough to find out.

  The door was locked, but then she’d expected as much, though she was encouraged to find it was made of wood and not metal like the previous one. Metal was impossible to break through. But wood was an entirely different story. And wood in a hot, dry climate was prone to aging, weathering, and splintering, which would only work in her favor.

  While whatever they’d given her left her feeling frailer than she was used to, Madison summoned what remained of her energy and sprang into action. Grasping the bucket from the corner, she repeatedly rammed it hard against the door, until she stumbled back in fatigue and despair, riddled with grief to see the door hadn’t so much as budged.

  She lay sprawled on the floor, sweaty and breathless as she searched for other options. There had to be a way out of there, had to be. . . .

  Her gaze caught on a spot in the middle of the wall that, while impossible to fully discern in the darkened room, appeared patched, as though it were covering something.

  Something like a window, maybe?

  Without another thought, Madison jumped to her feet and started pulling at the wood. Tearing her flesh and bloodying her hands in her efforts, she had no choice but to work through the pain.

  She continued punching and tugging until she heard that first, deeply satisfying crack as the wood began to give way and separate from the wall, ultimately revealing a small broken window she could easily fit through.

  Flipping the bucket upside down, Madison balanced on it for one precarious moment, before she inhaled deeply and dove straight into darkness.

  She landed with a muffled thud and quickly scrambled to her feet. Stealing a handful of seconds to catch her breath and get her bearings, Madison darted forward and raced headlong into the night.

  FORTY-TWO

  WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE

  “I don’t get it.” Aster squinted at the long brunette wig Ryan waved before them as though it were somehow significant.

  “This proves Madison really was here!” he cried. “This is her wig!”

  “How can you be so sure?” Tommy asked. “Considering Paul’s a PI, it could just as easily be his.”

  Ryan continued to examine it. “Madison kept a collection of wigs. She used to create these elaborate disguises so she could move about anonymously. I’m pretty sure this is one from her collection. I remember her wearing it.”

  “Did it work?” Layla asked. “Was she able to go unnoticed?”

  “Usually.” He nodded. “She was a master at disguise. She’d create entire characters with elaborate backstories. She seemed to really enjoy it.”

  “Kind of like how she created herself.” Layla wore a deeply contemplative expression.

  “And why are you just now getting around to telling me this?” Aster took the wig from Ryan and plucked at the seams lining the scalp as she studied it from all sides.

  “I guess it didn’t seem relevant until now. Anyway, I found this sitting on that chair over there.”

  Tommy studied the hideous vinyl recliner and frowned. Since Paul worked with Madison and a long list of celebrities, it seemed safe to assume he made them pay dearly for the kind of shady services they required. Which made the chair even more incongruous. Why wouldn’t he at least spring for one that wasn’t ripped at the arms with the stuffing spilling out?

  Then again, maybe this was less a hideaway for Paul, and more a place for hiding others. And if that was the case, did those people hide willingly, or were they held against their will for a much darker purpose?

  “Has anyone noticed how much this resembles the hair on the person in the video?” Aster’s troubled looked found each of them. “Do you think it was Madison who took me there?”

  Tommy was the first to doubt it. “I guess it’s possible, but that makes for a really tight timeline. We hung out at the Vesper for a while.”

  “Not that tight of a timeline,” Layla piped up. “Aster and Ryan hung at Night for Night as Ira served them champagne. It is possible.”

  “Well, one thing’s sure.” Ryan took the wig from Aster. “I can think of two reasons why this thing was left here. One is neither Paul nor Madison believed anyone would ever find this place. The other is one or both of them knew we would most definitely find this place.” Ryan stared at the wig as though the answers were written somewhere in the strands. “And while I’m hoping for the former, I’m betting on the latter.”

  “Well, if Madison was here, she clearly isn’t here now.” Tommy looked around the small rectangular room with its beamed ceiling and wood-paneled walls. There was a small kitchenette in the corner, an ugly plaid couch that looked as though it served double duty as a bed, the crappy lounge chair, an eyesore of a coffee table that had seen better days, and a tiny bathroom just off to the side with a toilet, a sink, a cracked mirror, and a minuscule stand-up shower with a serious grime issue that kicked in his gag reflex. Paul’s cabin was the definition of simple, rustic, grubby living at its best.

  “Well, she might not be here now, but that doesn’t mean she won’t return, and I plan to be here waiting for her when she does,” Aster said. “Anyone have a cell signal?” She took in a collective shaking of heads and sighed.

/>   “So . . . that’s the plan? To sit here and wait for an indeterminate amount of time, until Madison or Paul or both either does or doesn’t return?” Layla watched as Aster shrugged and idly picked through a stack of ancient National Geographic magazines before placing them back on the table where she’d found them. She didn’t look thrilled by the news—well, neither was Tommy.

  “You have a better idea?” Aster said. “At least this gives us a chance to poke around and see what else we might find. I mean, if Madison really is or was staying here, then there must be something more than just a wig left behind. I think we should check through all the drawers, the cupboards, and even dig through the trash.” Then, looking at Ryan, she said, “What kind of food did Madison eat?”

  He rubbed his chin and thought about it. “Healthy food.” He shrugged. “If you find random chia seeds and empty Pressed Juicery bottles, then you’ll know for sure she was here. Listen, you guys search inside. I’m gonna have a look around the property.”

  He swiped a flashlight from a wall hook by the door and disappeared outside, as the rest of them went to work.

  Tommy poked around as instructed, but his heart wasn’t in it. Besides the wig, which did seem a bit out of place, it didn’t appear as though anyone was currently in residence. The small fridge was empty, the few dishes and glasses were all put away, the trash had been taken out, and no one had bothered to replace the plastic liner bag. The only sign of life came from the multiple spiderwebs hanging from the light fixtures and draping the corners. With his luck they were probably woven by black widows—the females were considered the most venomous spider in North America, and the desert had no shortage of them. He worked his jaw and surveyed the room, on the lookout for deadly black insects with red hourglass symbols hidden on their underbellies.

  “Someone planted that wig,” he muttered, though what he really wanted to say was, I think we’ve made a huge mistake by coming here, and I’m more than ready to leave!