Mateo had no more than shrugged when Heather was retrieving her phone from her oversize bag. After a few taps on the keypad, she held it to her ear and walked away for a bit. A few minutes later, she returned and said, “You have a meeting first thing tomorrow at my agency. And while there’s absolutely no pressure to sign, it wouldn’t hurt to see what it’s all about.”
He swallowed hard and followed her across the sand and back to their respective cars. It was all happening so fast, and while he was happy he’d succeeded at what he’d set out to do, there was no mistaking that the triumph was also tinged with great sadness.
Then again, all beginnings were endings in disguise, and vice versa. Still, it felt weird to think that it was his kissing another girl—a girl who was the exact opposite of Layla—that had won him the gig.
Not to mention how he hadn’t yet gotten around to explaining why he wanted the job in the first place. For some strange reason, he needed Heather to know he wasn’t just another fame seeker. He had a higher purpose, a goal.
He opened his mouth to speak, when she shot him a friendly grin. “Today was fun,” she said. “Let me know how it goes tomorrow, ’kay?” Mateo watched as she slid behind the wheel and closed the door between them.
Sliding his sunglasses onto his face, he gazed out at the beach through dark-tinted lenses, telling himself there was plenty of time to explain everything later.
FOURTEEN
WHISPER TO A SCREAM
If Layla had to pinpoint one thing that was different about Aster, well, she could never narrow it down to just one thing. As Aster leaned against a black BMW with her arms crossed over her chest, she appeared to be an entirely different person from the girl Layla once knew.
Where Aster had once conveyed the sort of easy confidence that came from a life where unlimited beauty and wealth seemed to flow without effort, the dark-haired girl standing before her was far more muted, less haughty, and completely lacking in the sort of arrogance that once used to define her.
Though that wasn’t to say she’d become timid or weak. If anything, she carried a marked air of assuredness that was missing before. Then again, arrogance was often born of insecurity—assuredness was something one earned—which left Layla wondering what the week behind bars had been like for her.
“My car’s been impounded,” Aster said, patting the trunk. “Apparently, it’s being ripped apart in search of evidence, so Ira loaned me this.” She shook her head in a way that sent her long, dark ponytail sailing over her shoulder, seeming to need a moment to shake free of the thought. “Anyway, thanks for coming.” Her voice was breezy, as though she was hosting some kind of bizarre, high-end block party.
Though she tried not to be obvious about it, Layla couldn’t help but gape at the giant shiner surrounding Aster’s eye, never mind the thick scab bisecting her lip.
“You should see the other girl,” Aster quipped, catching Layla staring a few seconds too long.
Layla shrugged, unsure how to respond.
“Please.” Aster surveyed the length of the dark and quiet street. “It’s the first thing you noticed. Admit it.”
“I just assumed it was some kind of smoky eyeliner trend I wasn’t quite up on.” Layla laughed in a way that betrayed just how awkward she felt. “You know how fashion challenged I am.”
Aster looked her over with a studied gaze. “You’re not nearly as tragic as you used to be. You used to dress like you were asking permission. Now you just own it.” She nodded approvingly toward Layla’s angled blond bob, distressed black skinny jeans, black ankle boots with gold studs, and silk cami. Then, clearly done with the small talk and pleasantries, she pushed away from her car and said, “Listen, I don’t want you to feel weird around me. Aside from this black eye, nothing has changed.” Fielding Layla’s doubtful look, she tried again. “Yes, I’m a little banged up, but I’ll heal. And I really wasn’t kidding when I said you should see the other girl.” There was an edge to her voice that left Layla convinced. “So don’t act so careful around me like I’m some fragile thing that might break. I’m a lot tougher than you think, and I can’t just sit back and trust twelve people who are too stupid to get out of jury duty to believe that I’m innocent. I can’t afford to let it get to that point. I need to clear my name now, and I need your help. Since apparently Tommy can’t be bothered to show, much less reply to my text.”
“Tommy’s . . .” A dick, a jerk, a giant douche—while they all fit, rather than finish the thought, Layla just rolled her eyes and shook her head, allowing the look to say what words couldn’t.
“But you brought the keys, right?”
Layla sighed. With Aster’s question, Layla’s worst fear was confirmed. This wasn’t just some arbitrary address Aster had chosen in an attempt to outwit the paparazzi—if that had been the case, they would’ve met up in her luxury apartment at the W. No, this was Madison’s hood.
She shot a look around the neighborhood. The street was wide and clean, bordered on either side by a succession of thick walls, big gates, and towering hedges that were impossible to see past. It was the first tier in what Layla suspected would turn out to be a many-layered defense meant to protect the multimillion-dollar properties beyond from prying eyes, prowlers, and people like them who had no business lurking.
“You’re not proposing we break into her house . . . are you?” Layla already knew the answer but hoped that, just maybe, she’d misread the signs. Night had fallen a couple of hours ago, and the dim burn of streetlamps cast everything around them in a shadowy, sinister glow. Even the stray dog on the far side of the street looked more like a hostile hellhound than the lazy Labradoodle it most likely was.
“It’s hardly breaking and entering when you have a key.” Aster thrust an open palm toward Layla and wiggled her fingers.
“I’m not sure that’s true. . . .” Layla sounded nervous. She had good reason to be. Her hand actually shook as she surrendered the keys, not feeling the least bit relieved when the Labradoodle/hellhound moved on. Where had it gone? And worse—would it return with more demon dog friends? “Listen,” she said, already regretting forfeiting the keys. Not like keeping them would’ve changed anything when Aster was so bent on completing her mission. Still, she owed it to both of them to at least try to reason with her. “Don’t you think the cops have already been here? For all we know, they could have someone posted inside right now, just waiting for you to show up.”
The thought of walking into a trap—even worse, a trap set by Larsen—was reason enough to flee. Though judging by the resolute look on Aster’s face, she wasn’t even close to being swayed.
“Please.” Aster’s voice was dismissive and brisk. “It’s not like it’s a crime scene. Madison’s blood was found at Night for Night, not here. Sure, they probably checked out the place, but I’m also sure they’re long gone by now, so I really don’t think we have anything to worry about. Still, if you want to bail, now’s your chance. But with or without you, I’m going in. The California death penalty may be dormant, but death row is alive and well. Just because they haven’t executed anyone since 2006 doesn’t mean they won’t change their minds and make me the example. For the first time in my life, I can literally say I have nothing to lose. Which leaves me no choice but to risk it, even if it turns out you’re right and I live to regret it.”
The words hung heavy between them, and for a change, Layla couldn’t think of a single good retort. “Guess that explains why you’re dressed like a cat burglar.” She motioned toward Aster’s all-black ensemble, which seemed really inappropriate for such a hot summer night, and watched in dismay as Aster dipped an arm into a large black tote bag, retrieved two dark beanies, and tossed one to her.
“And the video?” She looked at Layla. “I’m assuming you still have it. I gave it to you right before Larsen cuffed me.”
Layla reached into her bag and handed it over.