Botox? Madison shook her head. She was eighteen, what the hell did she need with Botox?
This had been a mistake. If someone recognized her now, it wouldn’t end well. She ran a serious risk of being attacked by the mob, and from what she could see, there wasn’t a single person willing to jump in and help.
She stood on shaky legs, determined to make a quick getaway, when someone shoved into her so hard, it nearly sent her crashing into a huge poster of herself. Under any other circumstances, the scene would be comical. As it was, Madison was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.
“You okay?” a girl asked.
Tentatively, Madison nodded. She wasn’t used to feeling so vulnerable, and she hated every moment of it.
“Tragic, isn’t it?”
Madison turned. The girl was probably around her age and had long brown hair, styled in long, beachy waves. Same way Madison often wore hers.
“All that time I spent admiring her.” The girl scowled. “I can never get that time back.”
Madison was incensed. She’d made the movies they loved, promoted the products they clamored for. She’d allowed glimpses into a lifestyle they all dreamed of living. What more did she actually owe them?
“Really?” Madison spat. “That’s your idea of tragic? Maybe you should try stepping away from your Instagram feed long enough to read a newspaper so you can see what real tragedy looks like.”
The second it was out, she was overcome with regret. But it was too late to walk it back.
Enraged, the girl spun on her and unleashed a tirade of hate that left Madison with no choice but to get the hell out of there as fast as her ankle allowed.
She limped toward the Jeep and had just swung open the door when a hand caught hold of her. The fingers pinched at the spot where the tracker had been ripped from her arm.
The moment sent her mind reeling back to the two previous times, at Night for Night and in Joshua Tree, when some unknown attacker had come out of nowhere and grabbed her from behind.
She whipped her body around. It was broad daylight, on a crowded street. She would not go down easily.
A scream rose up her throat, only to die on her tongue when she locked eyes with a guy holding a T-shirt bearing her image.
“Fifteen dollar,” he said.
Madison stared in astonishment and fought hard not to laugh. It was one of the more surreal moments of what had become a very strange life.
Above her picture was the word Wanted. Below, it read: MaryDella Slocum, goes by the alias Madison Brooks. If seen, contact LAPD Trena Moretti.
Unfreakingbelievable. The world had known for two days, and a T-shirt had already entered the marketplace. It was capitalism at its best.
“I’ll give you six.” She reached for her wallet.
“Ten,” he shot back, looking offended.
“Seven,” she said. “Best and final.”
After a moment of false deliberation he agreed, and Madison climbed into the Jeep and drove away from the scene. Her crumpled image on the seat beside her, she went in search of Tommy Phillips.
FIFTEEN
THINK A LITTLE LESS
By the time Aster and Ryan made it to Ojai, it was too dark to locate the trailer. After a string of dead ends, Ryan booked them a room at the Ojai Valley Inn, so they’d have a nice place to sleep before they tried again the next day.
“Separate beds?” Aster stood inside the doorway, overcome with shyness as she nervously surveyed the room.
“Didn’t want to assume anything.” Ryan shot her a cautious look. “Also, I’m respecting your wish to take things slowly.”
At the time, Aster had been sure she’d never be able to sleep with Ryan lying in the very next bed. Turned out, she was so exhausted from the day and all that she’d been through, she was out the moment her head hit the pillow and didn’t so much as stir until Ryan returned the next morning with a large bag from the gift shop and a small tin bucket filled with two cartons of fresh orange juice.