Blacklist (Beautiful Idols 2)
Without a word she moved back into the living room, as Ryan looked all around. His hands involuntarily clenched into fists, as though ready to lash out at the specter of the person who’d wronged her.
In a way, it was sweet. But Aster refused to be swayed.
“This is where I was standing when that video was made,” she said, hating the way her voice shook when she said it.
“So, how far away was the person filming you?”
She looked at him, not quite comprehending.
“I mean, was it a close-up, or a bit farther away?”
Aster swallowed hard, and said, “A bit farther away. Like, you could see most of me . . . or at least to my knees . . . maybe my shins. I can’t really remember. But I don’t think you could see my feet.”
Ryan nodded and squinted at the painting. “So, someone was standing here.” He went to stand just in front of it. But before he reached it, something caught Aster’s eye.
“Wait—is that . . .”
Ryan turned to see what she was pointing at.
“Do you see that? Right there—toward the middle. Is that a hole?”
They moved closer, and as Ryan brushed his fingers over the canvas, they caught in the small hole that had been punched into the painting.
The artwork was large and vibrant, another H. D. Harrison, according to the signature at the bottom. And though the puncture was small and easily missed, upon closer inspection there was no doubt it’d been purposely placed there. She’d started to lift the painting from the wall when Ryan rushed to help. Then the two of them gaped in dismay at the crudely constructed shallow shelf that could easily hold a portable video surveillance device or even a cell phone set to record.
“Maybe it wasn’t as bad as you think?” Ryan had barely finished the thought when Aster whirled on him, ready to let him have it, and he quickly flashed his palms in surrender. “I know. I just heard it, and I’m sorry that it came out all wrong. What I meant was, maybe you were alone. Maybe no one was ever here with you.”
She felt the air rush out of her as the real words, the ones he wanted to say, but either couldn’t or wouldn’t, played in her head. Maybe your worst fear never happened. Maybe no one raped you. Maybe you can let go of this particular burden you’ve been dragging around.
The thought was worth clinging to, but at the moment, it was pure speculation. There was no proof it was true.
All she knew for sure was that someone had gone to great lengths to set her up. The thought of this nameless, faceless enemy intent on taking her down was almost impossible to imagine, and yet Aster no longer had the luxury of living in denial.
After taking a series of pics of the find, Ryan replaced the painting, and they made to leave. Checking her phone on the way out the door, she gasped audibly as she read Ira’s text.
“What is it?” Ryan slung a protective arm around her, and for a change, she made no attempt to push him away.
Wanted you to hear it from me first—your trial date just set for Sept 20. Earlier than hoped, but judge won’t budge. Not to worry, your defense is on it.
She stood rooted in place, on the verge of hyperventilating. “I can’t even believe this!” She gazed imploringly at Ryan. “I’m a little more than a month away from sitting in a courtroom, forced to passively look on as my attorneys try to convince twelve strangers to believe in my innocence, and they probably won’t even let me testify on my own behalf. The defense is always so afraid the defendant will get tripped up under cross-examination they rarely allow that. Meanwhile, the jurors all naturally assume that if you really are innocent, then you should get up there and proclaim it. So when you don’t, it’s like a major strike against you. There’s no getting around it—I’m doomed!”
Her knees started to give as she saw the floor rearing up to meet her. And the next thing she knew, Ryan had folded her into his arms and was smoothing a hand over her hair, whispering softly into her ear. “It’s all right—you’re all right—it will all be okay. . . .”
She wanted to believe him, wanted so badly for it to be true. But a moment later, she broke free of his grasp, steadied herself, and said, “But what if you’re wrong?”
His worried gaze met hers, but it was nothing compared to the brand of panic stirring within her.
“Way it stands now, there’s just not enough to support my plea of innocent. My only hope for acquittal lies in finding a proper alibi—one that can’t be contested. Which means I have to fill in the missing gaps of that night or find Madison. Either way, I need to move fast. Every moment spent is a potential moment lost. The countdown has begun.”
She moved toward the elevator bank and impatiently jabbed the call button with one hand, while texting Javen with the other and asking him to meet after school. Then, looking at Ryan, she said, “Wait a few minutes before you make your way down. Then meet me outside by the car.”
She rode the car to the lobby and returned the key fob to the concierge.
“And?” The guy gave her a squinty look. Or maybe that was how he always looked.
“I’m definitely interested,” Aster told him, her voice a little shaky in a way she hoped he wouldn’t notice. “How does this work?”
He slid a card toward her. It was completely blank other than a web address.