Blacklist (Beautiful Idols 2)

“You seem upset.” She leaned across the table and peered at Layla with a look she hoped passed for concerned. “Is everything okay?”

Layla squared her shoulders as though summoning a strength she was beginning to doubt. “My friend’s on trial for a murder she didn’t commit, and now . . .”

And now WHAT? Trena wanted to shout, but instead she forced herself to sip her wine slowly and pretend as though it didn’t matter in the least whether or not Layla continued.

Layla shook her head in dismissal, and Trena was sure she’d just lost her, when she suddenly blurted, “What do you know about libel?” She pressed her lips into a thin, grim line as her cheeks flushed ever so slightly. “As a journalist, I mean. Under what circumstances can someone go after you and sue you for being libelous?”

“Is this about Madison?” Trena sensed it was, but she needed Layla to confirm it.

Layla hesitated, but ultimately conceded a nod.

“Well, Madison’s a public figure, so . . .”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that.” Layla waved her hand impatiently. “What I meant was, what if someone posted something like a piece of writing or something they attributed to Madison? But then later, it turned out they’d been tricked and that it wasn’t from Madison at all. Could that be considered libel?”

So this was why she was acting so jumpy when she first arrived—she was haunted, afraid someone was setting her up. After what had happened to Aster, Layla had good reason to be paranoid. Whoever was behind all this had considerable reach.

Trena leaned back in her seat and pretended to put serious thought to the dilemma. “If I knew about your situation, then I might be of more help.”

Layla clamped her lips shut, as though forcing herself to keep from saying something she feared she’d only live to regret. Though the way she pulled her purse onto her lap and toyed with the strap hinted at a deeper desire to reveal whatever she was hiding in there.

Trena sat across from her, silently willing her to hand over the goods, when the next thing she knew, Layla clutched the bag to her chest and shot up from the table.

“I gotta go,” she said, voice edged with panic.

Trena forced herself to remain calm. “Sure you can’t stay?”

Layla shook her head and shifted her weight from foot to foot as though she couldn’t get out of there quickly enough.

“Okay. Well, call me if you need anything.” Trena kept her tone cool and her expression cooler. “You know I’m here for you.”

Layla nodded distractedly, looked all around, and bolted past the hostess stand and out the front door.

A moment later, Trena tossed a handful of bills onto the table and slipped out behind her.

Careful to keep a few car lengths between them, she followed Layla all the way to Aster’s building, where she parked outside and debated what to do.

Layla knew something, something that maybe Trena could use. But at the moment, the girl was too paranoid to confide anything, leaving Trena no choice but to follow Layla and keep her under surveillance until Trena found a way to regain Layla’s trust.

She adjusted her seat and prepared to settle in. There was no telling how long it might take. Lowering her window in search of fresh air, she was instantly slammed by a blast of heat so intense it was like sitting in a dry sauna. She was tempted to put it back up and rely on the air conditioner instead, but with less than a quarter tank of gas to spare, she had no choice but to make peace with the sweat.

But it’s a dry heat! the locals liked to say. All Trena knew was that the thought of sitting in a car for an interminable amount of time on a triple-digit day was a miserable fate either way.

Her belly grumbled, and Trena cursed herself for not grabbing a bite at the restaurant while she’d had the chance. Who knew how long she’d be forced to sit in her car, waiting for Layla to emerge?

She popped open the glove box in search of an energy bar, a bag of M&M’s, something to tide her over so she wouldn’t faint from starvation. Spying an almond biscotti she’d picked up at Starbucks a week earlier, she tore open the wrapper and popped a small broken piece into her mouth. It was stale, and she couldn’t help cringing a little as her teeth crushed against it. She was seriously considering spitting it out when she noticed what looked to be an unmarked police car parked on the opposite side of the street.

Forcing down the biscotti with a sip from the bottle of water she always kept on hand, Trena leaned out the window, lifted her shades, and squinted into the sun. Her gaze widened in surprise when she saw it was Detective Larsen slumped behind the wheel of the unmarked car, his gaze fixed on Aster’s building.

TWENTY

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER

“It’s official, I have a stalker.” Layla dropped dramatically onto the couch and glanced between Aster, Ryan, and Aster’s little brother, Javen, who was hunched over a computer, typing furiously while Aster and Ryan anxiously looked on from their place on the couch. “Someone left a note on my car threatening my well-being if I don’t post Madison’s diary entries on my blog.”

“So why don’t you?” Ryan asked.

Layla shrugged. “Because they’re only interesting if they really are written by Madison. And even then, they’re only interesting because they reveal a side of her no one has seen.”