Infamous (Beautiful Idols 3)

The past never really stayed buried.

And now hers was rising up to haunt her.

After memorizing the face and corresponding stats, she carefully placed the ID in the center of the safe, so Paul would know without question that Madison was onto him.

She struggled to her feet and took a few tentative steps. Her ankle was tender, but she was determined to manage without any sort of crutch, literal or figurative. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she limped out the front door, more than ready to reenter the world.

EIGHT

LONG ROAD OUT OF EDEN

Layla pulled into the parking lot, slipped free of her car, and searched for Trena’s dark red Lexus coupe as she found her way to the entrance of Lake Shrine. She’d made a point to arrive early, thinking it might give her the upper hand, or at least help to restore some of the confidence she’d recently lost.

From the moment she’d woken from her nap, she was inundated with texts, emails, and voice messages. It seemed every major news outlet had gotten wind of her blog post and wanted an interview.

Wearily, she deleted them all and gave her father strict instructions to hang up on anyone who dared to call and ask about it.

Trena’s was the only call she’d returned, though she still wasn’t sure why, other than the fact that she and Trena shared a connection. They’d met the first day Madison was presumed missing, and as much as Layla had grown to distrust and resent Trena, there was a time, not long ago, when Layla had believed in, and even admired her.

Now she viewed Trena as yet another morally ambiguous sellout in a city that specialized in them.

Still, Layla was smart enough to know when she was in over her head. She hoped Trena could help her make sense of the mess she’d found herself in.

Layla walked along the sun-dappled pathway. With the swan-filled lake on one side, and a fragrant garden tangled with blooms on the other, she took in the golden lotus archway, the houseboat, the statue of Krishna playing his flute, and the sarcophagus said to contain Gandhi’s ashes, and made her way past the windmill to the small, quiet cove with low marble benches.

As a kid, she’d visited frequently with her dad, but years had passed since she’d last made the trip. It was the perfect spot to meet, one of the few places in LA she could count on to remain paparazzi free.

“Well, this is unexpected.”

Layla’s heart sank when she saw that Trena had arrived early. Then again, Trena was always one step ahead. Resigned to the situation, Layla claimed the opposite bench.

“What surprises you most, the location or my willingness to meet?” Layla asked.

“Wasn’t sure you’d show.” A slight breeze kicked up and Layla watched as Trena lifted a hand in an attempt to keep her wild mane of bronze curls from blowing into her face.

“Why? Because you implicated me in a crime I didn’t commit?” Layla was tired, but not too tired to call her out. But again, Trena was a pro and took the harsh words in stride.

“How you holding up?” She studied Layla with concern.

Layla sighed. There was no point in pretending she was any better off than she was. “I watched your show last night.”

Trena arched a perfectly groomed brow. “You and a million other people.” Though the words reeked of smug self-satisfaction, the delivery was the opposite. Trena was merely stating a fact.

“How’d you get ahold of Madison’s birth certificate?” Layla figured Trena would hedge on the answer.

“My source came through.” Trena lifted her slim shoulders and crossed her legs at the knee. “How’d you get ahold of Madison’s diary? Or at least I hope that’s her diary, because if not . . .” She left the sentence unfinished. When Layla didn’t take the bait, Trena said, “Last time we met, you asked about libel laws. I’m guessing that’s why?”

Layla gave a quick nod and waited for a hand-holding couple to move well out of earshot. Maybe she’d made a mistake choosing such a public place to meet?

Sensing Layla’s concern, Trena leaned toward her and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I guess your post means you’ve determined it is in fact Madison’s?”

Layla screwed her eyes shut and slowly shook her head. When she opened them, she said, “My blog was hacked.” One look at Trena’s sardonic smirk was all it took for Layla to know her words had not landed the way she’d intended. “I mean, yeah. Obviously, the post was mine. I wrote the opening. Only I left it in my draft folder. I guess someone got tired of waiting.”

“Who got tired?” Trena’s voice took on a confessional tone.

“I don’t know. I don’t have a clue who’s behind this. Some anonymous person has been sending me packages that contain stuff about Madison, mainly diary entries, and they always include a threatening note.”

“What kind of threats?” The cautious look on Trena’s face made Layla wonder if she knew more than she was letting on.