den appearance with such calm calculation it bordered on eerie. And now, from what Tommy had heard, Ira had taken on the role of Aster’s only hope for salvation.
While it was no secret that Ira was a control freak who liked to surround himself with people who were wholly dependent on him, the question was why?
Was it so he could keep a team of loyal minions on call?
Or did it go much deeper and darker than that?
And now that Ira had succeeded at snaring them all in his web, would they ever be able to find their way out again?
He sank deeper into his seat, thinking he should call Layla and relay his suspicions. But a moment later, Malina texted, demanding to know where he was. And just like that, Tommy was reminded of his earlier vow to get serious about his future and stay away from problems that weren’t his to solve.
If Tommy was ever going to fulfill his dream of not only leaving Ira’s employ, but confronting him with the truth of their connection once and for all, then he needed to do whatever it took to launch a successful music career.
Besides, they were all adults, and they’d made their own choices. And as Layla liked to remind him, LA was an ambitious place where friends were in short supply.
Without another thought, he jerked the mirror back into place, pulled away from the curb, and headed for the recording studio.
NINETEEN
BUILDING A MYSTERY
Trena Moretti sipped her red wine and reviewed the video of her interview with Aster for what she guessed to be the seventh time, or possibly even the tenth—she’d lost count after five. The first two viewings had been mostly celebratory in nature, with Trena grinning the entire time, reveling in the fact that she was headed for prime-time TV. Each subsequent viewing was watched with an eye toward critiquing her performance—the areas where she could stand to improve, openings she might have missed due to her nervousness.
When it came to her performance, Trena was merciless, tougher than most critics would ever venture to be, though her brutality served a purpose. Once she cataloged her mistakes and committed them to memory, she rarely, if ever, repeated them.
For the most part, she had to admit that the interview had gone well. Aster proved to be a much more challenging subject than Trena had expected, which would only help to increase the ratings. Trena saw herself as a storyteller, a narrator, and like any good story, the protagonist was only as good as the antagonist pitted against her. Aster’s feistiness and refusal to fold ensured that Trena stayed sharp, focused, and on top of her game. It was just a matter of time before the interview went viral and earned itself the hashtag of #mustsee status.
Early word from the network chiefs proved they were pleased, which Trena hoped would lead to more TV opportunities. Now that she’d gotten a taste of life before the camera, the idea of returning solely to print journalism seemed inconceivable.
It was time she set her sights higher, forged a plan to move up in the world. And there was no doubt in her mind that the Madison disappearance was her first-class ticket to permanent prime-time.
Thanks to her good luck in meeting Layla early on, Trena had been uniquely positioned to break the story in a way all the other competing journalists lacked. It didn’t hurt that Layla had looked up to her and viewed Trena as a mentor. Hell, there was no denying the girl had been totally starstruck, and Trena had willingly embraced her new role as a sort of journalism guru.
But lately, Layla had been acting slippery and elusive, making it nearly impossible to pin the girl down. And with the trial date set, Trena’s source at the LAPD claiming there was nothing new to relay, and Priya, her new assistant, so far unable to uncover anything meaty enough to be of any use, Trena found herself in the unenviable position of having to chase after Layla in the way Layla had once chased after her.
While the Madison scandal wouldn’t be fading from public consciousness anytime soon, Trena was far too competitive, and way too ambitious, to lose the momentum she’d worked so hard to gain. Meeting Layla at the quietly elegant Palmers, with its faux suede booths and large sepia-toned photos of wild mustangs lining the walls, was her first major step toward remedying that.
She checked her watch and frowned. Layla was eighteen minutes late, which was something the once eager-to-please girl never would’ve chanced before. Clearly she was aware of the shift in power, and she was playing the moment for all it was worth.
“She’s here.”
Trena removed her earpiece and squinted in the direction Priya was looking. “I don’t see her.”
“She’s talking to the hostess.” Priya nodded in that direction.
“How’d you recognize her—have you met?”
“I do my research.” Priya started to gather her things. “They’re heading over now.”
For a moment, Trena considered letting her stay, then quickly decided against it. Layla was more prone to talk if it was just the two of them.
Priya had just slid away from the table when Layla arrived. The two paused, stared briefly at each other, before Priya moved on and Layla claimed her side of the booth.
Trena studied her carefully. Layla seemed upset, more tightly wound than usual. The way she ran a hand through her hair and looked all around as though she was rethinking her decision to meet left Trena uneasy.
“It’s been a while,” Layla said, visibly calming as her gaze finally met Trena’s.
“I assumed you’ve been busy.” Trena took a small sip of her wine and settled her fingers at the base of the stem. It was better to proceed slowly and let Layla lead.