“Isn’t it a little too late to question that now?” Tommy said, though he kept his tone gentle.
“Never too late,” Aster replied in all seriousness. “If you guys want to make a run for the car and forget this ever happened, I wouldn’t blame you. But since I don’t have that luxury . . .” Without another word she pushed at the door, but it refused to so much as budge.
“This looks exactly like the kind of place where you’d keep a hostage.” Ryan studied the door as though looking for a weak spot, a way in. “Maybe Paul really did go rogue and this is where he’s keeping her.”
Softly, Aster pressed against the door and called Madison’s name as they all paused to listen. “Madison? You in there?” she called again.
“We need Javen,” Layla said. “If the tracker signal really is transmitting from here, then we need to know if it’s coming from inside. And since we can’t reach him, I’m really starting to think we should let the cops know what we’ve found and let them take it from here.”
“Still no signal,” Aster said. “And forget about the cops. Seriously. I don’t trust Larsen. For whatever reason, he has it out for me.”
“Pretty sure this is out of his jurisdiction,” Layla said.
“Yeah, and as soon as he gets wind of it, he’ll find a way to manipulate the evidence and use it against me—against all of us, probably. Which leaves me no choice but to knock that door down and see what the hell Paul is hiding in there.”
“Guys, never mind the door, I think we just found our way in.” They followed Ryan to the back of the shed, where he aimed the flashlight on a broken window. “Who wants to go first?”
FORTY-THREE
FIGHT SONG
A long day of relentless desert sun had left the earth so scorched it burned straight into the soft soles of Madison’s feet.
But that paled in comparison to what the jagged rocks and low-lying shrubs with their razor-sharp spikes had done to her legs, fiercely biting into her flesh and leaving her limbs a bloody, pulped mess.
Madison fought to ignore the excruciating pain and focused on moving instead. Her pace was labored and slow, her breathing staggered, but as long as she could continue placing one foot in front of the other, she would put enough distance between herself and the shack that she might even start to feel safe once again.
Somewhere in the not-so-far distance, a pack of coyotes howled. Their eerie chorus combined with the incessant chirping of crickets seemed almost maniacal, as though intended to taunt her, while things slithered at the ground under her feet. Were they snakes? Lizards? She figured it was better not to know.
Overhead, a constellation of stars shimmered and dazzled, but there was no time to stop and admire them. It was mindless stargazing that had landed her in this mess in the first place. She wondered if, once she finally found her way out, she’d ever be able to view the night sky in the same way again.
The moon was in its waning phase, making the shadowy landscape appear abstract, almost alien, while providing very little light in which to navigate.
It was the perfect place to hide a cache of secrets.
The perfect place to bury a girl.
A small formation of boulders sprang into view, and Madison changed course and raced toward it. The rocks would provide temporary cover. A place to hide for a moment, long enough to catch her breath and regroup.
She pushed herself faster, harder, all too aware of how vulnerable she must look—a small, lone figure left to the mercy of the environment, the weather, and predators—both animal and human.
Her next step saw her foot coming down hard and landing all wrong, with her ankle violently twisting one way, as her body soared in the opposite direction.
The moment she was falling seemed almost surreal, like time had purposely paused so she could fully experience the horror of what was happening to her. A shriek of pain strangled her throat, her vision blurred to a haze of searing-hot misery, as the ground rose up to meet her and she landed with a thud, curled her knees to her chest, and writhed in a moment of agony so extreme, she was sure she’d never survive it.
How was it possible for her to have made it so far, only to render herself lame in her eagerness to flee?
Why had a life that had once seemed to favor her turned so resolutely against her?
Ripping her scarf from her waist, she wrapped her leg tightly and forced herself to stand.
Forced herself to work past the screaming white throbbing and start moving again.
The injury would slow her, but it would not, could not, stop her.
Calling upon the same infinite reserve of strength she’d used to propel herself out of her impoverished childhood to the top of the Hollywood elite, Madison Brooks gritted her teeth and dragged herself through the night.
FORTY-FOUR