She hugged herself at the waist and shivered. She couldn’t bear to think how they’d react. T
hough they’d definitely disown her, of that she was sure.
It was hard to be around them knowing how much she’d shamed them, so she’d done what she could to distance herself. On her last visit, they’d surprised her with their show of support. But when they tried to talk her into accepting a plea bargain, she’d left in despair.
Aster was adamant about not pleading guilty to a crime she hadn’t committed. She’d take her chances with a jury. But now, with only two weeks left until trial, she sometimes wondered if she’d made the wrong choice.
If they didn’t find Madison soon, there was a good chance she’d go away for the rest of her life.
She was so busy spiraling into the abyss of her thoughts, she’d lost track of what Ryan was saying.
“You know, the ones in Madison’s house—near the stairs?”
Aster blinked and tried to catch up. But she was too upset to follow the thread. “I’m sorry, what?”
“The photographs. The ones with the old couch and the gun on the coffee table?”
Aster paused as she fought to recall them in detail. “Layla thought they seemed odd,” she said. “Like they might be a clue pointing to Madison’s past.” She shook the note in her hand. “Do you think that’s what this is about? The artist on the flower-named street who knows Madison’s secrets?”
Ryan shrugged, his face setting in a way that made him look older. “Do you remember the name of the artist?”
“Layla might.” Aster frowned. “But I won’t contact her. I’m not taking any chances.”
“I’ll look into it while you shower.” Gently, he removed the DVD and the note from her hand and propelled her toward the bathroom.
“But you’re not going to contact Layla, right?” Aster gave him a searching look. “I’m worried about even you knowing. The note made it clear that—”
Before she could finish, Ryan said, “Trust me. And when you’re done with your shower, I want you to pack a bag.”
He met her gaze, and Aster, suddenly remembering she was half-naked, was overcome with embarrassment. But Ryan was a gentleman and kept his focus firmly on her face.
“Until we figure out who’s behind this, you’re staying with me. It’s not safe for you here.”
She was about to refuse when she took one last glance at the message scrawled on the mirror, and headed into the shower instead.
FOUR
SHARP DRESSED MAN
Mateo Luna stood in the doorway and peered inside. The space was large, cavernous, and a long way from finished. With its plywood floors and unpainted walls, it offered no clues about the exclusive nightclub it was destined to become.
It was the last place Mateo wanted to be, and he seriously considered leaving before anyone noticed he was there. Every passing day it seemed his life belonged less to him and more to everyone else.
“Oh, you’re here!” Heather bounded across the room, her brown eyes flashing, blond hair bouncing over her shoulders. “How long have you been standing there?”
Mateo glanced at Ira as he walked alongside her. With his dark jeans, sharply pressed untucked black shirt, and unreadable expression, there was something vaguely ominous about him.
“Welcome to RED.” Ira chased the words with the kind of tight grin that set Mateo on edge. Then again, Ira often had that effect.
Heather nudged Ira with her elbow and rolled her eyes. “He calls it RED, even though he’s planning for an all-white decor.” She laughed at the absurdity of it all.
Mateo picked at the woven bracelet he wore on his left wrist—a gift from his little sister, Valentina, a few birthdays back. At the start of the summer he’d never given it much thought. Now it served as one of the few reminders of the sort of blissfully simple life he’d once lived.
“How’s your sister?” Ira squinted through a veil of construction dust their footsteps had kicked up. “Valentina, right?”
Mateo squinted back. He’d met Ira before, most recently at Ira’s tequila launch party, but Mateo couldn’t remember ever having a conversation about Valentina. Had Layla, or even Heather, mentioned it to him? Mateo briefly considered it. It seemed improbable, but not impossible.
“Cancer’s a bitch.” Ira’s gaze sharpened, as though he’d just said something profound and was expecting Mateo to commend him for his brilliance.