Was she supposed to live out the rest of her life hiding behind dark sunglasses and a wig?
She gazed around wildly, trying to make sense of what was happening. Someone had pulled back the curtain on her life, and apparently Paul had known all along. He’d even hinted as much when he said, It’s about destroying you and everything you’ve worked so hard to build.
Had he seen the article? Her guess was he had. He’d probably planned to keep her in the dark until it was handled.
Well, it was too late now. The article was merely
a trickle in what promised to become an epic flood.
Question was: How the hell had Layla Harrison gotten hold of her diary?
Whatever the answer, one thing was clear: Between the journal entry, the birth certificate, and the original article about the fire, Madison was screwed.
Really, truly, and royally screwed.
And yet, just as Paul had taught her to always peer past the surface, that everything was capable of serving more than one purpose, he’d also taught her how to control her own narrative. She had no idea how she’d begin to spin this, but she knew she eventually would.
When it came to the story of her life, the ending would be hers to write.
She sank a hand into her bag and patted the gun for reassurance. Then she tossed the paper into the backseat, started up the Jeep, and headed for the secret hideout she kept tucked away on the outskirts of Ojai.
It’d been a while since her last visit, but Trena’s article had thrown her off balance. She’d take the night to figure out a new plan of attack, sure of only one thing: whatever decision she made would not be easily reversed.
TWELVE
GUYS MY AGE
Trena pulled up to the curb, propped open the passenger-side door, and let Javen in.
“Your sister would kill me if she found out about this,” she said.
Javen tugged at his seat belt and settled beside her. “Only if my parents don’t get to you first.” He stared through the windshield and frowned. “Then again, I haven’t even heard from her. She’s been out of jail since yesterday and won’t even answer my texts.”
“I think I might know why.” Trena told him about the threatening notes Layla had received. “Maybe Aster got one too?”
Javen considered. “Well, it would make sense. At least, it better be the reason. After all I’ve done for her . . .”
“And all you’re still planning to do?” Trena pulled out of the school parking lot and merged into traffic.
“Yeah. Sure.” Javen shrugged and took in the passing scenery.
Trena stopped at a light and used the moment to study him. He was avoiding eye contact, had barely so much as looked at her. Normally she was skilled when it came to reading people, but in this case she hadn’t a clue as to what might be motivating his cagey behavior.
“You know, you don’t have to do this,” she said, figuring if he was worried about getting into trouble, it was her job to reassure him. “You’re under no obligation. Last time, you got off easy. Not sure that’ll be the case if Larsen catches you again.”
Javen focused his brown eyes on hers. “Well, let’s make sure he doesn’t catch me then.”
Trena held the look, then returned to driving
“You know, you really send a lot of mixed signals.”
Trena cracked a half smile. “How so?”
“You seemed pretty scary when you barged into my sister’s apartment that night.”
“No, not me.” Trena shook her head in a way that sent her curls bouncing. “I didn’t barge. The barger was Larsen, one hundred percent.”
“Well, you were part of the barge.” Javen was not about to give in. “You were right there with your notepad in hand, looking for someone to incriminate.”