“But you’re not going to answer?”
“And ruin the suspense?”
He focused on driving, turning, slowing, stopping, following all her instructions. The farther they wandered from the freeway, the creepier the whole scenario became. Sure it was still daylight, and Dahlia was skinny and injured and didn’t seem to pose too much of a threat. But they were headed into an area Tommy wouldn’t even call rural. Desolate was the word that best described it.
“Tell me, Tommy, does this remind you of home?” Dahlia made a sweeping gesture toward the windshield, indicating the countrified scene just beyond.
Tommy glanced between the dirt road and her, and in that instant, something clicked. Something so improbable, his first instinct was to deny it.
And yet . . .
He cleared his throat. “Not really,” he said. “How about you? Does it remind you of home?”
She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and arranged her features into an exaggerated frown. “Already told you, I grew up in LA. You really are a bad listener, aren’t you?”
She scratched at the inside of her wrist, and Tommy caught himself sneaking a peek. If she’d just push her sleeve a bit higher, he’d know for sure if the unthinkable was happening.
A second later, she dragged the cuff down until it covered her knuckles and reached past her thumb. Tommy looked away, tapped his own thumbs against the steering wheel, and tried to decide how to proceed.
It wouldn’t do any good to let on. It was better to see where they ended up and then maybe try to confront her with the startling truth he was growing more and more convinced of.
He snuck another look at her profile. Despite the wig, dark glasses, and heavy makeup—despite her California no-accent accent—he was left with no doubt that Madison Brooks was now sitting beside him.
“Hope your girlfriend’s not the jealous type,” she said, seemingly plucking the words out of nowhere.
Tommy thought briefly of Layla and said, “There’s no girlfriend.”
“Well, that’s good. Then she won’t get upset when you get home late.” She grinned flirtatiously, just the barest curve of lip and a sli
ght tilt of chin.
What the hell kind of game was she playing?
“That is,” she added, “if you get home at all.”
The way she said it, Tommy had no way of knowing if she meant ever—like if he ever got home at all—or for just that night.
Before he had a chance to respond, she said, “Make a tight right up ahead. Then follow the long dirt road all the way down. I’m taking you the back way.”
“I’ve no doubt,” Tommy murmured, committed to playing along.
NINETEEN
LADY GRINNING SOUL
Aster was so engrossed in searching through Madison’s belongings that she failed to hear the sound of tires crunching over gravel as a car approached the trailer. Luckily, Ryan alerted her.
“Who is it?” She looked up in alarm as he bolted toward the window.
Ryan shrugged and whispered back. “I can’t make out the driver.”
Aster glanced around wildly. In such a small space, there was no good place to hide. Then again, there was also no good reason to hide. It was Madison. She was sure of it. The moment she’d been waiting for from the second she’d been charged with her murder had finally arrived.
Aster positioned herself just shy of the door. Ryan looked uncertain, but Aster just nodded and kept her gaze firm. A car door closed, followed by the shuffle of footsteps. When the door latch lifted, Aster’s pulse spiked with panic. They’d forgotten to lock the door! Would Madison get suspicious and run? It was a possibility Aster couldn’t risk.
She sprang toward the door the same moment it opened from the outside and Heather Rollins strolled in.
“What the hell?” Heather rocked back on her heels as her arm shot out, grasping for something to steady herself.