Infamous: the page-turning thriller from New York Times bestselling author Alyson Noël

At the time, Tommy had felt conflicted. He was grateful Ira had spared him the grief of Detective Larsen ever learning of the surveillance footage, and outraged that Ira could think Tommy capable of harming anyone, much less Madison.

He swiped a trembling hand through his hair and fought to steady his breath. His pulse raced, his body sheened with sweat. He felt like a hunted animal, like he was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. Clearly Ira hadn’t really handled it, and if there were more photos out there . . .

Shit! Angrily, he paced the room. He was out of jail. He had an interview with Rolling Stone lined up, and now this. Just when things were finally looking up, the universe slapped him back down with something new to worry about.

He was scooping the photos into a pile when he noticed a note scrawled on the back of one of the pictures.

Only a few of us know these exist

They were taken moments after you and Madison kissed

It looks as though you could be to blame

But you’ll have nothing to fear if you agree to my game

The rules are easy to abide

If you follow them, you’ll have nothing to hide

Though I warn you not to let on to your friends

If you do, they’ll meet some very sad ends

Best if you do as I say

Otherwise there will be hell to pay.

The words were written in a thick, black felt marker. No cartoon cat or curlicue scrawl like on the notes Layla had received, but the tone was similar, and he knew he’d better take it seriously. Whoever had sent it had considerable power and reach, which only convinced Tommy that Ira was behind it.

Ira was a world-class manipulator and control freak. A game like this was right up his alley. This was his way of letting Tommy know he was willing to protect him, but only if Tommy did what he wanted. Clearly Ira had to be stopped before this went any further.

Still, Tommy needed to proceed with care. If Ira so much as sensed Tommy was onto him, he wouldn’t hesitate to make good on his word. Ira was way more powerful, connected, and immoral than Tommy and his friends combined.

For now, Tommy would play along, which meant steering clear of Layla. As much as he missed her, he wouldn’t risk putting her in any more danger than she already was.

He carried the pile of photos to the fireplace and spread them over the bed of fireglass. Then he stood back, clicked the remote, and watched the flames shoot up, licking away at the edges, leaving nothing but ashes behind.

SEVEN (#ulink_7ddec141-bf98-5175-a9e8-cf6c299ff97c)

BLUE AIN’T YOUR COLOR (#ulink_7ddec141-bf98-5175-a9e8-cf6c299ff97c)

Compared to the last several weeks of her life, her new room with its single brass daybed, wall-to-wall shag carpeting, and en suite bathroom with the rust-stained tub and Pepto-Bismol pink tiles was nothing but luxury.

Still, Madison couldn’t wait to break free.

Paul had a plan; a lead even. According to him, he was working hard on tracking it down and would divulge all the details if and when it panned out.

But Madison was tired of depending on Paul. It was his job to protect her from the very thing that had happened. She’d paid him a lot of money over the years to handle every aspect of her security detail, and her trust had never once wavered. She’d actually felt lucky to have the best in the business at her disposal. And yet, he’d gone and failed her in the worst way imaginable. She was far from healed, but she would no longer surrender her will.

She scowled at her ankle. Paul swore she was on the mend, but to her mind, it wasn’t healing quickly enough. She missed her mobility, missed her luxurious home with its fantasy closet and infinity pool. She wondered idly what had become of it.

Were the gardeners still coming once a week to trim the rosebushes that lined the long drive?

Was the pool man keeping the saltwater levels properly maintained?

Or was it wasting away from neglect—becoming decrepit and overrun with weeds and fallen palm fronds languishing in the deep end?

And then there was Blue. Paul had assured her that her assistant, Emily, was looking after him, but the news didn’t sit well with Madison.

Madison looked at Paul and said, “I want my dog back.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d said it, though it was the first time she’d voiced it in a way that was more insistent than whiny.

Paul lowered his phone and shot her a considering look.

“And don’t even try to deny me. I’m in no mood to listen to your endless list of excuses for why I can’t have him. No one loves him like I do, and I’m sure he misses me as much as I miss him. I want you to get him.”

It may have been a bit melodramatic, but Madison set her face in a way that proved she’d meant every word. Her rescue mutt Blue was everything to her. Her dog, along with Paul, were the only things that connected her to her true self—the girl she kept hidden—the one no one would guess at. Which explained the nagging guilt she felt over the way she was using him.

Paul considered the request. “About that, I’ve been thinking . . .”

Madison sat up straighter, watching as he swiped a meaty hand across his chin. At first sight, he resembled an ordinary schlump stuck in a boring midlevel job. The kind of guy who after yet another long, soul-sucking day at the office returned home to a crappy apartment and an indifferent cat, only to eat a microwaved dinner in front of the TV. Though the quilt of scars crisscrossing his knuckles hinted at a much darker existence.

“Maybe you’re right.”

Madison froze, afraid to so much as move lest he sense her real reason for asking. As good as she was at reading him, he was far better at reading her.

“I’d like to stay put until you’re back on your feet. So as long as you promise to stay out of sight, I can’t see why you shouldn’t be reunited with Blue.”

“Seriously?” Even though she had other motives for asking, the thought of seeing her scraggly mutt brought tears to her eyes. Though sadly, the reunion would have to wait. Madison had more urgent matters to deal with. “Because if you’re not serious, if you’re just trying to—”

Paul raised a hand to silence her. “You have my word. I was thinking I’d pay Emily a visit anyway. May as well return with Blue.”

“Emily?” Madison frowned at the mention of her assistant’s name. “I thought you said you didn’t know where she was.” Her voice rose with suspicion.

“I didn’t. She went AWOL for a bit. But I just heard she landed a new assistant gig.”

Madison was in no mood for the hesitation she sensed in his reply. “Yeah, with who?” She studied him shrewdly.

“Heather Rollins.”

Madison started, her face taking a comic turn with popping eyes and a dramatically dropped jaw. If she’d tried that on a film set, any director worth his salt would yell Cut! and pull her aside to talk. But in real life, she truly was shocked. “Seriously. Emily is working for Heather?” She shook her head. Most of the world considered her dead, and yet Heather was still competing against a ghost, trying to claim bits of Madison’s life for her own.

Once upon a time, they’d been friends, though it didn’t take long to notice how Heather was always trying to best Madison by going after the same parts, the same clothes, the same agent, the same boys—what a bore. Of course Heather never actually attained any of those things, and Madison had chosen to ignore her lame attempts, even felt sorry for her. How exhausting it must be to always yearn for the peak when the spot was clearly reserved for someone more deserving. It wasn’t long before Madison grew tired of her games and cut Heather off.

And now Heather was poised to claim the space that had once belonged to Madison. She had Emily, access to Blue . . . it stung in a way Madison refused to tolerate.

“I want my dog. Now.” Madison fixed her gaze on Paul. “I don’t want her anywhere near Blue.”