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

She knows Madison’s secret

So don’t let her keep it

We both want the same thing

For justice to ring

Don’t share this with Javen or your mates

Or you’ll all meet some very sorry fates.

Aster stood unsteadily, her mind a whirl of all the horrible possibilities. She didn’t have to watch the DVD to know what it contained. She’d been secretly filmed while she was in a blackout state the night Madison went missing. She’d performed an embarrassingly awkward striptease that would no doubt set the internet aflame if it were ever released.

The thought of that was bad enough, but Aster’s real fear was for her family. Javen had been threatened, and if her parents ever learned about the tape . . .

She hugged herself at the waist and shivered. She couldn’t bear to think how they’d react. Though 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 (#ulink_1dfe4c99-6107-5a8a-8795-92c6e33eb53f)

SHARP DRESSED MAN (#ulink_1dfe4c99-6107-5a8a-8795-92c6e33eb53f)

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.

Instead, Mateo focused on Heather and said, “You ready?” She’d sent him a text, claiming she needed a ride. But now that he was there, she seemed content to hang around.

“What’s the hurry?” she said. “Don’t you want to see the new club?”

Mateo shook his head. “I’m not much for clubs.” He wasn’t much for Ira Redman either and saw no point in pretending otherwise.

“Aw, yes.” Ira’s eyes glinted with amusement. “I seem to remember your bit on Trena Moretti’s show. Something about club owners not giving a crap about the kids who are making them rich.” He tilted his chin and peered at Mateo from under a lowered brow. “Or something to that effect.”

It was weird how Ira had quoted him verbatim. Had he actually been insulted by Mateo’s words? You’d think he’d be used to that sort of criticism, or at least better equipped to handle it. But like many in the Hollywood crowd, Ira’s praise-seeking narcissism made him surprisingly thin-skinned and easily offended. He was also rumored to keep a growing list of enemies. Mateo idly wondered if he was on it.

Ira stared at Mateo as though he expected an apology. Mateo embraced the silence. The description fit and he had no intention of taking it back.

“At any rate,” Ira said. “Sorry to hear about your brother Carlos. Though I assure you, I’ve never had anyone overdose at one of my clubs. If I did, I would never dump them outside and leave them to die.”

“No,” Mateo said, his voice full of venom. “Maybe no one’s overdosed, but someone did get roofied. You remember what happened to Aster the night Madison went missing? She was drugged right there in your club. From what I heard, you poured the champagne.”

If Mateo had blinked, he might’ve missed the flash of seething anger that crossed Ira’s usually impenetrable face. It vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, but Mateo had caught it, and the way his lip curled in response told Ira as much.

It was a risky move, baiting the beast. But Mateo had reached a point where he no longer cared. He was one of the few people in his small group of friends who was not reliant upon or indebted to Ira in any way. He planned to keep it that way.

“Well!” Heather clapped her hands together and pasted an exaggerated sitcom smile onto her face. “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all.”

Mateo stared in confusion. As far as he knew, he was there to provide a ride and nothing more. He should’ve known Heather had something else planned, otherwise she would’ve ordered an Uber.

He had no idea what he was doing there. Actually, scratch that. He knew exactly why he was there. He was just too ashamed to admit it.