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

It was bare-bones, run-down, and offered only a minimum of comforts. There was the saggy bed shoved in the corner. The mattress was lumpy and stained, but Paul had covered it in clean sheets and a thin blanket, so it was hardly the worst thing Madison had ever slept on. There was a battered old coffee table that held a small hand-crank radio, a large flashlight, and a stack of survivalist tomes. Beside it sat an old couch Paul had claimed for himself by stretching a flannel sleeping bag across it. In addition to a weak air conditioner that didn’t do much to dispel the searing heat, an array of fans were scattered around, their blades whirling furiously throughout the day.

There was no sign of the knife the man had shoved hard against her throat, but she figured Paul had gotten rid of it, along with the body.

Still, there was a bathroom with running water, didn’t matter that it was cold, and a toilet that flushed. After weeks of severe deprivation, the simplest conveniences took on luxury status.

“How’s the ankle?” Paul gently lifted the corner of the blanket that covered her leg. “And how are you?”

Her body was wounded and sore. She was malnourished and weak. And her flesh bore the deep cuts and scrapes that had resulted from her ill-fated run through Death Valley.

She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes for a long, peaceful moment. When she opened them again, she looked at Paul and said, “How am I?” She ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek. “Uncomfortable, weak, and angry beyond belief.” She reached for the cup of instant coffee he’d left on the small fold-up table beside her and took a small sip. It was awful, truly disgusting, but at the moment, a Starbucks run was out of the question.

Apparently, the whole time she’d been missing, Paul had purposely gone missing too. He’d simply dropped off the radar, as only someone as practiced as him was able to do. Although as a master of invisibility, he’d been there all along. Moving among the very people he suspected of playing a part in her disappearance, without a single one of them noticing he was lurking around.

He reached for a pillow and gingerly placed it between her back and the wall, then handed her a plate he’d lumped with Spam and canned pineapples, the best the cupboards had to offer.

“You shouldn’t have.” She glared at the disgusting mash of food.

“It ain’t Nobu, I know, but it’s sustenance all the same. Might even help remedy the uncomfortable and weak bits you were complaining about.” He spoke without a trace of irony.

Madison took a tentative bite of Spam, then made an exaggerated gagging face, mostly for his benefit. In the weeks she’d been locked up, she’d eaten far worse. “And what about the deeply seething anger? What remedies that?” She stuck her fork in a piece of limp pineapple and lifted it to her mouth.

Paul dragged a chair to the side of her bed. Settling onto it, he said, “I find revenge is often a good and reliable cure.”

Madison took a few more bites, then set the plate aside.

“You’re not a doctor, you know.” She winced as Paul went about surveying her ankle.

“Not by profession, but I’ve tended far worse.”

She shrugged, but what she really wanted to do was scream. She wasn’t kidding about being mad. Most days it was the only thing that fueled her. But she wasn’t mad at Paul, or at least not entirely.

“Ow!” She leaned forward and swiped at his hand.

He pulled away. “You know what they say about sprains. . . .”

“That they’re worse than a clean break.”

He nodded. “Definitely true in your case. Though at least some of the swelling is starting to subside.”

“How soon can I return to my Spin Cycle class?”

Paul lowered his glasses onto his nose and stared at her from over the thin metal rims. “Don’t push it. It’s not safe for you out there.”

Her lips dragged to a frown. “I can’t take much more of this,” she said. “Tell me you’ve at least narrowed it down to a few suspects.”

Wordlessly, Paul crossed the room and returned with a stack of magazines for her to read while he went about rewrapping her leg. She’d prefer the use of a phone or a tablet, but Paul had banned anything that could be easily hacked or traced back to them. On a good day, Paul was paranoid, but lately he’d taken it to a whole new level. His palpable unease did nothing to quell her own gnawing fears.

She flipped through the stack. Her face was on every cover, alongside pictures of Layla, Tommy, Aster, and Ryan. It was as though they’d become as famous as her.

Also like her, they were locked up now too.

Madison traced her finger across Ryan’s mug shot. There was a time when she’d considered him a suspect, but the idea didn’t stick. At one point, she’d mentally accused all of them. Thoughts were the only things she had to keep from going insane. But now that she was free, she realized none of those thoughts held any weight.

Though Paul was right about revenge. The elaborate retribution fantasies she’d plotted in her head were pretty much the only thing that had gotten her through. Well, that and her refusal to find herself on the losing end of whatever messed-up game she’d been cast in.

She pushed the magazines aside. She was in no mood to read them. “Do they still think it’s you?”

Paul finished wrapping her ankle, then reached for her hand and inspected the pinkie finger she’d broken a few weeks earlier that he’d had to reset. “What do you mean—suspect or victim?”

“I suppose one will overrule the other, but have they identified the body?”

“They’ve determined it’s not you.” He let go of her hand and grabbed two pillows to prop under her ankle.

“Just a matter of time before they learn it’s not you either. So who is it then?” She watched him carefully. The body had been found on Paul’s property.

“Why would you think I’d know?”

She continued to stare.

“You honestly think I’m dumb enough to bury a body on my own property?”

He made a good point. “What about Ira Redman?”

“Alive and kicking, last I checked.”

“No, I mean as a suspect.”

Without missing a beat, Paul said, “He’s on the list.”

Madison wondered if he’d realized the irony of his words. Ira ran the hottest clubs in town, where everyone vied for a spot on the list , and now Ira had earned a spot on Paul’s list. She looked at Paul’s bland expression and determined the joke was lost on him.

“Okay, so if we don’t know who, then how about why? Why would someone go to the trouble of setting up Ryan, Aster, Layla, and Tommy, and how is it connected to me? Who have I wronged who would do such a thing?”

The words echoed between them as Paul shot her a patient look.

“Fine.” She huffed. “So I’ve made a few enemies along the way.” She cast a sideways glance at Paul. As usual his expression was impossible to decipher. “But clearly it’s either someone from my past, or someone who knows about my past as well as my connection to you. Against all odds they managed to uncover a picture of me as a kid. Same pic they sent you. Also, the walls of my first cell were papered with that image. There’s only one person I can think of, but that’s impossible, right? I mean, it couldn’t possibly be—”

Before she could finish, Paul pressed a cool hand to her forehead and said, “Don’t go getting yourself wound up now, okay? I’m handling it.”

Madison shrank beneath his touch. It was the most she’d spoken at once in a very long while, and it left her feeling exhausted and spent.

Thanks to her injuries and overall traumatized state, Paul had kept her on a steady stream of pain pills that left her heavily sedated. Most of the time it felt like her brain had turned to mush. Madison was just starting to realize the huge toll that had taken. “I don’t understand what this is all about,” she finally said, her voice little more than a whisper. “What do they want from me?”