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Max would join the disappeared. Like Amelia Earhart. You could always count on her to make money, even though her plane disappeared over Howland Island in 1937. Sometimes ambiguity was good—look at all the Elvis sightings.

They’d have to recover his body, though, with no one in the press being the wiser. And, they’d have to dissolve him in acid.

He could never be found.

There were problems with this scenario, of course. How would they recover the body before anyone else did?

Fortunately, Gordon’s go-to killer, Shaun, was in Paradox.

If Shaun could find the kidnappers—or at least find Max’s body—they could deep-six him in acid.

There would be problems with the estate, but in the long run, Talia would prevail. Especially if the paparazzi pushed the story of Max’s kidnapping. Fortunately, Jerry had made it his business to cultivate a few of the paps; he knew several who would do anything for an exclusive. He could leak that he was worried about Max, that Max hadn’t been seen, that he’d left the Desert Oasis Healing Center and walked right off the edge of the earth.

Both scenarios had their strong points, but right now, they didn’t have Max.

Jerry realized that they would have to come to a solid decision about this, sooner rather than later.

In the meantime, he needed to lay the groundwork for his new star.

“DYLAN!” JERRY BELLOWED, striding out from under the ramada. “So good to see you.”

Dylan Harris sat up on the diving board, looking sleepy. The young man looked like an ad in Esquire or GQ , stretched out and glistening on a white towel over chlorinated blue water.

Dylan Harris was ready for leading man status, yet still young enough to drive the tweens wild. Jerry had been cultivating him, a meeting or a lunch at a time, until Dylan began to see himself more as Jerry’s adopted son than just a client.

Jerry’s team had gotten Dylan some good parts, and Jerry made sure that the career arc made sense. Second to the lead, but enough breadth in some of the parts where you could begin to see Dylan taking on something weightier, like the character of Starker in V.A.M.Pyre . It would be a gamble, sure, but that was all part of the game—and Jerry loved the game.

Now, Jerry said, “Dyl, I’m glad you came by. I could use a sympathetic ear right now.”

“Hey, anything I can do. You’ve been so good to me.”

Jerry sat down on the end of the diving board. “It’s kind of…difficult. You can’t tell anyone.”

“Oh, no, I won’t.”

Jerry sighed and stared out at the Pacific, framed by the deep pink bougainvillea on the wrought-iron railing. “Things aren’t going well with V.A.M.Pyre: The Target . We haven’t even started production yet, and I’m worried that Max won’t be ready.”

Dylan stared at him. His eyes reminded Jerry of a wolf’s eyes, only sexier.

“I wouldn’t say this to anybody else. But I need to confide in someone, and you’re like a son to me.”

“I’ll help if I can.”

“I know that. Here’s the thing, Dyl: Max isn’t doing very well in rehab. I’m worried he’ll relapse the minute he gets out.”

“That’s too bad, sir.”

Sir. Dylan had been raised far from Hollywood, somewhere in the south. The kid didn’t even drink.

After dealing with Max’s issues, Dylan Harris was manna from heaven. “Frankly, I don’t think Max is up to it. All the pressure. I can’t help but feel he’s not going to be there on the fifteenth, when it’s time to plan the production.”

“Not be there? But he’s under contract!”

Gee whiz.

Jerry shook his head. “Contracts are meant to be broken, and this isn’t Max’s first rodeo.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Hope for the best, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

“There are morality clauses in the contract. Terrapin Productions could let him go. But the problem is, who’d replace him? I just can’t see a way out. I think of all those people, what would happen if we didn’t start on time. Of course, he might be OK, but it’s not like I have a Plan B.”

“That’s not fair,” Dylan said.

“No.” Jerry sighed. “Life is just not fair.”

He left it there.

He figured two or three more conversations and Dylan would be envisioning himself as the new Starker.

And as Dylan’s manager, Jerry would still be on top—the trifecta of the century. He’d have Max’s wife, Max’s estate, and manage the business affairs of the hottest new star in the business.

They just had to find Max, and make sure they buried him deep.

AFTER DYLAN LEFT, Jerry called Gordon for a briefing. Gordon told him just about what he’d expected: there was no word from the kidnappers. And no word from Shaun.

“What do you think is happening, Gord?”

“I have no idea.”

Jerry could see everything going up in smoke. “You never should have trusted that crazy bitch. Anyone with half a brain can see she’s stark raving nuts. How many women do you know wear a fricking fade?”

“She’s done good work before. She saved my life not too long ago.”

“She did? When was that?”

“Long story. A guy from the Russian Mafia was after me.”

“And she killed him?”

“You don’t want to know, Jer. All I can say is, the Russian Mafia left me alone after that.”

Jerry absorbed this. She must be good. “But you said she has a kid with her.”

“He’s twelve, Jer. Not exactly a kid.”

“Not exactly a kid? I’d say that’s a kid. What’s the story there?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know ?”

“I think she adopted him.”

“Adopted him. A lesbo killer like that? Can you see her going to an adoption agency and copping herself a twelve-year-old kid? What did she do? Steal him from someone?”

“Does it matter? She’s good, Jerry. You don’t have to worry about that.”

But Jerry worried. That was what Jerry did.

Chapter Twenty-Four

MAX MADE IT over the scrubby hill and out of sight of the house, leaning against a boulder in the sketchy shade of a mesquite tree. He thought about Corey again. Corey was wounded and had lost some blood. Maybe a lot of blood. What if the woman and the boy found the bomb shelter? He could see Corey shooting off his mouth, maybe even trying to overpower them, and that would end badly for Corey. Not to mention Luther and Sam P.

What did he care about them? They were kidnappers.

He should put as much distance between himself and the woman and boy as possible.

Had Gordon sent the woman and the boy to get him?

That made no sense. The woman and the boy had shown up within a half hour of Max’s last call to Gordon.

No way they could have made it down from Sedona.

Unless…

Unless they were already here. Unless they were already looking for him.

But who sent them?

That was easy. Gordon or Jerry or both. First, they’d sent the two guys in the limo, the ones the deputy routed.

But why that strange-looking woman? Why a boy?

Max knew he was overthinking this. Go by your instincts.

His instincts told him that the woman and the boy were looking for him, and that they were far more dangerous than the guys in the limo.

His instincts told him that the woman and the boy were killers. And he knew, if the woman and the boy encountered Corey, Luther, and Sam P., there would be a firefight.

And he knew who would lose that fight.

Max took one of the prepaid phones out of its cardboard box, found the number of the Bajada County Sheriff’s Office by scrolling through Luther’s smartphone, and punched it into the prepaid mobile.