Fearless Pursuit (Off The Grid: FBI Series Book 8)

by Barbara Freethy

  "There's nothing in her journals about who killed her. Believe me, I've read every word. Although, I will say that sometimes her entries are rather cryptic. She calls people by nicknames."

  "Like what?" he asked curiously.

  "The Lark, the Surfer, the Doctor, the Wolf, the Pizza Guy—"

  "Wait, did you say Wolf?"

  She nodded. "Yes. Why did that one jump out at you?"

  "I don't know, but it seems weird."

  "I have no idea who the Wolf is, but I know that the Pizza Guy is Freddie Ramirez. He's the owner of Freddie's on Sunset. It's a family business and Freddie is in his seventies now. His son Freddie Jr. runs the restaurant."

  Jax started, an odd gleam moving through his eyes.

  "What did I say?" she asked.

  "Nothing. I drove by Freddie's the other day. It's near a bunch of car dealerships."

  "It is. I went there myself on Wednesday, and I spoke to Freddie Junior. He showed me photos on the wall of his father with my grandmother. He said he'd met her once when he was a small kid and he just remembered her as being very beautiful. But he didn't know what kind of relationship she'd had with his father beyond the fact that she liked eating their pizza and came in several times a week."

  "What does it say in the journal about the Pizza Guy?"

  "Something about one of the best dates she had was with the Pizza Guy. His passion for his business reminded her what it felt like to feel so intensely desirous of something, where you're willing to do anything to get what you want. It was something like that." She paused. "I should get you some ice. Or maybe you want to go home." She didn't really want him to leave, because then she would be alone, and there were a lot of hours before the sun would come back up.

  "You really don't have anywhere else you can stay tonight?" he asked.

  "I don't, but that's not your problem. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  "Or maybe the right place at the right time. Why don't I stay here tonight? I'll sleep on the couch. You can lock your bedroom door if you're worried."

  "That's really generous of you, but…I don't know."

  His gaze darkened. "You can trust me, Maya. I won't hurt you."

  "I would feel better since I don't know if I can get a locksmith out here until tomorrow. But it's a lot to ask."

  "It's really not."

  "Okay," she said, hoping she wasn't making a huge mistake. "I'll get you some ice and make some tea."

  "I'll help."

  He got up and followed her into the kitchen.

  She opened the freezer and handed him a bag of frozen peas. "Will this work?"

  "It should do the trick."

  He pressed the pack against his face while she filled the kettle with water and turned on the heat. Then she searched through her cupboard for tea that wasn't caffeinated. She found some chamomile in the far back. As she pulled out the tea bags, Jax moved over to the refrigerator, looking at a photo of her family. It had been taken at her mom's birthday a few weeks back.

  "Nice-looking group," he murmured.

  "Mom and Dad, my older sister Darcy, her husband Matt, their little girl Zoe, and my younger brother James," she said.

  "And you can't call any of them?" He gave her a speculative look.

  "Darcy and James are not in the immediate area, and my parents would get upset. I'm not up for another fight tonight. I'd rather risk staying here alone than have to listen to them tell me they told me so." At his faint smile, she added, "I really hate that, and it happens a lot. They always think they know better than me."

  As the kettle began to sing, she filled two mugs with hot water and tea bags, then pushed one across the counter to him.

  He set the bag of peas down and swirled the tea bag around in the water.

  "Do you have someone who will be worrying about where you are tonight?" she asked. "Are you married? Do you have a girlfriend?"

  "No, I'm also very single." He took his mug to the kitchen table and sat down.

  After a moment, she did the same. "What about family?" she asked. "Are they local?"

  "My parents live in Pasadena."

  "Do you come from a big family?"

  "No," he said shortly. "Let's get back to your family. What about your grandfather—Natasha's husband? Is he around? What is his position on your movie?"

  "He's the one who gave me the journals and encouraged me to find the truth. His health is failing, and he has become obsessed with Natasha's death. He feels like he needs to know the truth before he doesn't know anything."

  "He's losing his mind?"

  "Slowly, yes."

  "I'm sorry."

  "It's not easy to watch, and it's not just his mind that's going. He has a lot of medical issues that could jeopardize his life. I want to give him closure if I can."

  Jax sipped his tea. "Were your grandparents married when Natasha died?"

  "No. Natasha was my grandfather's first wife. They married very young and had my father. Natasha later married Wallace Jagger. That was a short marriage, and he was also her agent."

  "He mentioned that. Was she married to him when she died?"

  "No. They'd been divorced a few years. She was seeing Constantine Dimitrov in the year before she passed. But I think there was another man as well who she talks about but doesn't name."

  "Constantine, huh? Have you talked to him?"

  "Not yet, but I asked Sylvia if she could pass on my information to Constantine and Alexander. She said she would."

  "You spoke to Sylvia?"

  "After she kicked me out, she wanted to chat. It turns out she knew my father when he was a kid."

  "That's interesting."

  "I guess she worked at the Russia House when she was a teenager."

  "I didn't realize. She really has a long history with the club."

  "She certainly seems to."

  "Okay, let's back up a little. Your grandmother was a huge star. There had to have been a thorough police investigation when she died."

  "It wasn't as detailed as you might think, but, yes, there was one. Wallace also hired a private investigator. Nobody could find evidence of foul play. After I got the journals three weeks ago, I hired another PI. He got me the police reports and the first investigator's notes, but after looking through everything, he told me I was on a wild-goose chase and he didn’t want to take my money. But my gut tells me there's more to her story than anyone knows."

  "Where does making a movie come into it? Are you a filmmaker?"

  "I'm currently an assistant to an assistant producer at Blackwood Studios in Burbank. But I would like to make my own films."

  "What does an assistant to an assistant producer do?"

  She smiled and gave a helpless shrug. "A lot of errands. I babysit privileged actors and occasionally I get to read scripts and give my opinion. I studied filmmaking in college for the three years that I went, but I knew I needed practical experience, so I quit and started working in the industry. I've had a different job every year since then, but I've learned a lot. I've made connections, and I've been able to watch some of the best in the business. All that has prepared me to make this movie. I already have half the script done. I know how to tell the story of my grandmother's early life, even her first few years in Hollywood, but after that is where it gets murky."

  "I would have thought you'd have more information on those later years. She must have been in the news all the time."

  "But the tabloid stories weren't real. Most of what they printed about her was a lie. It's difficult to know where the truth is. And the people in her life don't want to talk about her."

  "No one?" he queried.

  "Very few. Out of the twelve people I've reached out to over the last three weeks, only six have actually spoken to me, and they were, unfortunately, people on the very periphery of my grandmother's life."

  "Like who?"

  "A former hair stylist, one of her personal assistants, a man who used to drive her from her home to
the movie set. He was the most forthcoming but beyond knowing where he would take her and drop her off, he didn't have a lot of details." She paused. "The most interesting thing I've learned so far is that no one seems to have talked to her or seen her in the forty-eight hours before her death. No one. For two days, she was invisible—one of the most famous women in the world at the time, and no one saw her or spoke to her? I don't believe it."

  "That does seem unusual. It seems like your quest could take some time, Maya. Do you have that kind of time? It sounds like you have to work, too."

  "I'm thinking about quitting my job. This is my story to tell, Jax. I'm convinced of that, one thousand percent. I've toyed around with other scripts, other movie ideas. I have a box full of projects that have the word someday written on them, but none of them are like this story. This is what I'm meant to do. I know it is. I have this feeling in my gut, and I can't shake it."

  "You could get hurt. I think that's pretty clear after tonight."

  "What happened tonight…" Her voice drifted away as she finally put it all together. "It proves that my grandmother's death wasn't suicide or an accident."

  "I don't know if it proves that."

  "What else could it mean?" she challenged.

  "Your grandmother was involved with a lot of powerful men and maybe women, too. She could have had a secret that someone doesn't want to get out but that doesn't necessarily mean that secret led to her death."

  "But it could have. That's what I need to find out."

  "Which could mean risking your life. The guy got away. He might not be caught. Even if he is caught, he was probably working for someone else. They're not necessarily going to give up."

  "You're right. It's a risk. But I've played it safe my whole life. And this is my grandmother we're talking about. I owe it to her, to my grandfather, and to my father, even if he doesn't think he wants to know. I'm not quitting."

  "What's next then?"

  "I'm not sure. I still want to talk to Wallace Jagger."

  "I wouldn't go back to the club. You should try to catch him at home. His son is often with him at the Firebird. And he seemed disturbed by your conversation with his father. He may try to get in the way if you attempt another discussion."

  "That's a good point, but there's still Constantine."

  "He's very tough to get to, Maya. He's always surrounded by people at the club. I don't see you getting to him the way you did with Wallace." He paused. "I'd start making a list of everyone you've talked to about those journals and then see if you can rule anyone out. Actually, what I'd do first is get those journals and make sure no one else can get their hands on them. Where are they, Maya?"

  His question made her wary again. "You said I didn't have to tell you."

  "You don't. I was just wondering how you're going to get them without anyone following you or trying to come after you again. Someone could watch this house, wait for you to leave."

  "You think someone is watching the house?" Another shiver ran down her spine. "Why would they watch and not just come in? There's no lock on the door."

  "Maybe because I'm here with you."

  Was Jax the reason she was momentarily safe? Or was he part of the danger? There was something about his actions that didn't quite add up. Was he truly just a nice guy who wanted to help her? He'd promised her that she could trust him, that he wouldn't hurt her. She wanted to believe that. Was she being a fool? Was she being too trusting? She'd certainly been before, and she'd gotten hurt because of that. But this was different. Wasn't it?

  "I'm going to go to bed," she said, getting to her feet. "I'll get you a pillow and a blanket."

  "That would be nice," he said, as he stood up.

  As she moved toward the door, and he headed toward the sink with his cup, they collided. He grabbed her arm with his free hand as she stumbled against his hard chest. She looked into his stunning blue eyes, and her heart skipped a beat as an unexpected and shocking attraction ran through her.

  The same awareness passed through his gaze and for a long second, neither one of them seemed able to break the connection.

  "Maya," he murmured.

  She had no idea what he wanted to say to her. Apparently, he didn't either.

  Another few seconds passed. She forced herself to breathe and then to step away from his grip. She told herself she was just shaken by the break-in. Her nerves were on edge. That's the only reason she'd felt that sudden wave of heat. It was over now.

  The chill followed her into the bedroom. She grabbed a pillow and a blanket from the messed-up bed and took them into the living room. Jax was kicking off his shoes.

  "Here you go," she said.

  "Thanks." As she turned to leave, he added, "Maya, you don't have to be afraid. No one is getting past me to you. You can sleep."

  She stared back at him and then turned away without a word. She slipped into her bedroom and closed the door, leaning against it, as she waited for her heart rate to slow down. But it didn't seem in a hurry to do that, and she knew some of her rapid breathing had to do with Jax. She hadn't had such an intense physical reaction to a man in a very long time.

  She heard Jax moving around in the living room, and then it was quiet.

  She waited one more second, then turned the lock on her door and moved over to the bed.

  Stripping off the sheets, she tossed them on the floor. Then she grabbed another blanket out of her closet and laid down on the mattress. Through the part in the curtains, she could see a half-moon. She wanted the light to reassure her, but clouds were swirling around that light and a moment later, the moon was gone. She didn't want to take that as a sign of foreboding, but she couldn't shake the worried thoughts that followed.

  Everyone in her family thought she was making a mistake. She told herself that some of the most incredible discoveries in the world were made by people who refused to quit or to believe the naysayers. She had to trust her gut. And it was telling her that there was a huge story here, one that could make her career, that could change her family history forever. It was also telling her she could be in way over her head.

  What voice did she listen to?

  Hopefully, the morning would bring some answers, because she had no idea what to do next—about her grandmother's mystery, or about the man sleeping on her couch. She had a feeling they were both going to be a problem.

  Chapter Six

  Jax woke up to sounds and smells that took him back in time. He didn't open his eyes for a moment, letting himself linger in a very old dream: His mother moving around the kitchen barefoot with her hair in a ponytail, humming some tune under her breath. The smell of bacon frying on the stove. The rustle of his father's newspaper. He wanted to stay in this moment, to feel like it was real, but it wasn't, and as his sleep faded from his brain, reality woke him all the way up.

  He sat up on the couch, a little shocked that his brain had gone that far back into the past. He didn't know why the memories were sneaking up on him the way they were. That needed to stop.

  As his gaze swept the room, he realized the smell of bacon was real, and the woman in the kitchen was Maya. She was making breakfast. He was surprised he hadn't heard her get up. She'd have walked right by him on her way to the kitchen. But after hours of tossing and turning on the not very comfortable couch, he'd finally fallen asleep.

  However, it wasn't just the couch that had kept him up; it was Maya. That look she'd given him in the kitchen…he could still feel the pull, and they weren't even in the same room.

  What the hell was that about? She wasn't his type at all. She was beautiful, yes, but her emotions were all over the place. She was also impulsive and stubborn and seemed to leave chaos in her wake. She was not only on a crazy, dangerous quest to figure out a murder, but her mission could directly conflict with his. He didn’t need her stirring up old secrets at the Firebird Club when he was more interested in what was happening now and not thirty-something years ago. The more she rattled people at the club, the mo
re difficult it would be for him to figure out what some of the same people were up to now.

  He had Constantine Dimitrov and Wallace Jagger on his target list and knowing they were on hers, too, was disturbing. He had to figure out how to either help her or get her out of the way.

  Getting her out of the way would be the best choice for a lot of reasons, and one of those reasons had to do with the unexpected spark between them. He wasn't just working at cross purposes with her; he was also undercover. He wasn't a bartender; he was an FBI agent. He'd told her she could trust him, but he'd been lying to her at the same time. For some reason, that bothered him, and it shouldn't, because he was used to lying when working a case. He just wasn't used to being caught in this in-between spot where her problems were affecting his case but weren't a part of it.

  Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. He needed coffee and a plan. But the plan should probably come first, before he stepped into the kitchen.

  There was only one solution. If she wasn't going to quit, he had to help her get to the truth faster. Then she'd have no reason to be at the club.

  He would call Flynn, see what the team could dig up on Natasha's death. Perhaps he could steer Maya in a different direction. It seemed unlikely that a conversation she'd had with Wallace at eight o'clock could have set a burglary in motion by eleven. It wasn't impossible, but he suspected someone else she'd spoken to before Wallace might be a better suspect.

  It was slightly interesting that she'd spoken to the owner of Freddie's, which was on the same block as Falcon Motors. Was that just a coincidence? It seemed like it was, but in the five years since he'd become an FBI agent, he'd learned not to believe in coincidences.

  As his stomach rumbled with hunger, he got up to use the bathroom and throw some water on his face, and then he made his way into the kitchen.

  God, she was pretty! That was the first and only thought that ran through his mind as he watched her scramble eggs at the stove. She had on faded jeans that hugged her sweet ass and a sleeveless top. Her brown hair fell over her shoulders in thick waves, dancing halfway down her back. She suddenly turned her head, her green eyes widening with both surprise and sudden awareness.