"She's not home," Maya said with disappointment.
"Maybe she's on one of the courts. Or this might not be her house." He moved toward a nearby window and then swore as he saw what appeared to be a woman lying on the floor.
"What's wrong?" Maya asked.
"There's someone on the ground."
As Maya moved past him to look, he returned to the door and jiggled the handle, but it was locked.
"I'm going to check around back." He sprinted through another gate at the side of the house and around the home to the backyard. When he got to the patio, he saw the back door was also ajar.
Maya was right on his heels.
"Hang back," he ordered.
"The last time you said that, a guy almost took you out and then went after me. Let's do this together."
He didn't have time to argue. He pushed open the door and listened for a moment. He couldn't hear anything. They moved through the kitchen and down the hall. A blonde woman was lying on the living room floor. She was fighting to stay conscious, her eyes flickering open, then closed. Next to her was a needle and an empty vial. There was rubber tubing around her arm. He dropped to his knees.
Her eyes registered absolute terror when she saw him.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he assured her. "I'm going to get you help." He didn't have to tell Maya to call 911; she was already on the phone.
"Not su..i..cide," the woman gasped, her hand pawing at his arm. "Kill me."
Maya squatted down next to him. "Who tried to kill you, Julia?"
Julia's lips parted, and her eyes widened. "Natasha? You're alive?"
"I'm not Natasha. I'm her granddaughter. Do you know who killed her? Who tried to kill you? Is it the same person?"
"So sorry. My fault. Natasha was right. Should have believed her. I—I loved her." Her body stiffened, and then her gaze went dead.
"She's gone," he said flatly.
Maya turned to him, fear and bewilderment in her eyes. "Why would anyone kill her?"
"She knew something." He looked past Maya to a letter on the coffee table. He got up, then used the hem of his shirt to pick it up, careful not to leave any prints.
"What's that?" Maya asked, getting to her feet.
He scanned it quickly. "Looks like a suicide note."
"But she said someone killed her."
"This note reads like a confession." He turned his gaze to hers. "For your grandmother's death."
"Can I see it?"
"I don't want you to touch it."
"Why?"
"Fingerprints. I'll read it to you. This is what she says: I need to confess my sins. I am the one who killed Natasha Petrova. She betrayed our friendship, and in a moment of rage, I killed her. I made it look like she overdosed, but I spiked her drink and then I injected her with heroin. I can no longer live with my guilt. I know her granddaughter is looking for answers, and I need to give her the most important one. Please let her know how very sorry I am." He looked at Maya. "That's it."
"It's a lie. She said so."
He nodded, wishing they'd gotten here a few minutes earlier. "She was set up to take the blame for Natasha's murder. The question is who set her up?"
"Constantine is the one who steered me in her direction. What are we going to do, Jax?"
He could hear sirens now and made a quick decision. "We're not going to tell anyone what she said."
"What are you talking about?" she asked in confusion. "Why wouldn't we tell the police?"
He had to give her an answer that would make sense to her. "Because then whoever did this will know that their strategy failed, and you'll be the next target, Maya. You and probably me." He could see the uncertainty in her eyes and while a big part of him wanted to tell her he was FBI and that he could protect her, the situation was far too volatile for confessions that would take longer than the next thirty seconds to explain. "We'll give the police the note. We'll let them investigate. We need to buy a little time. Trust me, Maya."
Conflict played through her green eyes but then she slowly nodded. "Okay. I won't say anything."
Relief ran through him. He did want to keep her safe, but he also wanted some time to give his team a chance to take this case over. "Why don't you answer the door?" As she walked away, he sent a quick text to Flynn, explaining the situation. Then he got ready to talk to the cops.
They were held at the scene for over an hour, giving their statements to the police officers, and then repeating them to a detective who arrived with the medical examiner. He stayed undercover, answering the same repetitive questions as calmly as he could while pretending to be out of his depth. The suicide note lent credence to the theory that Julia had in fact killed herself, and for now, that was enough. Since Maya was referenced in the note, it made sense that they had come to speak to Julia about Natasha. It added up to the cops, but it didn't add up to him.
While the police were finishing up their conversation with Maya, he wandered around Julia's living room, looking for other clues. In an adjacent alcove was a glass case with dozens of trophies displayed from Julia's days on the pro circuit. Along with those trophies were pictures of Julia on the court, as a child and then a teenager and later as an adult. As he moved toward the far end of the case, there were photos from the groundbreaking of the club she'd created and then more trophies as she played socially later in her life.
He was about to turn away when his gaze landed on a photo of her with a male partner. They'd apparently just won a mixed doubles tournament. Julia looked to be in her forties and the man with her was Blake Cordero. He had his arm around her, and they looked very close. Had Julia been involved with Blake? That was a twist he hadn’t been expecting.
"Jax?"
He whirled around to meet Maya's enquiring eyes. "The police said we can go. What's wrong?"
"Look at that photo. Do you recognize the man?"
She followed his gaze. "Is that Blake?"
"It sure looks like it to me."
"He knew Julia. That's weird. Or maybe it's just a coincidence."
"Maybe," he conceded, but his gut told him this was a clue.
"Excuse me," one of the officers said. "We're going to finish our investigation. You need to step outside."
"Of course," Maya said.
They left through the front door, and there were a lot of eyes on their departure. Tennis players and neighbors were gathered out front, clearly realizing something was terribly wrong.
"Hey, what happened in there?" one of the older men asked.
"You need to talk to the police," he replied, ushering Maya into his car as quickly as he could. He started the engine and drove away, wanting to put some distance between themselves and the club.
"I never thought the visit would end like this," Maya muttered.
He drove several more blocks, then pulled over to the side of the road. "Are you all right?"
"I don't even know how to answer that question. I never saw anyone die before. It was terrifying and shocking."
"I know," he said solemnly. "That was rough."
"You seem calm."
"I'm still processing."
She stared back at him. "Did we do the right thing, not telling them what she said?"
"Yes," he said forcefully. "If the killer thinks their plan worked, you'll be a lot safer, and that will give us a chance to see if we can figure out who killed both Julia and your grandmother."
"I'm starting to think I'm way out of my depth."
"Starting to think?" he asked lightly, drawing an unwilling smile across her tight lips.
"Sometimes, I'm a slow learner. What should we do now?"
He thought for a moment. He needed to get Maya out of the line of fire, and he was already concerned that the killer might have waited around outside the house to see what happened. They could have been in that cluster of players and neighbors, which meant they would know that they'd been inside Julia's house, and they would know that he was with Maya. That thought tightened his li
ps. This trip could have blown his cover, big-time. But it was too late to do anything about that now.
And maybe if someone had seen them there, it would work to their advantage, or at least to Maya's advantage.
"I have an idea," he said slowly.
"Good," she replied. "Because I'm out of ideas."
"You need to go to the Firebird Club this afternoon."
"And do what?"
"Tell everyone you can find that Julia committed suicide and confessed to Natasha's murder. You want them to know the truth. You've also decided not to make a movie about her life, that too many people have already been hurt, something like that."
"You want me to show that I believe the setup," she said, a new light in her eyes.
"Yes. That should make the killer relax."
"And you're sure that person is at the Firebird Club?"
"I'm certain the rumor will fly around that club and beyond. The chess tournament starts at six tonight. Most of the old guys will be playing or spectating. It's a good opportunity to catch everyone in one place."
"That would make it easier. I like the idea. In the meantime, I want to talk to Blake Cordero again."
"It might be best to leave him out of this for now."
"Why? He could be the murderer, too. If I tell him the same story, won't that be a good thing?"
He frowned. It was one thing to have her make a statement in a crowded club and another to go to Cordero's home. On the other hand, Cordero probably wouldn't see them coming, and he could protect her.
"Jax?" she asked. "I know it's asking a lot, but would you go with me?"
"I'm definitely not letting you go there alone."
Relief flooded her gaze. "Thank you."
"I'm not saying it's the best idea, so maybe don't thank me yet." He started the car and drove down the street. "If we're going to do this, we need to be smart. You can't for a second let him see that you have doubts about Julia's death. We'll tell him we came to see him because we saw the photo of the two of them together and we want to know what he can tell us about her."
"That's good," she said, swallowing hard. "But I think I'm going to need a minute, Jax. In fact, I think I'm going to be sick."
He took one look at her white face and then pulled into the parking lot of a coffeehouse. She jumped out of the car and ran inside. He should have realized how shaken up she was. He'd been talking tactics with her when she was still reeling from watching someone die.
She'd actually held up surprisingly well, keeping her calm, talking to the police exactly the way he'd asked her to. He didn't really know that he'd given her good enough reasons to trust him, but for some reason, she'd been willing to do just that, which made him feel guilty.
He was going to hurt her with his deception. That was coming. But if he broke his cover now, he could jeopardize everything—not just his case but also hers. He was more and more convinced that whoever had killed Natasha was probably involved in whatever was going on now. He just had to play this out for a while longer. Hopefully, in the end, he could help her find the answers she was looking for. It might not be enough to make up for the lies, but it would be something, and that's all he had right now.
Picking up his phone, he called Flynn.
"I got your text," Flynn said. "Can't you have any crises on a weekday?"
"Sorry."
"It's fine. I spoke to Detective Brower. I told him Julia's case ties in with our ongoing investigation. He's fine with that. It looked like a suicide to him."
"But it's not."
"Right. Caitlyn is heading to the scene now. Brandon will pull security camera footage from the area. We'll see if we can figure out who went to this woman's house this morning and who killed her. This could actually break things wide open."
"I just wish we could have gotten a break without someone else dying. However, I'm becoming convinced that the murders of these two women may connect to our current investigation. This spy ring could date back thirty-plus years. Or the ring may have had a reincarnation when the club reopened six months ago. We have generations of people mixed up in this: The Coleman family, starting with Edward, then moving to Sylvia and now David. The Jaggers—Wallace and Ryland. The Dimitrov family—Constantine, Louisa, Alexander and his wife Victoria. There's also the Bragin's—Daniel and Lindsay. Then we have Eddie Bozic, whose stepbrother was married to Sylvia."
"You're making me dizzy," Flynn said dryly. "We need to start clearing some people."
"Every time I think I can, I can't. And we haven't even talked about Maya's family: her father, her grandfather, the neighbor who grew up next door. That neighbor, Blake Cordero, was in a photograph at Julia's house. It's another connection that I don't understand."
"You'll figure it out, Jax. It's what you're good at."
"I need to figure it out fast. We're on our way to Cordero's house now. I'll check in later." As he ended the call, he realized Maya had been gone awhile. He got out of the car and went into the coffeehouse. She was nowhere in sight. He might as well get some coffee since they were here. He had a feeling he was going to need a lot of caffeine to get through this day.
Chapter Fifteen
Maya washed her hands and face, relieved that she'd at least made it to the bathroom before puking her guts out in front of Jax. But as she stared at her white face and big eyes, she barely recognized herself. What was she doing? How had she gotten to this point? A woman was dead because of her questions. How could she live with that?
A knock came at the door, followed by Jax's voice. "Maya, are you all right?"
"I'll be out in a second."
She took a couple of deep breaths, dried her hands, and then walked into the hallway. Jax was waiting with three cups in a to-go box.
"I got you some ginger tea; it's good for the stomach."
"You're always trying to give me tea."
"If you don't want that, I also got you coffee. You have choices."
"I wish that were true," she said heavily. She pushed open the nearby door and walked outside. "I'll take the tea."
He handed her a cup and they made their way to the car.
Once inside, Jax rolled down the windows. It was hot, but she was happy for the heat. It was taking away the chill of Julia's death.
"I didn't even know her, but I still feel horrible," she said.
"That's natural. You're a kind person."
She shook her head. "If that were true, I would have dropped this a long time ago. I hurt my father. I got Julia killed. All for a movie? All for a truth for an eighty-year-old man who may not understand what I tell him? No, everyone else was right. I am selfish, Jax. I am a horrible person." When he didn't say anything, she added, "You agree, right?"
"I'm not going to join you in this personal beatdown."
"Why not? I deserve another person to beat me down."
"Well, it won't be me. You couldn't predict what would happen, Maya."
"You're being too generous. I thought all along my grandmother was murdered, so why couldn't I predict it would happen again?"
"Because you don’t live in a world where people are killing each other. It was a movie in your head. It wasn't that real. It happened a long time ago."
"That's somewhat true, but it doesn't excuse what I've done."
"You didn't kill Julia. Someone else did, the same someone who killed your grandmother, probably. Let's focus on figuring that out. Save the blame game for later, when we know everything."
"Will we ever know everything?" she asked wearily.
"We might be closer than we think."
She couldn't believe his words. "Why would you say that?"
"Because if you weren't close to the truth, no one would have killed Julia."
She thought about that. "You're right. Julia knew who killed Natasha." She straightened in her seat. "She was the person who could lead me to Natasha's killer. But if she knew, why didn't she go to the cops a long time ago?"
"Fear. She was afraid she would
end up the same way."
"She said she was sorry." Maya tried to remember Julia's exact words. "She said Natasha was right. What was Natasha right about? What was going on, Jax?"
"Considering the people your grandmother was spending time with at the Russia House, I suspect the danger was coming from the Russians. Back in the eighties, there were a lot of Russian spies in the US."
She stared at him in amazement. "You think my grandmother was a spy?"
"I don't know. We need to get her journals."
"I can get them tomorrow morning when I go to work. Although, she doesn't say she's a spy in any of them."
"She wouldn't say anything outright, but you did mention the nicknames she used. Maybe those were code."
"That's true. I hope the journals are still safe where I left them."
"It sounds like the studio lot is locked down. We'll worry about the journals tomorrow." He gave her a smile. "Are you feeling better?"
Surprisingly, she was. "The tea is doing the trick. Or maybe it's you. You're so calm, Jax. You're like a port in a storm. Whenever I think I'm drowning, I look at you, and I feel like I can make it to shore."
"I'm glad I give you confidence, but you're a strong woman, Maya. You'd make it to shore on your own."
She saw the respect in his gaze, and it touched her. She didn't know if it was completely based in reality, but she'd take it. "Well, you're here now, and I'm glad. I'm also thrilled that I didn't throw up in front of you," she said dryly. "I bet you're sorry you ever invited me to breakfast."
"Not even a little bit. Do you want me to take you home, so you can rest? You can talk to Blake tomorrow."
"No. I can't imagine trying to rest or take a nap right now. I'm too wired. Plus, it will be good to try out my act on Blake. Based on his reaction, I'll know better how to play it at the club later."
"That's a good plan."
"I don't know if it's good, but it's a plan. We'll see how it goes. I really hope we're not still one step behind Natasha and Julia's killer. I don't want anyone else to die."
Fearless Pursuit (Off The Grid: FBI Series Book 8) Page 16
