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

by Barbara Freethy

  Bragin glanced back down at the board. "You want me to take your pawn. And then you'll move your bishop to C4."

  "Maybe I will," he said, although that had been the play. He just couldn't quite remember what happened after that. It had been a very long time since he had played this game.

  Bragin decided to ignore his forfeited pawn, making a move that Jax didn't know how to counter. "Uh-oh," he said.

  Bragin smiled. "It's always unnerving when someone doesn't do what you expect them to do."

  Was there something behind Bragin's words? Because he definitely felt unnerved.

  "You have Markov's eyes," Bragin said. "They were the blue of the deep sea. I remember thinking that I could never read his mysterious gaze."

  To maintain his cover, he would have preferred that Bragin stop talking about his father. On the other hand, it had been twenty-five years since anyone outside of the two people who had raised him had spoken of his father or his mother. "Where did you meet him?" he asked.

  "Right here, at a chess tournament a long time ago. It must have been thirty or forty years now. He ran through all of us and even some astonishingly good guests. For two days, he showed us how a master works. I never forgot it."

  He could hardly believe that his father had been at the club when it was the Russia House. But he had gone to weekend chess tournaments, so it wasn't all that surprising. And he was Russian. But he didn't like that his father had known any of these guys, one of whom he was sure had killed Natasha.

  He made another move and then said, "It looked like you and your friends were having an intense conversation a while ago."

  Bragin took his pawn off the board. "That was not a Markov move," he said. "And, yes, we received some bad news. Someone I used to know died today." Bragin's lips drew into a line as he sucked in a breath and let it out. "I don't really want to think about it, which is why I pressed you into a warm-up match. My daughter Lindsay hates chess and she was eager to join her friends upstairs for mojitos."

  "It's a nice day for mojitos. I'm sorry about your friend."

  "I haven't seen her in years, but it's still shocking." He paused. "What did you say your last name was?"

  "Kenin," he replied, not liking that Bragin couldn't seem to let the similarity between him and his father go. He actually didn't think he looked all that much like his dad, but then again, he hadn't looked at a photo of his father in a decade or more.

  "You're Russian?"

  "Yes, but I was born in Virginia. What about you? Do you have Russian roots?"

  "My parents were from Ukraine. I was born here in Los Angeles. My father was an engineer. He worked at Lockheed."

  "Are you in tech as well?"

  "I was. I turned my sizable corporation over to my daughter two years ago."

  "Lucky her."

  "What do your parents do? Are they alive and well?"

  He hesitated, feeling as if he were treading into dangerous waters. He decided to go with his adopted parents. "Yes. They're well. My father works at a hardware store and my mother works at an animal shelter."

  "Solid jobs. Did they teach you how to play chess?"

  "No. I learned with other kids back in my teens."

  They played for another ten minutes, with Bragin stepping up his game until he said, "Checkmate."

  "You were too good for me," he said, happy to have the game end.

  "You needed more than a spectacular opening move."

  "I guess so."

  "Thank you for playing, Jax. Perhaps I'll see if I can find a photo of Andrei Markov and show it to you. Or you could look him up online. You're his spitting image."

  "I'll check it out. Good luck tonight." He got up and saw Maya watching him from one of the tall cocktail tables placed around the room. A quick scan of the room did not bring Sylvia back into view, so he walked over to her.

  "Looks like you lost," she said.

  "I did."

  "I was surprised you were playing."

  "He roped me into it."

  "Which also surprised me. He was shaken when I delivered my news, but he certainly recovered quickly."

  "He said he was trying not to think about a friend who he'd just heard had died."

  "What else did he say?"

  "Nothing about Julia."

  Maya gave him a speculative look. "Really? Because you seemed uncomfortable with the conversation."

  "He thinks he knows me from somewhere. It was weird. He kept saying it, but I've never met him."

  "That is odd." She paused. "Are we supposed to be talking? And don't you have to go to work?"

  The last thing he wanted to do was work. When he'd arrived at the club, he'd learned that David had called in sick, which meant he would have no chance of confirming whether or not he was in for a poker game Tuesday night. Every other one of his targets was involved in the chess tournament, and the last thing he felt like doing was serving drinks. He'd rather spend time with Maya. He wanted to know how her conversation had gone, and they couldn't talk about that here.

  "I think I'm going to come down with a stomach bug," he said. "Want to meet me in the parking lot in about fifteen minutes?"

  Her expression brightened. "I really do. I want to talk to you."

  "I feel the same way." Although, he wanted to do a hell of a lot more than just talk to her.

  "I'm in self-parking."

  "I'll find you. I can follow you home."

  "Okay."

  He walked out of the room and down the hall, jogging up the stairs, but when he got to the bar, he slowed his steps. The assistant bar manager, a woman named Kelly Hobbs, was working tonight. He walked over to her, his hand on his gut.

  "I hate to do this to you," he said.

  She frowned, reading his gaze. "No. You're not sick."

  "I had some bad sushi at lunch. I can't make it through my shift. I'm sorry."

  "Well, all right. You certainly can't work with a stomach bug," she said with resignation.

  "I'll make it up to you."

  "It's fine. Most everyone is downstairs. We'll manage. Take it easy."

  He nodded and left the club, happy not to run into Sylvia on his way out. He made his way into the employee lot, got into his car and drove up the hill to self-parking. He pulled up behind Maya's vehicle and then waved her on.

  As he followed her back to her house, his mind returned to his conversation with Daniel Bragin. He'd spent the past week trying to protect his cover, and he'd never expected that the one break might come from an old man who had met his father at a chess tournament thirty-something years ago. Bragin was right; he never did forget a face.

  But Bragin's behavior after learning that his friend Julia had died was odd. Had he really just been trying not to think about it? Or perhaps he didn't care? Maybe he was the one who had killed Julia.

  That thought rattled around in his head all the way across town. When he got to Maya's house, he parked on the street while she pulled into the driveway. Everything looked quiet. Hopefully, it would stay that way. It was almost six and the sun was just beginning to slip over the horizon. He got out of his car and met Maya on the porch. She unlocked the door, and then he told her to wait while he did a quick check. The house looked exactly the same as the last time he'd seen it, although it appeared that Maya had straightened up a bit since he'd been there.

  When he returned to the living room, she was standing on the threshold.

  "All clear," he said.

  "Good." She closed the door behind her and tossed her purse onto the table. "It feels like forever since I was here. So much has happened."

  "It has been an eventful day," he agreed.

  "We have a lot to talk about."

  "We do, but…"

  "But?" she echoed, staring back at him through incredible green eyes that were now filling with desire.

  Good. She was on the same page he was. "I don't really want to talk right now," he said.

  "Me, either."

  He grabbed her
by the hips and pulled her up against him, lowering his mouth to hers, giving in to the desire he'd been fighting all the way across town.

  She moaned with pleasure, as she kissed him back with the same hungry fervor. He pushed her up against the nearest wall, and took the kiss deeper, sliding his tongue into her mouth, tasting every sweet bit of heat. His heart was pounding hard against his chest. He wanted more.

  Somewhere in his head, he heard a voice of caution. He was on a case. He was undercover. He was pretending to be someone he wasn't.

  None of that mattered. He wanted Maya. He wanted her with every breath he took. And she wanted him.

  It was simple, really.

  Only it wasn't.

  He forced himself to pull back, to try to let his brain catch up with his body.

  She looked up at him with desire in her eyes, with a fire in her cheeks, and with soft lips that were pink from the pressure of his mouth.

  "Do you really want to stop?" she asked.

  "No."

  "Then why are you?"

  "I have no idea." Only that was another lie, and that was the reason he'd stopped—he was lying to her. And it bothered him.

  "I'm not expecting anything," she said tentatively. "If that's what you're worried about. It can just be…sex."

  Despite her frank words, he didn't think it would be just sex, and that was the problem.

  "Jax, let me take you into my bedroom."

  He smiled at her words. "How am I supposed to say no to that?"

  "You're not supposed to say no." She grabbed his hand and led him into her bedroom.

  She'd made her bed, topping the peach-colored comforter with colorful orange and purple pillows. The bed looked exactly like her—warm, vibrant, unique, perfect. He pulled her back against his chest and gazed into her eyes. Then he kissed her again, wanting to go fast, wanting to go slow…

  Then a loud crash jolted them apart.

  "What the hell was that?" Maya asked breathlessly.

  He was the first one to move, sprinting into the living room. The front window had shattered, and fire was licking up the curtains. Maya was right on his heels when another fiery missile came through a second window. He pushed her behind him, as flames caught the couch pillows and an intense heat almost burned his face.

  "What's happening?" she cried in bewilderment.

  "We've got to get out of here. Back door."

  They jogged toward the kitchen, but the next blast came through the window over the sink. They jumped back, as glass rained down upon them. He grabbed her hand, holding on tight, debating his options. He didn't have a weapon and neither did she. They had to get out of the house, but front or back? He had no idea how many people were out there. They could be running into an ambush.

  "What do we do?" Maya asked, clinging to him, fear running through her eyes.

  "We have to get out of the house."

  "But they're out there."

  "I know, but if we stay inside…" He didn't have to finish his sentence, not with flames leaping around them.

  "It didn't work, Jax. My story. They're still coming after us. We're going to die."

  "We're not going to die," he said fiercely. "We just have to find a way out."

  "There is no way out," she said with panic in her voice. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

  Chapter Seventeen

  "Stop apologizing. This isn't your fault, and we're not going to die." Jax grabbed dishtowels and soaked them in water, giving Maya one and keeping one for himself. "Put that over your face. We're going back in the living room." He grabbed her hand.

  She tugged it away from him. "I need my computer." She ran over to the kitchen table and grabbed her laptop, and then put the towel over her face as they moved through the smoke and the flames into the living room.

  The room was engulfed in fire, the heat intense, but there hadn't been any more blazing missiles coming into the house. He heard sirens. One of the neighbors had probably called 911. They could be running into an ambush, but their choices were limited. He just didn't know if they could get through the fire to the door.

  Maya grabbed her bag off the table and shoved her laptop inside it.

  "Fire trucks are coming," he said. "But we can't wait another second. We have to get out."

  "You want to run through the fire?"

  It sounded crazy, but he couldn't breathe very well, and she was starting to cough and gasp for air. He took her hand and gazed into her eyes. "We run. When we hit the ground, we dive and roll. Got it? Trust me?"

  She nodded with terror-filled eyes.

  They ran through the flames. He used the towel to yank open the door, shoving her onto the porch in front of him. As they hit the grass, she dropped to the ground and rolled just as he'd ordered. He did the same, as firefighters jumped off the arriving truck and raced toward them.

  The firefighters helped them smother out the lingering flames as the EMTs rushed forward to check them for burns and smoke inhalation. Thankfully, while their clothes were a bit singed, they'd escaped serious injury. After being completely checked out, they sat on the back of the ambulance with oxygen masks on, and Jax finally had a chance to look around.

  There were neighbors on the street now. He didn't know if Maya recognized any of them, but she was staring in bewilderment at her house, or what was left of it.

  She pulled the mask away from her nose and mouth. "It's all going up in smoke. My house, my life," she murmured, her voice dazed.

  He removed his mask. "But you're still alive, and that's what matters."

  She looked at him with her heart in her eyes. "Someone tried to kill us, Jax. What were they throwing into the house?"

  "Molotov cocktails—gasoline-soaked firebombs."

  She stared back at him. "That sounds very…Russian."

  He nodded, a grim line tightening his lips. "Yes, it does. They probably couldn't risk breaking in again, so they decided to take the house down, and if you were inside…"

  "Then no one would ever find out what they're trying so damn hard to protect. I wish I knew what that was."

  "It must be something in the journals. Even if they believed that you were giving up on the movie, they might not have wanted those journals to see the light of day."

  "But they don't contain anything that would destroy someone. They're just her diaries. Well, there is one that's a little different. I think she was trying to write some fiction. There are drawings and some random passages. They didn't make any sense to me, but maybe it's something."

  He frowned at that piece of information. "I don't think you ever told me that one of the journals was fiction."

  "I don't know what it is. It's just really random thoughts, not even thoughts—pieces of narrative…the dog jumped over the haystack, kind of thing. I think it was a children's book."

  He didn't think that at all. Something was off. "I need to see those journals. We have to get them tomorrow."

  "They might be safer far away from me."

  He wanted to tell her he could keep them safe, and he could keep her safe, although he hadn't done a hell of a good job so far. But that was partly because he was playing out his cover. And he couldn't blow that cover now. He couldn't forget that there was a bigger investigation going on, one that went far beyond the murder of two women, one that could be a matter of national security.

  "You could have been killed," Maya continued. "I am so sorry, Jax."

  "I told you before I don't want your apology. This isn't on you. And we're all right."

  "For now," she said darkly. "What do we tell the police?" she asked, tipping her head to the officer speaking to the fire captain. "Do we get into Natasha, Julia, the Firebird Club?"

  He wanted to say no, but that wasn't realistic. Once more, he would need Flynn to take over the case so they could control the investigation. But that wouldn't happen until tomorrow. "I think you should just tell them that since you've been researching your grandmother's murder, your house was broken into, you were p
ersonally assaulted, one of your research subjects committed suicide, and tonight your house was set on fire."

  "And when they ask who's behind it all?"

  "I'd be honest. I'd say you don't know, because you don't. It could be anyone, Maya."

  "What about Julia's last words? Will we be in trouble for not telling them before?"

  "You probably don't need to get into that tonight. Right now, we need them to concentrate on collecting evidence for what happened here."

  She nodded, her expression incredibly stressed, but there was also a fiery light coming into her eyes. "They better catch the person who burned this down. Did you know it was her house? Natasha's?"

  "No, I didn't."

  "It was the first place she rented on her own. After she married my grandfather, he bought it for her, because he knew she loved it so much. They rented it out during their marriage, but after she left my grandfather, she lived here for a year. Then she moved into a big mansion somewhere, and my grandfather rented it out again. One family lived here for years. They moved out several months ago, and that's when he rented it to me. Now it's gone. Another link to Natasha has been destroyed." She paused. "I wonder if the killer knew that she had once lived here. Maybe that's why they were convinced the journals were hidden here."

  "Possibly."

  They got to their feet as the police officers came over to speak to them. Maya took the lead, and he let her, impressed with how quickly she managed to pull herself together. After going through the incidents of the last few days, ending with tonight's arson attack on her house and her life, the patrol officers told her that they'd contact the police detective who was investigating Julia's death, and he'd be in touch with more questions since the cases were more than likely tied together.

  By the time they had finished their conversation, most of the fire was out, but there were still small hot spots being tackled by the firefighters. The neighbors had returned to their homes and the ambulance had gone back to the firehouse. Since Maya's car had been damaged from the fire, he urged her into his vehicle and then drove her to his apartment in Santa Monica.

  He was never supposed to connect his undercover life with his real life, but she'd refused to go to her parents' or her sister's house. Nor did she want to involve any of her friends into the danger she was enveloped in, and he couldn't think of anywhere else to take her that would be safe. But as he drove into his garage, he realized he was going to have to explain why his townhouse by the beach looked more expensive than something a bartender and out-of-work actor could afford. It was possible, however, that Maya wouldn't notice. She was lost in her thoughts, and she hadn't said a word since they'd gotten in the car. That was starting to worry him.