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

  Sylvia didn't look convinced. "Well, don't make that mistake again."

  "I won't. Can I ask you a question?" Since she had this woman's attention, she might as well try to use it to her advantage. If she was the manager here, she could be helpful.

  "Of course," Sylvia said, looking taken aback.

  "My grandmother was Natasha Petrova. I don’t know if you've ever heard of her…" Her voice trailed away as she could see by the look in Sylvia's eyes that she had definitely heard of Natasha. "She wrote fondly about this club in her journals. It was her home away from home. She said that when she missed Moscow, she came here, and she didn't feel so alone."

  "Natasha Petrova is your grandmother?"

  "My father, Rex, was her only son." She paused. "Did you work here when Constantine Dimitrov owned the club?"

  "Yes. I started waiting tables here when I was sixteen. I later became the bar manager. When Alexander decided to reopen, he asked me to come back."

  "So you know Constantine well."

  "I do."

  "I think he and my grandmother were romantically involved."

  "I believe they were, but why does that matter now? It was more than thirty years ago."

  "I'm trying to learn more about my grandmother, because I'm making a movie about her life."

  "A movie about her life?" Sylvia echoed in surprise. "And your father supports this?"

  There was something in Sylvia's gaze that gave her pause. "Why would you think he wouldn't?"

  "Because he hated her."

  "How do you know that?"

  "We met years ago, when we were teenagers. He couldn't stand his mother. He said she abandoned him. After she died, I didn't see him for years, but then one night he came by the club after closing. He was about twenty then, I think. I caught him spray-painting the front doors of the club. He thought everyone had gone home."

  "What?" she asked in confusion. "I can't believe my father would do graffiti. He's not impulsive at all."

  "It was the anniversary of her death. He was drunk and angry."

  "I still can't believe he let his emotions go like that."

  "I felt sorry for him. I told him I wouldn't turn him in if he promised never to come back. He gave me that promise, and I kept his secret—until now." She shook her head, her gaze softening. "You don't really look like Rex, but you do look like your grandmother. You have her very dramatic green eyes."

  "So I've been told."

  "You should go upstairs," Sylvia said, straightening her shoulders, as if she'd just realized she'd revealed more than she wanted to.

  "I will. Is Constantine Dimitrov here tonight?"

  "I'm afraid I can't give that information out."

  "What about Alexander? I'd love to talk to either or both of them about my grandmother."

  "I can pass on your information, but I don't know that they'll want to talk to you."

  "It would be great if you could do that. Can I give you my number?"

  Sylvia took out her phone. "Go ahead."

  She recited her digits, then added, "I'd really appreciate any time they could give me."

  "I'll make sure they're aware of your interest. By the way, if you tell your father I broke my promise, tell him you're the only one I told."

  "I'm sure he won't care."

  "I'm rather sure that he will. Shall I see you out?"

  "I know the way," she said, very aware of Sylvia's gaze following her all the way to the stairwell.

  As she walked up the stairs, her mind was racing. She'd come here hoping to find out something new about Natasha, but instead she'd learned something about her father. But that something didn't make sense.

  He'd made it clear to her that Natasha was a lousy mother. But destroying public property, being drunk in public? That didn't sound like the man she'd grown up with, the man who always had control over his every emotion.

  She needed to talk to him about what she was doing. Sylvia had guessed correctly when she said she doubted Rex knew what she was up to. He didn't. She'd kept everything between her grandfather and herself. Maybe she needed to tell him. She just didn't want him to try to talk her out of it. But she'd told Wallace she'd be able to get the answers no one else had, because she was the one willing to ask the questions that needed to be asked, to talk to all the people who knew her grandmother, and she'd been avoiding one very important person. That was her dad.

  At least she had a conversation starter now, something that might put him back on his heels for a change. He would not like the fact that she knew about the graffiti. For once in her life, he was going to be in the hot seat and not her.

  Chapter Four

  Maya had stirred up a lot of tension in the room, Jax thought. He was not only curious as to what was in the envelope she'd given to Wallace, but also what Ryland and Wallace had spoken about in their intense, hushed conversation afterward. That discussion had been broken up by the arrival of Wallace's chess opponent, Dustin Paul, a renowned actor in his late sixties.

  While Wallace had settled into chess, Ryland Jagger had been making the rounds. He was currently talking to the owner of the club, Alexander Dimitrov.

  Jax hadn't yet had a chance to speak to Alexander. The tall, dark-haired man cut an intimidating figure. He was slick, sophisticated, confident, and exuded wealth. Apparently, Constantine had had the same powerful charisma in his day, but now he was in his seventies, and walked with the help of a cane. Constantine had taken up residence in one of the alcoves with Lisa Hamilton, who was reported to be the best party planner in Beverly Hills. The older blonde woman had a laugh that often cut through the hush of concentrated chess play, occasionally drawing an irritated look from one of the players. But no one had made any effort to quiet her down. He suspected Constantine's presence was the reason for that.

  Deciding to see what else he could hear, he grabbed an empty tray and made a sweep of the room, picking up discarded glasses. As he moved behind Alexander and Ryland, he caught a snippet of their conversation.

  "She's going to be trouble," Ryland said.

  "What's she going to find? It's been a hundred years since Natasha died," Alexander said with a careless shrug.

  "She might find more than you think. Maybe you should talk to your uncle, give him a heads-up."

  "I will, but I'm not worried. People have looked into Natasha's death before. Nothing ever comes of it." Alexander's gaze moved to the door.

  An older woman with dark-red hair made her way into the room. Jax recognized her as Louisa Dimitrov, Constantine's wife. Eddie Bozic, the owner of Falcon Motors, was right behind her. They walked toward the alcove where Constantine was sitting with the party planner. Alexander and Ryland split apart. Alexander went to join Constantine's group while Ryland shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks and then wandered away to watch his father play chess.

  Jax returned to the bar. As he went over the conversation he'd heard, he couldn't help thinking that both Ryland and Alexander seemed to know something about Natasha Petrova's death. Ryland had suggested that Alexander warn his uncle, which suggested Constantine knew something, too.

  He frowned, wishing that the information he'd learned had had something to do with his case and not a murder or suicide from over three decades ago.

  For the next hour, he made drinks and tried to listen in on whatever conversation came near enough to be heard. By nine, the room was starting to empty as the first round of matches ended. The second round would be played on Saturday and the final round on Sunday. Wallace and Dustin were the last pair to finish, their game ending with victory for Dustin.

  As the actor celebrated his win with friends at another table, Wallace Jagger got up from his seat and walked over to the bar with a weary gait.

  "Scotch and soda," he said.

  "Coming right up. How did you do?" he asked, seeing strain in the old man's eyes.

  "Worst night I've had in years. I couldn't concentrate. She got in my head."

  "Who's that?" h
e asked lightly.

  "That woman. She had the same brown hair, the same green eyes."

  "You're talking about the woman who came to see you earlier."

  "Maya. She said her name is Maya. But I wasn't really talking about her." He fell silent as Jax put his drink in front of him. "You ever loved a woman so much you lost your mind?"

  "Never had it that bad. Should I count myself lucky?"

  "I don’t know. They were the best moments of my life and the worst. And now I'm rambling on."

  "What was her name? The woman who made you crazy?"

  "Natasha. She was a beautiful butterfly. Even if you caught her, you couldn't hang on to her. It wasn't in her nature to stay. She had to be free. We worked together for five years, and she was my wife for two of those years. We were hot, but we burned out fast. I haven't thought about her in a long time. But Maya—she brought Natasha back. She brought her grandmother back." Wallace shook his head in bemusement. "Grandmother. It's difficult to think of that word describing her. In my mind, she'll always be young, energetic, and impulsive. I can't imagine how she would have aged. She wouldn’t have liked losing her youth." He took a sip of his drink. "Maybe it's best she didn't have to face any of that."

  "You're talking about the film star, Natasha Petrova."

  "Yes. I'm surprised you know her name."

  "I actually ran into her granddaughter in the hall. She was looking at the pictures on the wall. She mentioned her grandmother was in them."

  "Natasha loved this place. It was called the Russia House back then. It was her home away from home. Now, it has become mine. It's ironic, really. I never wanted to come here with her, because when we did come, she was always swept up by her fans, most of them male." He paused, his gaze turning reflective. "Natasha was a willful woman. She couldn't be held back by a marriage license." Wallace shook his head. "I don't want to think about her. I don't want to go back in time. I can't do it."

  Jax didn't know what to say. Not that it seemed to matter. The old man was caught up in the love affair of his past.

  Wallace reached inside his coat and pulled out the envelope Maya had given him earlier. "Maya gave this to me, but I don't want it. I can't read what's inside. She said her contact information is in there. Can you take this to her? I don't want to mail it. And if I ask my son, he'll have too many questions."

  "Sure, I can do that," he said, taking the envelope. "I'll make sure she gets it."

  "It's important that no one else sees it. I don't know exactly what's in it, but it's important that it goes straight to her. You can take care of this, can't you?" Wallace pulled out his wallet and removed a hundred-dollar bill.

  Jax shook his head. "I don't need a tip. I'll drop it off at her house tomorrow."

  "Could you do it tonight? What time do you get off?"

  "In about thirty minutes. But it will be after eleven before I can get there."

  "I'm sure she has a mailbox you can put it in."

  "All right. I'll take it by her house tonight." He pushed the bill back to Wallace. "I don't need this."

  "Why should you do it for free?" Wallace asked curiously.

  "It's not a big deal."

  "It's your time. You should always value your time."

  "Dad," Ryland said, coming up to the bar. "Are you ready to leave?"

  "As soon as I finish my drink."

  Ryland gave him an irritated look. "Fine. I'll be upstairs. Don't take too long."

  Wallace gave Jax a smile as Ryland left. "He loves to boss me around. I guess the tables turn when children become adults. But sometimes I wish he could see me for who I am, who I was. Ryland has no idea of the life I led before he came along. Children never think of their parents as having lives before they were born, of being young, reckless, daring. We're always old to them. But I had a life. I was one of the biggest agents in Hollywood. Did you know that?"

  "I didn't."

  "I made stars out of nobodies. That's what they used to call me—the starmaker. I gave actors and actresses opportunities they'd only dreamt about. I changed Natasha's career. She was barely a supporting actress when she came to my agency. I made her into an international superstar. But when she divorced me, she also left my agency and went to Alan Hayes." Wallace sneered as he said the name. "She took everything I had built for her and gave it to that fool." He shook his head. "Was it out of anger or spite? Or just because she liked to needle me? I don't know." He stopped. "I'm talking too much."

  "I'm a good listener."

  "You are. I guess that's why you're a good bartender. What's your name?"

  "Jax Kenin."

  "You ever want to be something but a bartender?"

  "Actually, I've been trying to make it as an actor."

  Wallace's gaze sharpened. "I don't run my company anymore."

  "I wasn't going to ask you for a favor."

  "Are you sure? Isn't that why you didn't take my money?"

  "Believe it or not, no. To be honest, I've given up on the idea of making it as an actor."

  "Why? You're a good-looking guy. That's half the battle."

  He shrugged. "Apparently, I just don't have the goods."

  "So, you'll be a bartender? You should shoot higher."

  "I'm not planning on serving drinks forever. I'd like to get into selling cars. In fact, one day, I'd like to be able to afford one of the fancy cars I see in the parking lot."

  "Nothing like a sweet ride," Wallace said with a nod.

  "What do you drive?"

  "A Lamborghini."

  "Seriously? What's that like?"

  "Amazing. Cars have always been my weak spot. If you want to sell cars, you should talk to Eddie Bozic. He's a member here, and he runs Falcon Motors. It's where I bought my vehicle. He could probably use another good salesman."

  "I'll look into that."

  "You should. But if you want to continue pursuing acting, I can have Ryland bring you in."

  "That's very generous."

  "I'm much more generous now than I used to be," Wallace said dryly. "I made a lot of mistakes in my younger days."

  "It's never too late to make up for mistakes."

  "Sometimes it is too late." Shadows filled his gaze. "Sometimes, in the heat of the moment, caught up in ourselves—in our passion, in our need—we cross a line we can't cross back." He finished his drink and set the glass down. "Thank you again."

  "No problem. Good-night."

  As Wallace left, he wondered again what was in the envelope that Wallace was so determined to get rid of. He'd promised not to tell anyone else about the envelope or to show it to anyone, but he hadn't promised not to look at what was inside, and he was going to do that the first chance he got.

  He didn't quite know what to make of Wallace. He was a mix of contradictions. At times, he seemed sharp and cutting. At other times he seemed depressed and weary, almost a bit lost. Was he the doddering old man that he appeared to be? Wallace had said that no one saw him anymore as the man he'd once been. Who was that man? Had he had something to do with Natasha's death?

  His pulse began to race, which was ridiculous, because he hadn't gotten this job to dig into the death of an old movie star. He wasn't working a cold case. He was on the trail of a possible Russian spy ring, and he needed to spend more time thinking about that than anything else, especially not the beautiful brunette with the very green eyes. She could be a huge distraction and a big complication. He needed to make sure she didn't come back to the club. Maybe he wouldn’t just drop off the envelope in her mailbox. Maybe he'd tell her that Wallace wasn't interested in helping her and she should move on.

  Remembering the determination in her eyes, that might not work. But he didn't need her to quit her movie; he just needed her to take her investigation away from the Firebird Club. Hopefully, he could convince her to do that much.

  "I don't know what it will take to convince you that this is a bad idea," Rex Ashton said.

  Maya sighed as her father continued a rant that h
ad already gone on for thirty minutes, ever since she'd arrived at the house and told him about the movie and her search for the truth regarding his mother's death. He'd gone from irritated silence to full-blown anger. Now, he was pacing around his study, waves of fury making his body tighten with each step.

  She'd known he wouldn't like the idea of her digging into Natasha's death, but she hadn't thought he'd go quite so ballistic.

  "Dad—"

  "It was his idea, wasn't it?" her father interrupted. "You've been going to see your grandfather every day. I thought you were just being sweet, but you've been cooking this up together, haven't you?"

  "Yes. He wants to know the truth before he's too far gone to make peace with it. And I want to help him."

  "What about me?" he demanded, his gaze locking with hers.

  She instinctively got to her feet. She'd always felt intimidated by her dad, who was six foot, three, and a powerfully built man, with a sharp, cutting gaze. It worked well for him in business. His firm conducted tax audits on some of the biggest companies in Los Angeles. He instinctively knew when someone was trying to hide something, which was one reason why she hadn't spent much time at the house the past few weeks. She hadn't wanted him to see through her before she was ready to tell him what she was doing.

  The other reason was that they weren't that close. She was the middle child and the biggest disappointment in a family of superstars. Her mom was a history professor. Her older sister Darcy was a teacher and a married mom of an adorable baby. And her younger brother, James, was in his third year of medical school.

  Her siblings had had their lives mapped out for forever. She was the only one who'd dropped out of college, who'd drifted through at least a half-dozen jobs in the past three years. She was the one who lost track of time when she was writing or filming or just scribbling down ideas. She was the creative, imaginative, and somewhat irresponsible one, who they all got annoyed with, because she wasn't like any of them.