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

by Barbara Freethy

  "I'm your guy."

  "I hope so. When Novak arrives, you can come back here." Ray called one of the waitresses over to the bar. "Shari, I need you to fill in for Jax for a few hours."

  "Great," Shari said, slapping her tray on the bar. "I love to make drinks."

  "And I live to make everyone happy," Ray said with a grin.

  "Where are you off to?" Shari asked, as he stepped around the bar.

  "I have to work the chess tournament. Novak has car trouble."

  "Better you than me. I had to serve in there a couple of weeks ago. It was boring as hell."

  He smiled. "I'm happy to go where I'm needed."

  Leaving the bar, he walked through the lobby, and jogged down the stairs to the first floor, where the library was located. As he hit the hallway, he was surprised to see a pretty brunette snapping photographs of the framed pictures on the wall. As she moved away from the photos, she pointed her camera at the hallway, keeping it running as she moved down the corridor, apparently not caring that cameras were prohibited at the club.

  The woman jumped as a waiter came around the corner. She dumped her camera into her bag, looking guilty as hell. The waiter ignored her, taking his tray of finger foods into the library.

  "You were lucky that wasn't one of the managers," he said, as he walked toward her. "Cameras aren't allowed inside the club. The members value their privacy."

  "I didn't realize," she replied, turning to face him.

  He was startled by the beautiful, shimmering green of her eyes, the long black lashes, the quirky spatter of freckles across her nose. But it was the expression in her gaze that really caught his attention. He was used to people masking their emotions, but everything she was feeling was revealed in her eyes—uncertainty, worry, determination. She was up to something; he just didn't know what. And that made him nervous.

  Chapter Three

  "Do you work here?" the woman asked.

  "Yes. I'm a bartender—Jax Kenin."

  "Maya Ashton," she said, flashing him a wary smile.

  "Why were you taking pictures of the photographs on the wall?" he asked curiously.

  "You saw me?"

  "I did."

  "Oh. Well, my grandmother was in some of them. She was a famous movie star in the seventies and eighties. She was actually one of the original members of this place when it was the Russia House. She dated the owner, Constantine Dimitrov, for several years. Her name was Natasha Petrova. Have you heard of her?"

  "It sounds familiar. She died young, right?"

  "Yes, she passed away a day before her thirty-sixth birthday. I'm making a movie about her life and her death, which is why I'm here. I need to speak to Wallace Jagger. He's playing chess tonight. Do you know him?"

  He was surprised to hear that name come off her lips. "I know he's a member. Why do you need to speak to him?"

  "He was my grandmother's second husband. I've been trying to reach him for a while. Instead of waiting for him to call me back, I've decided to take a more proactive approach."

  "You're going to ambush him."

  "I wouldn't call it an ambush," Maya said defensively. "We're just going to have a conversation. And I can't imagine why he wouldn't want to talk to Natasha's granddaughter. I know he loved her at some point." She gave him a pleading smile. "Please don't kick me out. I'm not going to bother anyone."

  "Except Mr. Jagger. Do you really think he'll talk to you in the middle of a chess match?"

  She glanced at her watch. "I have thirty minutes before it starts. And I believe he'll want to speak to me when he realizes that I'm going to prove Natasha's death was not an accident."

  Alarm bells went off in his head. "Wait a second. You're trying to prove your grandmother was murdered?"

  "Possibly."

  "Are you sure he's not the one who killed her?"

  Maya's eyes widened. "No, Wallace wasn't the murderer. Nothing points to him. But I think he might have clues he doesn't realize he has."

  "It still sounds a little dangerous."

  "I'll be fine. Can I go in?"

  He was torn. He didn't want to say no, but he also didn't need Wallace Jagger getting upset. That would prohibit him from striking up a conversation with the older man later in the evening.

  Before he could say anything, Sylvia Graham came around the corner, giving them both a sharp look.

  "The ladies' room is upstairs," he told Maya quickly. "Turn left at the top of the stairs. This area is for members only."

  She started but then went along with him. "Okay, thanks. I got turned around."

  As Maya moved down the hall toward the stairs, he gave Sylvia a brief smile. "Hello, Ms. Graham. How are you tonight?"

  "Fine. Who was that?" she asked sharply.

  He shrugged. "I don't know. She was looking for the ladies' room."

  Her gaze raked his face. "You always seem to be wandering around. Why is that?"

  "I don't know what you mean. Ray asked me to work the chess tournament. I was on my way when that woman asked me where the restroom was."

  Sylvia stared back at him. "Ray told me you're from Shlisselburg."

  "My parents were from there. I was born in Virginia, but I grew up speaking Russian." He paused. "Have I offended you in some way?"

  She appeared taken aback by his direct question. "Why would you ask me that?"

  "I feel like we've gotten off on the wrong foot, and I'd like to change that. I like this job, and I intend to do it well, so if there's anything I need to improve on, please let me know." It was a risk to be blunt, but sometimes being bold was the right play. If he didn't look like he had anything to hide, maybe she'd believe that.

  Sylvia gave him a thoughtful look, then said, "I'll let you know, but if you want to keep your job, you should go do it."

  "I'm on it." He opened the door to the library and stepped inside. As his gaze swept the large room, he was impressed by the rich, luxurious décor. There were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, filled with Russian and English books. Dark-green love seats were scattered around the room, with small tables and cozy lights highlighting each conversation area, some of which were tucked into private alcoves.

  In addition to the conversation sets, there were twelve square tables in the middle of the room, each adorned with low table lights and a unique chess set. He moved forward, pausing by the nearest table. As his gaze swept the beautifully carved chess set, he was suddenly assailed by uncomfortable memories.

  His heart began to race. He never let those memories into his head. They were too painful. But he couldn't seem to stop the images from flooding his mind.

  The chess set had sat on a table by the living room window. Every weekend, there had been different men at that table, trying to beat the master. But they always lost. Later, when they'd gone, he'd beg for a chance to show off his skills. An indulgent smile would follow. An invitation to join. Lessons that would stay with him long after the game had ended.

  He sucked in a quick breath. God! He could smell the cigar. And it wasn't from the cigar lounge next door; it was in his head. The scent of Old Spice cologne mixed with cigar smoke. And then there was sweet perfume, a lilting voice calling him to come, love in the Russian words flowing from her lips.

  "Jax?"

  He started at the sound of another female voice, this one belonging to Genie Kalnikova, one of the waitresses working the room. "Sorry, did you say something?"

  She gave him an odd look. "You were lost in thought."

  "I was thinking about something else. It's crowded in here."

  "It always is during tournaments. You're taking over for Novak?"

  "Yes."

  "Alan just left, so…"

  "Right." He headed toward the bar. He needed to focus on work, and not on the past.

  For the next several minutes, he filled drink orders, trying to dodge the memories dancing around in his head. Maybe getting this assignment was a bad idea. Having to speak Russian, deal with Russians, had never bothered
him before, but the chess…that was bringing up a tidal wave of old emotions, feelings he could not afford. As he hit a temporary lull in drink orders, he glanced toward the door. That's when he saw Maya slip in. She was now angling her way toward a man sitting alone at a chess table. He had silver hair, olive skin, and handsome features that had probably served him well fifty years earlier.

  Now he knew who Wallace Jagger was. He just didn't know what was going to happen next, but he didn't think it was going to be good.

  Should he kick Maya out? It would probably be the best move he could make. He could impress Sylvia and avoid potential drama. On the other hand, he doubted Maya would go quietly, and he might create more drama than he was trying to avoid.

  In that split second of hesitation, Genie reappeared with a long list of drink orders, and the decision was made. He would have to let Maya's ambush play out. He had to admit he was a little curious as to how it would go.

  Maya could see the very attractive bartender eyeing her from across the room, but he didn't seem inclined to kick her out. He was certainly a handsome man with thick blond hair and blue eyes, the color of the deepest part of the ocean.

  She smiled to herself at that fanciful thought. She'd been doing a lot of writing lately, thinking about how to describe the characters in the movie she was writing about her grandmother. But that movie wouldn't get made if she didn't focus now. She dragged her gaze away from Jax and turned her attention to Wallace Jagger.

  Wallace's gaze was fixed on the chess set in front of him, as if he were mentally planning out every move. For a brief second, she could see the man her grandmother had described in her journal. Wallace has an intense focus. When he turns his eyes on me, I feel like he can see into my soul, hear my unspoken secrets. I feel so attractive in the depth of his gaze. But I also feel vulnerable. I could love this man, and I think he could love me back, but there is so much he doesn't know about me. His feelings would change if he ever found out.

  She had told Jax she didn't believe Wallace had hurt Natasha. What if she was wrong?

  Deep down, she didn't think Wallace had anything to do with Natasha's death, because there were other paragraphs in Natasha's journal that had spoken of their great love. And Wallace was the only one who had hired a private investigator.

  Her grandfather had told her to remind Wallace of his great love for Natasha, that that was the only way she would be able to get his help, so that's what she would do.

  Seeing several speculative gazes turning in her direction, Maya moved across the room, pulling out the chair across from Wallace and sitting down.

  He gave her a startled look. "Who are you?"

  "I'm Natasha Petrova's granddaughter, Maya Ashton. I need a few minutes of your time, Mr. Jagger."

  His face paled, and his brown eyes darkened with what appeared to be pain. "You're the girl who has been calling my house."

  "Yes. I'm making a movie about Natasha's life, and I need your help."

  "I'm not interested in talking about her."

  "I realize that discussing her might be painful, but I want to tell her story, and you were a big part of her life. I only know bits and pieces from her journal. I'm hoping you can fill in some of the blanks."

  His gaze widened. "Her journals? What journals?"

  "She kept diaries throughout her life, starting as a teenager. She wrote during her marriage to my grandfather, to you, and up until her death. You didn't know that?"

  He stared back at her. "I remember her writing sometimes, but I didn't pay much attention. You have these journals?"

  "I do."

  "What did she say about me?"

  Maya chose her words carefully. "She said she fell in love with you at first sight, that you had a really intense gaze that made her feel both cherished and nervous."

  As Wallace gazed back at her, she could see what her grandmother had meant. There was a mix of emotions in his eyes and one of those emotions was anger. A shiver ran down her spine. Wallace was seventy-six years old, but he didn't seem feeble or weak, but rather dark and a bit dangerous.

  He'd been a shark in his younger years, ruthless and bold. He'd built first a talent agency and then a media company that had not only created superstars but had on occasion destroyed people.

  "Natasha made me nervous, too," he said, surprising her with his words. "She was so beautiful—exotic, mysterious, passionate—but she had her secrets, and I could never get to them."

  "What kind of secrets?"

  "I don't know. I just knew she held a part of herself back. But she did that with everyone." He cleared his throat. "What do you want to know?"

  "I'd love to know about your marriage, how you met, why your relationship ended."

  "That's not really why you're here," he said harshly. "You want to know who killed Natasha."

  She flinched inwardly at his sharp words but didn't look away. "Yes, I want to know that. You hired a private investigator after she died. His report was inconclusive."

  "Yes, it was, but that didn't change my mind. However, I have no idea who killed her, so if you think I can give you that answer, I can't. Maybe your grandfather knows, or your father. I assume you're Rex's daughter."

  "Yes."

  "What do they have to say?"

  "My father was a teenager when Natasha died. My grandfather has had his suspicions for years, but he could never get to the truth. He's hoping I can do that."

  "What makes you think you can?"

  "Because I'm willing to talk to everyone, and my grandfather was not. He didn't want to speak to you or to Constantine or to anyone who he thought Natasha loved more than him. And I'm guessing you felt the same way. Am I wrong?" she challenged. "Did you try to work with anyone else in Natasha's life to get to the truth?"

  "I didn't know who I could trust. Neither do you."

  "That's the point. I don't have to trust anyone. I can be an objective investigator."

  "You don't think the police were objective?"

  "Were they?" she countered. "I read the reports. It felt like they didn't ask a lot of questions."

  Wallace's gaze shifted as a man came over to the table. He appeared to be in his late forties, with dark hair, dark eyes and a suspicious glint in his eyes.

  "Your opponents are getting prettier," the man said, but there wasn't as much charm in his cool smile as there was in his words.

  "She's not an opponent, just…an old friend," Wallace said.

  "She doesn't look that old. And I'm surprised I haven't met an old friend of my father's," he said pointedly.

  "You must be Ryland," she said.

  "Yes, this is my son," Wallace put in. "Ryland Jagger."

  "It's nice to meet you. I'm Maya Ashton."

  "How do you know my father?"

  "It's not important," Wallace interrupted. "Why don't you get me a drink, Ryland? We're just about done here."

  Ryland hesitated, then said, "Sure, Dad. The usual?"

  "Of course."

  As Ryland moved away, Wallace said, "You need to leave, Miss Ashton."

  "I will go, but I want to give you something." She pulled an envelope out of her purse and pushed it across the table. "My grandmother wrote about you, and I think when you read these pages, you'll understand why I need your help to find out what happened to her. Her story deserves a better ending, don't you think?"

  Pain filled his gaze. "Whether you know the truth or not, Natasha's ending won't change. She'll still be dead."

  "But maybe whoever killed her will finally be charged."

  He shook his head. "It's possible it was just a drug overdose. As much as I wanted to believe otherwise, there's never been more than speculation to suggest another reason. Hollywood loves a good rumor. Most of them aren't true. You should drop this now. It won't do you any good. There's no winning path here. If Natasha OD'd, it's just a sad story. If she was murdered, anyone who tries to unveil her killer could be in danger. Are you willing to take that risk?"

  Goose bumps r
an down her arms at his alarming words. "I'll be careful."

  He gave her an odd smile. "Natasha used to say that very same thing to me. She was impulsive and impetuous, and she always wanted more than she had. I told her many times that she was playing with fire. She always responded in exactly the same way, 'I'll be careful'. And then she was dead."

  She swallowed a growing knot in her throat. Maybe she was going down a dangerous road. But she wasn't just doing it for herself; she was also doing it for her grandfather and for Natasha.

  "You better go," Wallace said.

  She followed his gaze, seeing the woman she'd run into in the hallway earlier talking to Ryland. They were both now looking at her. She quickly got to her feet, but she couldn't escape before the woman came over to the table.

  "Excuse me, Wallace," the woman said, giving her a daggered look, before turning to Wallace. "Is this woman your guest? You do know that you have to sign her in."

  "She's not staying," Wallace replied. "She had a question for me that needed to be answered. She wasn't aware that only members are allowed down here, Sylvia. My apologies."

  "I'm sorry," Maya cut in. "I didn't realize the area was off-limits. Thank you, Mr. Jagger," she said, glancing back at him. "I hope you'll think about what I said."

  "I doubt I'll think about anything else."

  As she walked away, her gaze locked with the blond bartender once more. Jax wasn't smiling. In fact, the look on his face seemed far too serious, but she didn't have time to ponder that as the dark-haired woman was dogging her steps. While Ryland had remained behind with his father, the woman was right on her heels as she entered the hallway.

  "One minute," the woman said. "What's your name?"

  She turned around. "Maya Ashton. And you are…?"

  "Sylvia Graham. I'm the club manager. Jax told me you were looking for the bathroom before. Was he lying, or were you?"

  She wasn't quite sure how to answer that. Jax had tried to save her and she didn't want to throw him under the bus. "I was looking for the restroom. I drank a lot of coffee before I came here. I didn't realize that the room where Mr. Jagger plays chess was only for members. He didn't mention that."