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

by Barbara Freethy

  "She said she hadn't expected to like you at all, but then she fell in love with you. She wasn't surprised that you didn't love her the way she loved you, but she wished you did."

  Pain ran through his eyes. "She was wrong. I wish she could know that. When are you going to make this movie?"

  "As soon as I put it all together."

  "Are you going to leave her death as an overdose, accidental or otherwise?"

  "There are other theories, too, that I'm exploring."

  "I've heard the names of many potential murderers, myself included," he said.

  "And you don’t think any of those names had merit?"

  He gave her an odd smile. "Natasha loved men and men loved her. Women…they were different. Her friendship with Anne stands out in my mind, because there were always so many bitter rivalries with other women. They were jealous of her, including my wife, Louisa."

  "Louisa knew Natasha?"

  His gaze narrowed. "Yes. Louisa was a waitress here at that time. She was a beautiful red flame, only twenty-two years old when I met her. She liked Natasha very much. She was starstruck by her."

  "Were they friends?"

  "No. There was a thirteen-year age difference between them."

  "When did you and Louisa get together?"

  "A few years after Natasha died. Louisa brought me back to life." He paused. "She and Natasha were not rivals, if that's what you're thinking. When I was with Natasha, Louisa was with her young boyfriend."

  "Who were Natasha's rivals then?"

  "Sally Trent, for one. She lost several parts to Natasha. They started about the same time in acting, but she never got beyond character roles. She was always in Natasha's shadow and after a while she went from being a friend to an enemy."

  "She mentioned Sally in her journal. She said that she felt bad for her, because she was never quite what the producers wanted."

  "No, they wanted Natasha, and Sally was not Natasha. There were other women who didn't care for her, wives of husbands who were enamored with Natasha, assistants who didn't think she paid them enough. Oh, and there was Julia, a talented professional tennis player. Natasha knew her from her childhood in Moscow. They reconnected when Julia moved to the States. But Julia always felt that Natasha had turned her back on her Russian roots. They argued quite a bit. They had quite a public scene one night here at the club."

  "Natasha never mentioned a Julia. What is her last name? Is she still alive?"

  "I don't know if she's still alive. I haven't seen her in years. Her last name was Poplova when I knew her, but she has probably married since then."

  She shook her head. "That name I would have remembered."

  "Natasha had a nickname for her. It was a bird or a butterfly, I can't remember."

  She tensed. "Was it the Lark?"

  "I think that was it. If I had to say someone spiked Natasha's booze or pushed pills on her, I'd put Sally or Julia at the top of the list. I hope you'll find out who it was. If someone killed Natasha, I would like them to suffer the same fate," he said with cold cruelty in his gaze. "You will tell me if you come up with a lead. Perhaps I can help you."

  She didn't know what to say, considering he'd pretty much just implied he'd help her punish whoever had killed her grandmother. The thug in Constantine was showing its ruthless face.

  "You will tell me," he repeated.

  "I'll tell everyone. I want the world to know what happened to my grandmother."

  "The world, huh? How does your father feel about that? I'm surprised he hasn't shut you down."

  "Why would he?"

  "Your father hated his mother. It broke her heart. She cried so many times about how she'd messed up her son. She was only twenty-one when she had him. She wasn't ready to be a mother. She admitted to me she had made huge mistakes."

  "She wasn't there for him."

  "No, she wasn't, but she was worried about him right before she died. She'd seen him at a park with some older boys, and she thought he was buying drugs. She apparently stormed into their conversation and embarrassed him greatly. She told me he ran away from her, but she was determined to get him to see a therapist. She was going to talk to Phillip about it. I don't know if she ever did. That was probably the day before she ended up dead of an overdose. The irony did not escape me."

  His words put a frown on her face. "My father is as straight as can be. I can't picture him doing drugs."

  "He was hanging out with older kids and drugs were prevalent in Beverly Hills then—and now."

  "Was one of those kids Blake Cordero?"

  "Might have been. I don't know." He leaned forward. "I wasn't going to bring this up, but after talking to you, Maya, I can see that you're a smart woman, and you're going to be ruthlessly persistent. While in my heart, I still believe that Natasha accidentally overdosed, there may be one person you don't want to interrogate and that's the person you absolutely should question."

  "Who?"

  "You won't want to hear this."

  She stiffened, feeling quite sure she didn't want to hear whatever he had to say, but she couldn't stop him. She swallowed hard. "Go ahead."

  "There was a fast-food bag in the car on the floor on the passenger side."

  "I know. I saw that in the police report."

  "Natasha didn't eat hamburgers and French fries. Never. But your father did. She told me the only time she could ever get him to talk to her was when she drove him to get a burger. For some reason, that seemed to put him at ease."

  A chill ran through her. "You're saying my father was in the car?"

  "That's exactly what I'm saying."

  "He was fifteen. He didn't kill his mother."

  "I didn't say he did. I just said he was in the car. You should ask him about that. See what he says." Constantine picked up his cane and slowly got to his feet. "Good luck."

  "Wait."

  He gave her an expectant look. "Yes?"

  "Natasha used a lot of nicknames in her journal. Besides Lark, she referred to someone she called the Wolf. Do you know who that was?"

  He slowly shook his head. "I don't. Did she give you any clues as to who it might be?"

  "Unfortunately not."

  He gave her a bemused look. "I have no idea who she was referring to."

  "Okay. Well, thanks for your time." She blew out a breath as he left the room, grateful to have nothing but silence surrounding her because her thoughts were screaming inside her head.

  Her father could not have been in his mother's car the day Natasha died. He would have said something. Phillip would have known. It couldn't be true. Or could it?

  She jumped to her feet, restlessness and worry running through her.

  Was this why her father was so upset about her movie? Was this why he'd practically bribed her to call it off? Had he been with his mom in the car before she OD'd? Had Natasha taken all those pills because of some fight she'd had with her son?

  Sylvia came around the corner and gave her an odd look. "Are you all right?"

  She realized everything was showing on her face—all the turmoil, all the uncertainty. "Yes, I'm fine," she replied, pulling herself together.

  "You don't look fine. Did Constantine upset you? Did he know something about your grandmother's death?"

  "We had a good conversation. I'm just trying to put all the information together."

  "It must be strange hearing about a woman who shares your blood but one you never had the chance to meet. You have to decide what you think of her based on what other people say."

  "Yes, I do."

  "And what they say might not be true. How would you know if someone was just telling you a story?"

  Was there something behind Sylvia's words? The manager seemed to put innuendo into every sentence that came out of her mouth.

  "I have to trust they're telling me the truth," she said.

  "Most people tell their version of the truth, which might not even be close to being true. At any rate, you need to leave this room. The
re's a private party gathering for drinks in here in about ten minutes."

  "Of course, I'm sorry."

  "You can take your wine out to the bar."

  "Right." She realized she hadn't touched a drop of it. "I will do that." She grabbed her glass and followed Sylvia out of the room. Sylvia headed toward the restaurant while Maya moved more slowly toward the bar. She really wanted to talk to Jax about her conversation with Constantine, but he was working. She couldn't interrupt him. She shouldn't interrupt him.

  It wasn't like they were friends. In fact, she didn't know what they were. She just wished she wasn't so attracted to him, both physically and emotionally. She liked talking to him, liked hearing his perspective on things. He was more objective, less emotional, and he had great insight. She had the feeling he was much smarter than he let on.

  Jax turned his head, meeting her gaze.

  She gave him a half-hearted smile, fairly certain he'd look away as quickly as he could. But to her surprise, he didn't.

  His brows drew together in concern. Then he said something to the other bartender and walked out from behind the bar. He moved straight toward her. After his behavior earlier, she'd been expecting him to completely ignore her.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  "Sylvia just asked me the same question."

  "You look like you saw a ghost."

  "No. I just heard about one."

  "I have a ten-minute break. Want to take a walk?"

  "Very much," she said, following him out of the bar. He led her down a side hallway and then out a back door.

  "Where are we going?"

  "Someplace we can talk," he said, walking briskly down a path. "The sunset deck is usually empty after seven when the sun goes down."

  He was right, the deck was empty. The sun had gone down behind the nearest hill, but it was still light out and the view was amazing, the city of Los Angeles spread out before them.

  "The city looks different from up here," she said. "You can see the traffic on the freeways, but you're not sitting in it. It feels more magical. From here, Hollywood looks like a place where dreams come true."

  "You got all that from the view?"

  "Actually, I got it from Natasha's journal. She talked about coming out on this deck and looking out at the city, the place where she'd become a star." She turned to face him. "She was a tough woman, you know. She grew up in poverty, lost her mother, then her father, and was eventually shipped off to the States to live with a relative she barely knew. She fought her way to the top of the entertainment world. Does that sound like someone who would just give up and kill herself?"

  "I can't answer that question. Anyone is capable of anything, and no one knows what is going on inside someone else's head."

  "I suppose."

  "What happened with Constantine? Why did you look so shocked when you came out of the room?"

  "He said something I wasn't expecting."

  "Don't leave me hanging."

  "I'm almost afraid to say it out loud. It might feel true if I do, and I don't want it to be true."

  "Maya—I only have ten minutes."

  "He said the fast-food bag in the car the night Natasha died always bothered him. Natasha never ate that kind of food, but she would always take my dad to a drive-through when they got together. Constantine implied that my father was in the car the night she died, but my dad said he hadn't seen his mom in a few days. That was the statement he made to the police."

  "How old was your dad?"

  "Fifteen. Constantine said my dad was getting into drugs with older kids and Natasha was worried. She was going to insist he go to rehab or something. I can't imagine my dad doing drugs."

  "You also couldn't imagine him doing tequila sunrises with Blake Cordero."

  "You're right. And Sylvia told me he sprayed graffiti all over this building when he was in his twenties. That didn't sound like him, either. I keep thinking I'm going to find out more about Natasha, and the person I'm finding out about is my dad, and it's all bad."

  "Maybe this is why he didn't want you to look into it. He knew he'd show up in a negative light."

  "I have to talk to him about that night, but I don't want to. He's not a physically angry person, but he can be cutting with his words. On a good day, he gets frustrated with me. Now, I'm going to accuse him of lying about seeing his mom the night she died?"

  "Let's say he did. What are you thinking happened after that?"

  "I don't know."

  "Yes, you do. You have a theory."

  She frowned, unable to deny that. "Maybe Natasha got upset when my dad wouldn't listen to her. He'd had drugs on him. He left them in the car, or she took them from him. He ran away. Sitting there alone in a moment of anger, depression and sadness, she took the drugs herself. Constantine said she had a lot of regrets about letting her kid down. Maybe it was too much. Maybe it was suicide."

  "It might have been. Are you ready to stop looking for another answer?"

  "I'm torn. I never thought this story could turn around and come right at me—at my father."

  "That's the problem with the truth. You never know where it's going to go."

  "But Constantine could have been lying. Sylvia said that."

  "Sylvia?" he queried.

  "She came to escort me out of the private room, and she asked me how I would know if someone was lying to me about Natasha. I said I wouldn't know. I'd just have to trust them."

  "Did you find Constantine trustworthy?"

  She sighed. "I found him dark, moody, sometimes cold, a little scary, but also vulnerable and emotional."

  "That's a lot of adjectives."

  "I didn't really know what to make of him. Oh, he did tell me that the Lark was a nickname for a woman named Julia Poplova, who Natasha knew from her childhood in Russia. Julia apparently thought that Natasha turned her back on her roots and their friendship was very turbulent. I need to figure out if Julia is still alive. I also need to go back and read what Natasha said about the Lark."

  "That's good information."

  "I asked him about the other names, like the Wolf. He said he didn't know."

  "Well, you learned something. This Julia could be an important clue. It sounds like she had a grudge against Natasha."

  "It does. I like her as a suspect far better than my father. Constantine told me that I probably wouldn't want to talk to my dad, but he was the one person I should speak to."

  "He's not wrong."

  "I know, but I am so conflicted, Jax. Tell me what to do."

  He gave her a small smile. "I can't tell you that."

  "Sure you can. A lot of people have."

  "Then listen to them."

  "They have hidden agendas. You don't. What do you think I should do?"

  He didn't answer right away, and then he said, "I think you should breathe in and out and let everything sit for a bit."

  "You want me to do nothing?" she grumbled.

  "Will that be difficult?"

  "Yes. I'm nowhere near as chill as you are, especially now. I don't know how to breathe through the adrenaline rushing through my body. I'm too hyped up." She paused. "Are you sorry you decided to take your break with me?"

  He gave her a slow, warm smile that tightened her nerves in a different way. "No. I like talking to you, Maya. There are always surprises."

  "Not always good ones. I like talking to you, too." She paused, feeling an irresistible urge to burn off all her energy in a very specific way. "But there's something else going on here—between us."

  "What do you mean?" he asked warily.

  "Do I have to spell it out?"

  "Maybe you should."

  "I'm attracted to you," she said boldly. "I think maybe you feel the same way. Are you one of those guys who has to make the first move?"

  "Are you one of those women who talks more than she acts?"

  "Probably," she admitted. "But not tonight." She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth against his.


  Chapter Ten

  Maya wasn't sure what she intended to do with the kiss, but it turned out she wasn't in the lead position for long. Jax's arms came around her waist, and he pulled her up hard against his chest. He angled his head, taking the kiss deeper, and delicious shivers ran up and down her spine. She threaded her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, parting her lips to his, wanting the kiss to connect them in all the ways she needed to be connected.

  "Damn," he muttered, finally lifting his head to look into her eyes. "I wasn't expecting that."

  "Sometimes it's good to be surprised." She licked her lips, already missing his mouth. His gaze darkened in the dusky shadows of the night, tiny beads of light dancing in his eyes.

  "I need to get back to work," he murmured.

  "Has it been ten minutes already?"

  "I don't know. I lost track of time." His hands slid down to her hips, holding her against his body, and she was very aware of his hard, muscular form. He looked into her eyes, and it suddenly felt like he was conflicted.

  "If you have to go…" she began.

  "I have to go. I just don't want to go."

  She smiled at his words. "I feel the same way. I wasn't sure you did. After the way you tried to avoid me earlier, I thought I had imagined this thing between us."

  "No, you didn't imagine it. I've wanted to kiss you since I found you wandering in the hallway yesterday."

  "Was that only yesterday?"

  "Yes. Time seems to run away when you and I are together." He paused as voices came from the path.

  "That sounds like Sylvia," she said with a frown.

  "She can't see me here with you," Jax said abruptly, grabbing her hand and dragging her off the path and into the trees.

  "What's wrong?" she whispered as they huddled in the darkness.

  "Sh-sh."

  She stayed silent as Sylvia stepped onto the deck with Ryland Jagger.

  "What are we doing out here, Ryland?" Sylvia demanded. "I'm busy."

  "David is blackmailing me."

  Maya stiffened at Ryland's words and exchanged a quick look with Jax, then turned her focus back to the couple on the deck.