Undercover Connection, page 6
“Alejandro still around?” Jasmine asked.
“I think he was sitting at one of the outside tables...that’s the back of his head behind us. Nope, he’s rising now. I’d say he’s going to make sure that I take you home and then leave—not overstepping my bounds.”
They walked at a lazy pace, his arm around her but with all propriety.
“Interesting,” she murmured.
“What’s that?”
“How I’m going to discover that they keep control. I mean, as far as they know, I’m just a girl trying to get ahead in modeling. What if I just liked you and wanted to be with you?”
“I don’t know. But if I went outside the rules...”
“I’m wondering if we’d both wind up in oil drums. I can see how they’d blame you. You’re officially on the inside. But—”
“You’re just an innocent. Well, in their eyes.”
They’d reached her apartment. She was in a charming place, ground floor, almost in front of the pool. He walked her to the door and then paused. She wound up with her back against the wall by her door. He had a hand on the wall and was leaning against her.
He lowered his face toward hers and gave her a slow careful kiss. She allowed a hand to fall on his chest, and she wished that she didn’t feel that there was absolutely nothing wrong with him. His scent was clean and masculine, mixed with the salty cool ocean air. His chest was vital and alive and yet like a rock. His lips were...
He drew away from her.
“I think that was just right. You might want to smile and laugh and then go in.”
“Alejandro is watching?”
“He’s right out on the street.”
“Lovely, what a lovely night,” she said, letting her voice carry.
“I’m sure we’ll see each other again,” Jacob said. “If you’re willing...”
“I just have to check my work schedule.”
“Of course.” He stepped back, and she turned and let herself into her apartment.
She swung the door shut and slid the locks. And then, she stood there for a long, long time. She brought her fingers to her lips. They felt as if they were on fire.
Chapter Five
“You will pay Mr. Chavez twenty-five thousand for the painting,” Victor Kozak told Jacob.
They were seated in the office at the rear of the gallery Jacob was pretending to own. Jacob nodded sagely to Kozak. They had already been through the niceties. They both sat with little demitasse cups of espresso. Kozak had admired the shop. Jacob had expressed his appreciation for Kozak’s patronage.
“I don’t know this artist,” Jacob said.
“Trust me. He is excellent.”
“And my commission?”
“Fifteen percent.”
Jacob let that sit. He smiled at Kozak. “No disrespect. Twenty percent.” He was pretty sure that in all such haggling—legal and illegal—Kozak had a higher limit than the figure he’d started with.
“Eighteen,” Kozak said.
“I’m looking forward to working with you. Seeing that wonderful art arrives in our country. But if we’re to go forward in the future, I believe we need a set rate now. I will be an excellent gallery to procure all the right artists—but I need to survive. The overhead here is quite high,” Jacob told him.
Kozak was thoughtful. “All right, then. Twenty percent.”
He rose; their dealings were complete. Jacob stood as well and the two men shook hands.
“Have the police come up with anything as yet regarding the shooter? Or shooters?” Jacob asked.
“No, nothing they have shared. You said shooters. You think that more than one man was involved?”
“We both know guns,” Jacob told Kozak. “Yes, the shots were coming from at least two angles, maybe three.”
“Accomplices,” Kozak said, shaking his head. “So much violence in this world.” He sighed as he lowered his head in sorrow. “Josef was a good man.” He shrugged, a half smile on his face. “A good man—for all that we are. He was simply a businessman, and he had integrity in what he did.”
Drugs and prostitution, if not murder. But sometimes, even criminals had their ethics.
“All the security,” Jacob said, “and still—”
“Don’t worry. What the police don’t discover, we will,” Kozak assured him.
“Naturally,” Jacob said.
“I’m so sorry that this happened. Josef...was your friend?”
“We had a few business deals years ago. Art, you know, is always in the eye of the beholder. He’d commissioned a few pieces through me in my galleries before. When I wanted to come south—no more chipping ice off windows, you know—I looked down here and saw that Josef was opening a club. It’s always prudent to establish relationships before opening a business anywhere,” Jacob said.
“Josef told me about you.” Kozak smiled. “And we do nothing without checking out references. I know that Josef trusted you. But now...his body will be released on Friday, they tell me.”
“And there will be a funeral?”
“Yes, it will be at a little Russian Orthodox church in the city, not on the beach. A private affair. But you will be invited.”
“I appreciate the honor and privilege of saying goodbye to an old friend,” Jacob told him. “And with your permission, I will be by this afternoon with a small token for our new friendship.”
“That will be fine. The club will reopen Friday night, but invitation only. A very small group to begin. We must show the world that we’re now a safe place to be.”
“This violence... It can happen anywhere. Lightning doesn’t usually strike the same place twice. I believe the club will be fine.”
Kozak gave him a rueful grin. “Sometimes, such events make a place a curiosity. Think back to the ’80s. Paul Castellano and Thomas Bilotti were gunned down in a hit ordered by Gotti in front of Sparks Steak House in New York. The restaurant is still going strong. Down here, Al Capone was often in a suite at the Biltmore Hotel in Coral Gables. The suite is very expensive, and people still love to take it—even though Thomas ‘Fatty’ Walsh was gunned down at the hotel, supposedly over a gambling dispute.” His smile deepened. “The hotel did go down after hurricanes and the Depression. It became a veteran’s hospital. It was empty—and very haunted—but it’s back to being very chic today.”
“Let’s hope we don’t all have to go down first.”
“Not to worry about us. Josef created a strong group of business associates. We will be fine.” With that, Kozak took his leave.
Jacob walked him to the door. They both smiled at Jacob’s “assistant,” who was busy behind the old art nouveau desk that served as their register and counter. Katrina smiled back and waved.
She was a perfect choice for this role. Katrina Partridge had been with the Bureau for nearly twenty years. She was in her midforties, attractive and able to carry off both charm and a completely businesslike demeanor. She also knew the art world backward and forward.
When Jacob was gone, she shook her head, indicating they shouldn’t talk in the gallery. She pointed to his office, and he followed her there.
“He was walking around a long time. I think he touched a few of the frames, and... I could be wrong. But he could have planted some kind of a bug.”
“Good observation, thank you. So, we’re being given our first commission,” he told her.
“But that’s not enough,” Katrina said.
“We could bring him down,” Jacob told her. “But there will be a work of art, and who is to say what a work of art is worth?”
“Someone who knows art,” she said drily.
“But art is subjective.”
“So true. Yes, you’re right.”
“We’re after killers,” he said softly. “That’s what we want to nail them on.”
“I know,” Katrina said. “And hey, what’s not to like about this assignment? I don’t have much going on yet—I’m enjoying my downtime. Sand, beach, lovely weather...”
“Still, be careful, Katrina. We can never know when something may slip. They gunned down a man in a room full of cops and security.”
“I’m always careful,” she said. She smiled, indicating her back.
She was dressed in a fashionable skirt and blouse ensemble with a handsome tailored jacket. Despite the tailoring, he could see—when she indicated her back—that she was not without her Glock.
He smiled his acknowledgment but found himself worrying about Jasmine Adair.
Modeling. There was no hiding a weapon when dressers were around, making sure that a gown was being worn properly. And she was into it on a personal level—something that was dangerous from the get-go.
He had no right to interfere; her operation had begun before his and they were now required to work together. He had no problem working with police.
It was just that he was attracted to her. He didn’t think it possible not to be. She was unique; elegant and a bit reserved, and yet when she smiled, when she laughed, she was warm, vibrant and sensual.
He turned his mind from thoughts of her.
“I’ll bring the caviar over in about an hour,” he told Katrina.
“All ready, in the container in back. I’ve dressed it up beautifully, if I do say so myself.”
“I’m sure you did,” he told her.
They moved back into the gallery. Jacob made a point of informing her that they were commissioning a piece, one that had a buyer already, who was in love with the artist’s work.
She made mention of a local up-and-coming artist the buyer might like, as well.
A real customer sauntered into the room. Jacob returned to his office but found himself sitting and doing nothing but thinking.
He had to find a way in that was tighter; he had to be close to Jasmine.
He was still wary, of course. She hadn’t turned him into a fool.
Maybe she had. Jacob hadn’t felt such an instant attraction...almost a longing...in years.
Not since Sabrina.
* * *
“AH, YOU ARE SO beautiful, even in mourning,” Natasha told Jasmine, admiring the way the draped black dress fell in sweeps to the floor. “Remember, at this, you will be quiet. You will help our guests with their drinks and food but keep a distance. Victor has ordered that this be a solemn occasion. You understand?”
“Yes, Natasha,” Jasmine assured her.
Natasha looked over at Jorge, handsome in a conservative black suit. “You two will do well, I believe.” She called to the little seamstress who hurried over. “I don’t think that the hem needs to come up, but at the waist...a half an inch?”
“Yes, ma’am, of course,” the seamstress said. She poked and prodded at Jasmine for a minute, pinning the waist and then nodding.
Jasmine thanked her. The tiny woman helped her slip out of the dress, and carried it away.
As Jasmine reached for her jeans and T-shirt, she was aware that Natasha was assessing her again—as she might assess meat in a market.
“So, last night, you were charming?”
“Yes, he took me for a nice dinner, and I told him about the beach.”
“Very good. He likes you.”
“I believe so.”
Natasha turned away. “You could be asked to do much worse,” she said, almost to herself, rather than to Jasmine. “So, now...jeans and a T-shirt. You must dress more...ah, how do I say this? Much prettier, to come in here.”
“Business clothes.”
“No, the halter dress you wore last night. Very pretty. And heels. No sneakers.”
“Definitely, whatever you say.”
“Victor would like to see you. I wish there was more time...time for you to go home. Ah, what am I thinking? I still have clothing from the show!” Natasha beamed, and caught Jasmine’s hand. “No, no. Don’t put your jeans back on.”
“Oh...okay.”
Natasha left her standing on the little podium where dresses were fitted and headed back to the racks of clothing that remained hanging in the massive closet space. She searched through the racks until she evidently found something that pleased her.
When she returned, she had hangers that bore a sleeveless silk blouse and a red skirt. “These will do,” she said.
The skirt was short. Very short.
Jasmine donned the clothing. She smiled, hoping to show that she was feeling friendly with Natasha. “I don’t think that the sneakers go with this so well.”
“Ah, but of course not! You’re an eight and a half, American size, in shoes?”
“Nine,” Jasmine told her.
A very large shoe size, apparently, in Natasha’s opinion. “Ah, well, you are tall.”
She was five-ten. Natasha would be appalled by Jasmine’s mom—just five-eight and she wore an eleven.
Natasha brought shoes—four-inch stilettos. “These will be beautiful,” she said.
Jasmine slipped on the shoes. She was well over six-feet, now.
“So, come. Victor is happy with you.” She turned to Jorge. “You—you will come on Friday evening. The service is at two. Josef will be interred after, and then we will be arriving here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jorge said.
Natasha studied him for a minute and then smiled. “We may have more work for you soon. Showing people Miami Beach—and all its pleasures.”
Jasmine knew Jorge well. He didn’t miss a beat. “Thank you,” he said.
“And, now, you...” Natasha took Jasmine’s hand. “Come and see Victor.”
“For sure, a pleasure,” Jasmine said.
“I’ll wait here,” Jorge said cheerfully.
“No, Jorge, you are done for today. Antonio will see you out.”
Antonio was standing at the door to the large dressing room.
“Call you later!” Jasmine told him cheerfully.
She wasn’t feeling so cheerful; she was caught here with nothing, no backup—and she was off to see Victor. She wasn’t worried for her life. If she was going to be taken out, they’d have gone after Jorge, too.
Had she done too well with Jacob “Marensky”? Was she now going to be asked to entertain another of their associates?
There was really no choice but to play it out. She had to wonder if this was where Mary had stood—right before she had disappeared.
With a smile, Jasmine watched Jorge go—and she accompanied Natasha to Victor Kozak’s office.
Victor Kozak was not alone.
There was a man in his office. A tall man, he wore a designer suit in charcoal gray. He was perhaps in his midfifties, with iron-gray hair and mustache and watery blue eyes.
They’d both been sitting; Victor behind the desk, the new man in one of the upholstered chairs set before it. They stood politely.
“Ah, Jasmine. I’d like you to meet Mr. Connor,” Victor said. “He’s visiting from England and knows nothing about Miami Beach. He’s hoping you will show him the beach, and to the finest hotel.”
* * *
JACOB WAS ALREADY on his way to the club when his phone rang. He glanced at the number; he hadn’t saved any in his contacts, but rather memorized the last four digits of those he needed to know.
Jorge Fuentes was calling.
“Where are you?” Jorge asked.
“Heading to the club. Why?”
“Head faster. I think they’ve taken Jasmine in to entertain a client. I mean, she can handle herself, but this is happening way too fast.”
“Picking up the pace,” Jacob moved forward quickly. “I’ll be back in touch as soon as possible.”
He didn’t run; he might have been observed. But he could walk fast as hell and he did so. He came to the corner of Washington Street and rounded it, heading to the employee side entrance to the club.
This time, Antonio was leaning against the wall by the door, smoking a cigarette, watching the day.
“Those things will kill you,” Jacob said.
“Mr. Marensky. I don’t believe we were expecting you.”
“I have something for Mr. Kozak. He was just in the shop, you know. I need to get right up there.”
Jacob didn’t wait for Antonio to respond but hurried past him in a way that meant the goon’s only action could be to physically accost him, and the man would still be trying to figure out if Jacob was important enough or not to get through.
Suarez was in the hall.
Jacob made a point of striding past him with a huge grin on his face. “Present for Victor!” he declared, lifting the ice chest filled with caviar that Katrina had so beautifully decorated with multicolored ribbons.
He burst into the office before he could be stopped.
Kozak immediately stood, reaching toward his jacket—and the weapon he surely carried there, Jacob thought. But he didn’t draw the weapon.
Good. Jacob was trusted.
Jasmine was there, outfitted like the very expensive and exclusive call girl she was apparently expected to be.
A man had just been leaning over her—either inspecting her or seeking a better look at her cleavage. He was tall and solid, though his face was lined—perhaps from years of worriedly looking over his shoulder. His eyes were a strange, cool blue. Like ice.
“Victor! A present. Forgive me for interrupting. My source delivered this just this morning, and after we spoke—” He paused. “Excuse me, sir. No disrespect intended. I was in a rush—Jasmine!” he said, breaking up his own run of words. “Hello, and thank you again for last evening. You were a wonderful tour guide.”
“I was conducting business with Mr. Connor—” Kozak began.
Jacob brought a frown to his face, and then allowed himself to appear deeply disturbed. “No, sir,” he said, addressing Connor.
Connor straightened and stared at Kozak. “Kozak, I want—”
“I’m afraid I already have an interest,” Jacob said softly.
