Undercover connection, p.13
Undercover Connection, page 13
Jacob sat back as the priest gave the graveside prayers. He had to have faith in his fellow agents. But just as he had settled—still alert and ready—a latecomer arrived at the grave site.
It was the man who so disturbed Jasmine.
Donald McPherson Connor.
* * *
THE CLUB WAS a bustle of activity when Jasmine arrived, even though it was early. The catering company personnel included two chefs, two wine stewards and six members of a cleanup crew.
Jasmine and Jorge reported right away to the dressing room. The servers were suited out appropriately—men in tuxes, women in similar versions with short skirts instead of pants—and shown the various food stations and the additional bars.
“Remember, today, you serve quickly, politely and quietly. We honor Josef,” Natasha instructed. “You all understand? Behavior is beyond circumspect.”
Stopping by one of the makeup tables where Jasmine had just harnessed her own hair in a braid at the back of her neck, Jorge told her, “Five City of Miami Beach cops, all aware to watch for trouble—hired on by Kozak.” He lowered his head to her, pretending to smooth back a piece of her hair. “The chef at the first table is a plant—FBI. We have representation from MDPD as well—Detective Birch. You’ve worked with her. She’ll be on the arm of one of our young politicians.”
“Sounds good,” Jasmine murmured. “Then again, how many cops were prowling the show when Josef was killed?”
“There’s a cop at the balcony door. If anyone is going to start shooting, it won’t be from the balcony.” He leaned closer still, pretending to flick a piece of nonexistent lint from her brow. “FBI is crawling over the cemetery, too. Thing is, the killer must know. Unless he—or she—is really an egotistical bastard, nothing will happen today.”
Nothing would happen. This would go on...
Jorge grinned suddenly. “You look different.”
“I don’t dress this way often.”
“No, it’s the way your eyes are shining.”
“Jorge.”
“It’s nice to see you happy.”
She looked at him and then lowered her head, ruefully smiling. “I’d like to see you happy.”
“Hey, you may. I’m not watched, not the way you are,” he told her. “I had some dinner out last night. Sat on the beach.”
“Jorge, you have to be—”
“I was careful. Trust me.”
He grinned, and she knew it was the truth.
“Jorge, I need you!” Natasha called. “Now, you will take the large silver tray—you have nice long arms. Move through the crowd but offer up the food. Do not interfere with people who are talking. You let them stop. Think of yourselves as courteous machines.”
Jorge moved on. Jasmine saw Kari at the next dressing table and she stood, heading over to her.
“Need help with anything?” she asked.
“Nope,” Kari said, looking up. “I never can do false eyelashes right, but Natasha says we shouldn’t wear them today.”
“They’re miserable things anyway.”
“I agree.”
“So, how are you?” Jasmine asked her softly.
“Good. Great, really.”
“Great?” Jasmine asked.
Kari smiled. “I know that he’s old, but honestly, if I were, say, forty-five instead of twenty-two, well... He has such a great accent. He talked to me about books and plays and he told me so much history about this place that I didn’t know... He’s kind, Jasmine. So very kind.”
“Great to hear. I thought he made you a bit nervous. Are you okay with him now? When do you see him again?”
“Tonight. Later, of course. I told him—and I’m sure Natasha told him—that the club models were working the funeral, and we wouldn’t be available until the entire celebration of life came to an end. He told me that, no matter what the hour, he’d like to see me.” Kari hesitated a moment and then whispered, “I don’t know why I was worried. Jasmine, we had the best dinner. Such a lovely night. He’s truly so well educated. And then I thought he would want more. I thought he would want me to sleep with him. Oh! And he talked about Mary. He said she was such a lovely person—he was sure she went on to resume her education. They had talked about school and always having a backup to modeling or acting. He believes she might have headed out to California.”
California? Or the pit of an alligator’s stomach, somewhere out in the Everglades.
“I guess he’s worked with or been a client of these people for a while,” Jasmine said.
“Not so long. He told me that the group here—well, Josef Smirnoff first, and now Victor Kozak—knew how to find the most cultured women. He likes to go to the theater and the opera and art shows, and...he needs the right escorts.”
“How nice.”
“He loves music and musicals, voices!”
The opera...or screams as a woman died beneath a knife?
“Jasmine, he’s really such a gentleman. I thought he might be the type to immediately demand that we sleep together, that...”
“What?”
“That he might want me to do weird things.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You know, weird sexual things. Scary things.” She swallowed. “You know...autoerotic asphyxiation, or maybe not even scary things, just disgusting things. But he didn’t even press sleeping with me.” She paused, seeming a little uncomfortable, then went on quietly. “We’re not specifically ordered to sleep with the clients, but there’s an understanding that they get what they want if they’re paying the price. And that trickles down to us in money and...in prestige on the runway. It’s no secret that Natasha’s highest earners get the best gigs. But...this guy, no pressure. I’m babbling. I guess I am still maybe a little nervous.”
“Kari, you have my number, right? If not, I’ll make sure that you do now.”
Kari pulled out her phone and Jasmine quickly gave her the number to her burner phone.
“We’re having lunch, right?” Kari asked.
“Lunch, yes, but keep your phone near. If you’re afraid at any point, you call me immediately!”
Kari frowned, but then smiled. “You can call me, too, you know, except that... Well! You seem just fine, and I imagine...” She broke off and laughed suddenly, leaning forward. “I might have been willing to pay some big bucks myself for that blue-eyed wonder who chose you.”
Jasmine smiled weakly.
“You’re okay, right?” Kari asked. “I mean, with him.”
“Yes, I’m just fine,” Jasmine managed.
“What is he like, that Jacob? Those eyes of his... If he ever looked at me the way he looks at you, wow. I’d be putty.”
“Putty,” Jasmine repeated. “That’s me.”
“Girls!” Natasha called. “Time to take your stations. Sasha has called—the services at the grave site are ending. We will be ready, the most gracious of hosts and hostesses.”
And so, they were on. They all trailed out of the dressing room.
Natasha was by the balcony door; it was open for them to head down the stairs.
Jasmine smiled as she passed Natasha. Only Kozak was supposed to have a key. But Victor wasn’t here. And Ivan was downstairs, setting up the main bar, giving orders to the catering company.
Jasmine hurried downstairs along with the others. She knew that somehow, she would get that information to Jacob.
Lightning didn’t strike twice...
Unless sometimes, it did.
* * *
NO BULLETS RANG out at the cemetery.
The priest, resplendent in his robes, carried through the service. Women had been given roses; they walked past the coffin to drop them down upon it.
“I need a moment,” Kozak told his companions.
He was at the coffin alone, except for the four cemetery workers who waited discreetly to see that the coffin was lowered six feet under. The hearse was preparing to leave. Antonovich, Suarez and Garibaldi waited while other mourners filed out to their cars.
Donald McPherson Connor was starting to walk away.
Jacob was a distance from Victor Kozak as it was; he wouldn’t be any farther from the man if he walked toward Connor. He excused himself to the trio of bodyguards.
“Mr. Connor!” Jacob called out.
The man stopped walking and looked back at him, eyeing him distastefully. Jacob noticed that he was lean but fit.
Probably plenty strong. Certainly strong enough against a slim blonde girl.
Connor was evidently irritated at having been stopped—by Jacob, at any rate. “Yes, Mr. Marensky, what is it?”
“Well, I just wish to apologize, and I hope that we don’t keep bad blood between us. I was, in fact, hoping that you found Miss Anderson to be up to your expectations.”
“Miss Anderson is a truly lovely woman. I am enjoying her company.”
Jacob forced a smile. “Excellent. She is quite beautiful.”
“Not as intriguing as Miss Alamein though,” Connor said. He was an oddly dignified man—soft-spoken. “So, Mr. Marenksy, what exactly do you do in relation to the Gold Sun Club?”
Then again, Jacob had seen some of the most innocent and soft-spoken men and women possible turn out to be vicious and as cold as ice.
“We have shared business interests. I run an art gallery,” Jacob said.
“So I hear,” Connor said, his British accent a little clipped.
“I’d welcome you for a visit. See if there’s anything that catches your eye. Just what is your enterprise, sir?”
The man’s smile tightened. “No enterprise—other than the stock market. Now there, sir, is bloody criminal action from the get-go, and yet quite legal.”
“Ah, I believed that you had worked with Josef—and now Victor.”
“I simply require a certain kind of companion.”
“I see,” Jacob said, still smiling. Just what was it that he required? “Well, sir, I shall see you at the club. I just wished to clear the air between us. Please understand, my arrangements had been made first.”
“Oh, yes, I understand perfectly, Mr. Marensky.” Connor was still looking at him with watery blue hatred.
“Jacob?” Kozak was calling to him.
“Excuse me,” Jacob said, spinning around to return to Victor Kozak’s side.
“We must be leaving now,” Kozak said.
“Yes, of course.”
“You and Connor are good then?” Kozak asked him softly.
“Oh, as good as we can be, Victor. As good as we can be.”
“Please, then...” Kozak indicated the road through the cemetery; theirs was the only car that remained. “Sasha, you will drive.”
“Yes, sir,” Antonovich said, sliding into the driver’s seat.
Garibaldi took the front seat by him. Kozak slid into the back, between Suarez and Jacob. The car rolled out of the cemetery, onto Southwest Eighth Street and then headed for I-95 and the extension out to South Beach.
The funeral itself had gone off without a hitch. Now, all they had to do was make it through the reception—the celebration of life where the mourners would come together and Smirnoff would receive his last honors.
Smirnoff, Kozak and their peers really were criminals. Jacob had seen one too many a decent person cajoled into and then hooked on drugs. And abusing the trust of hopeful girls was reprehensible. But Jacob wanted Kozak prosecuted and locked away—not on a slab with a bullet in his head.
As the car rolled up to Kozak’s special parking place at the back of the property, Jacob felt Kozak’s hand wind into a vice on his arm.
The man looked at him, and there was fear in his eyes, quickly masked as Garibaldi came around and opened the door.
Jacob got out.
“My friend, I know you will change things!” Kozak said. He caught Jacob’s arm again, turning to show him where they were. “Cops—down there, at the end of the block. That guy with the long hair and the beggar’s cup at this end? A cop.” He pulled Jacob along to show him the men to whom he was referring.
And then he whispered to Jacob, “Here. This is where they will try to kill me. Somewhere here, at the club.”
Chapter Eleven
It always amazed Jasmine to see the people who came out for such an event—the last rites for a man they had to have known conducted criminal activities. She was also certain many people on the guest list had not sat through the long religious ceremony at the church, nor attended the final graveside services.
The club was busy within minutes of the door opening.
Ivan stood at the main doors dressed in his best designer suit. Natasha was at his side tonight, ready to greet everyone as they came in; she had finished her busywork, prepared her various crews and was ready to be the grand hostess.
Jasmine had been given a tray of canapés to carry around, and she did so smoothly and easily. Though maintaining her demeanor as a courteous robot was not as easy as it might have been—Kozak and the goons and Jacob had yet to come into the club.
When they finally did, she breathed an inward sigh of relief.
She tried to maneuver herself around to Jacob’s position casually, making it part of her regular sweep of the room. When she made it to an area near the street entrance, he was still standing with Kozak and the bodyguards.
“Gentlemen,” she said quietly, offering up her tray.
The bodyguards quickly reached for the little quiches. Jacob inclined his head slightly and took a canapé, as well.
Kozak turned to her. “What I need is a drink, Jasmine. Will you get me a vodka? I’m sure that Natasha has seen to it that our hired bartender knows what is my special reserve.”
“Yes, of course,” Jasmine said.
But Natasha swept by at that moment, giving her a serious frown. “Jasmine, you are to move among our guests.”
“Yes, Natasha,” she said.
“Natasha,” Kozak said softly. “We have many people working the floor. I would like Jasmine to go and get me my drink.”
“Victor, I can do that for you,” Natasha said.
“You are the hostess. Let Jasmine go,” Kozak said. “It’s time that I...that I welcome our guests and give my little speech here, eh? But one vodka first!”
Jasmine headed off to the bar. The man there gave her an appreciative look and she smiled in return. “I need a drink for Mr. Kozak—his special reserve. He believes you’ll know what it is.”
“Yep,” the bartender said. “I’ve been given the bottle and serious instructions. It’s a unique vintage from Russia, not sold in the United States.” He grinned at her, reaching beneath the bar for the bottle. He got a glass and said, “Just two ice cubes. Rich men and their drinks.”
“Thanks,” she told him.
“I live to serve. Come see me again!”
She nodded and started to hurry away but turned back. “Did you meet with Mr. Kozak before this event? Did he give you the bottle?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I met with the praying mantis. Oh, sorry—the entire catering company met with Natasha. She gave us strict instructions.”
“And the bottle of vodka?”
“No, it was here where she said it would be when I came in. Hey, sorry, I hope she’s not a friend of yours—I’m an actor and this catering company keeps me in cash while I’m pounding the pavement. I’m sorry. Please, I didn’t mean to be offensive.”
“You need to be a lot more careful.”
“Please, don’t get me fired.”
“I won’t, but... Never mind. Thank you.”
Once again, she turned away, but then something about the situation seemed disturbing. “Would you mind? Give me four more drinks, just like this one but with regular vodka. Something good, just not Kozak’s special reserve.”
“Anything for you.”
She smiled. And prayed that she and Jacob had come to know one another in their undercover roles as well as they had come to know one another personally.
Kozak and Jacob, with Garibaldi, Suarez, and Antonovich behind them, were heading toward the stage. Jasmine took a step back, her heart pounding, wondering if she was wrong and if she might just cause the entire operation to implode—and put them all, including the guests, in serious danger.
But her hunch was strong. She had seen Natasha with the key.
Natasha was definitely sleeping with Kozak—but had she been sleeping with Josef Smirnoff before? Was she part of what came with taking over the business because she wouldn’t be ousted herself?
Jasmine walked toward the men.
“Special for Mr. Kozak, and gentlemen, I believe it was a long day for you, as well. I hope I have not displeased you, Mr. Kozak.”
She looked at Jacob, just lowering her eyes at the glass he was to take, and gave the barest shake of her head. He shouldn’t drink it. He would know—surely, he would know!
Jacob’s striking blue eyes fell on hers. Before Kozak could answer, he said, “That was very thoughtful of you.”
“Nice, sweet, as always,” Antonovich said happily, and he looked at Kozak.
“Definitely. One vodka, boss, eh?” Suarez asked.
“One vodka,” Kozak agreed.
Jasmine dared look around as the men took their drinks. An up-and-coming beach politician was entering with a lovely young news reporter on his arm. Natasha was doing her duty and greeting them.
“I must get to the stage,” Kozak said.
“I’ll get you there swiftly,” Jacob assured him.
Jasmine flashed a smile to all of them. “I’d best get to my canapés,” she said. She started to walk away.
“A second?” Jacob asked, looking at Kozak for permission, as well.
“Yes, then you will walk with me, stand by me, at my back,” Kozak said.
