"I didn't think you were, but there might come a time where you have to decide if the risk is worth the benefit. The person who broke into your house last night might not stop with you."
"You think someone else in my family could be in danger?" That idea was more than a little troubling.
"Who knows?"
"My brother and sister don't live anywhere near me. My parents' home has a security system. Grandpa is in an assisted living facility. They always check me in and out when I go there."
"That's good."
"Maybe I should quit," she muttered, thinking about her family. She might not want to listen to them, but she didn't want them to get hurt.
"We're about a mile away from the Beverly Hills house. What do you want to do?"
She hesitated, drumming her fingers on her thighs as she looked out the window as they passed by the iconic Beverly Hills Hotel. "I want to talk to Blake Cordero. I'll reassess after that."
"Okay. What else can you tell me about this guy? You said he's an entertainment lawyer?"
"Yes. He's divorced, no kids. His father passed on two years ago. His mother, Anne, moved into a condo in Century City last year. Natasha mentioned Blake's father in her journals. The only time she mentioned Blake was when she expressed concern that it might not be a good idea for her fourteen-year-old son to be hanging out with the eighteen-year-old kid living next door. That's about it."
"It's a start."
A few moments later, Jax pulled up in front of a large, two-story Mediterranean-style villa with a tile roof, arched windows, and a fountain in the center of a circular drive. The house next door, where her father had lived, was unfortunately completely hidden from view by a tall cement wall and even taller trees.
"I can't see my dad's house," she murmured.
"We can try to get closer."
"No, let's talk to Blake. That's why we're here." As she got out of the car, she was assailed by a wave of heat. The temp was climbing fast. It must be in the eighties already. "It's going to be a hot one."
Jax smiled at her. "I think we can count on that."
And she didn't think he was just talking about the weather.
When they got to the front door, she pressed the doorbell. It was opened almost immediately by an older Hispanic woman.
"Is Blake Cordero in?" she asked.
"Come in," the woman said, waving them into the house. It was much cooler inside, the air-conditioning on full blast. "I'll let him know you're here."
They wandered into the living room, which was nicely decorated in neutral white and gray colors. There was a piano in the corner and sitting on top of that piano were several framed photographs. She made her way across the room, seeing family photos of people she didn't recognize. But through the French doors leading out to a patio, she could see the house next door, the house in which her father had spent the first fourteen years of his life.
It was Tudor-style, with a sharp, varied roofline, and from her vantage point she could see a balcony on the second floor that took up one side of the house. Natasha had often started an entry in journal by saying she was sitting on her balcony, looking out at the night. But Natasha had also been looking right into the Cordero's yard. For some reason, that sent a little shiver down her spine.
"Hello?"
She whirled around at the sound of a male voice. Blake Cordero was tall, dark and handsome with olive skin, dark eyes, and jet-black hair.
"You must be Maya," he said, his gaze moving across her face. "You look a lot like her—your grandmother."
"We both have green eyes."
"You do have her eyes," Blake murmured, his gaze getting lost in the past.
"Thank you for seeing me." She felt a little uncomfortable with his stare.
"No problem."
As Jax cleared his throat, she waved her hand in his direction. "This is my friend, Jax Kenin."
"Also known as her research assistant," Jax said, as he offered his hand to Blake.
She was a little surprised he'd decided to label himself as her assistant, but it seemed to put Blake at ease.
After the men shook hands, they sat down around a silver-gray coffee table, with herself and Jax on the sofa and Blake in the armchair facing them.
"So, you're making a movie about Natasha," Blake began.