be the person she was meant to be.
Solving the mystery of her grandmother's death would give her an opportunity to do what she really wanted to do, and that was probably as big of a motivator as anything. Of course, she also wanted answers for her grandfather and to get justice for Natasha. But telling her grandmother's story seemed like a metaphor for telling her own story, for becoming the woman, the filmmaker, that she wanted to be.
As the check came, and he put down his credit card, he felt a wave of disappointment that the meal was over. He wanted to keep talking to her. He wanted to keep watching the light play through her eyes, the smile that parted her lips, the way she energetically waved her hands when she was trying to make a point, the curve of her neck when the breeze lifted her thick, dark hair into the air.
He sucked in a quick breath, realizing how crazy he was sounding, even to himself. He'd known Maya only a few days, and she'd already complicated his life, his case. He should be thinking about ways to stop seeing her instead of ways to keep seeing her more.
"Do you still want to go to Julia's with me?" Maya asked.
He should say no. He should put some distance between them. But instead, he said, "Absolutely. I'm interested to hear what she'll say." He told himself that he was still working the case, because Julia might have information that he could use as well. But, really, he just didn't want to say good-bye to Maya just yet.
"Are you ready to go?" she asked.
"Let's do it," he said, getting to his feet. As they made their way through the restaurant, he put his hand on the small of her back, needing to touch her, needing to keep feeling the connection between them, and that need made him uncomfortable. But not uncomfortable enough to let go of her.
One day, he told himself. One day soon he'd walk away. He had to.
As close as they were getting, he was also lying to her, and if he wanted to come clean, he would have to choose between his job and her. And his job was everything.
Jax glanced over at Maya as he drove her to Julia's house. They'd decided to leave her car at the restaurant rather than following each other. Her earlier happy mood seemed to be evaporating the closer they got to Marina Del Rey. Now, she was tapping her fingers restlessly on the armrest.
"Nervous?" he asked, as he turned down Julia's street.
"A little. I haven't done very well with the men who loved Natasha; I'm hoping I might get further with one of her friends."
"Does Julia live alone?"
"I don't know. I guess we'll find out. It's the home next to the tennis clubhouse. At least, that's what it showed in the photo I saw."
He parked the car in front of the tennis club, which consisted of a small clubhouse and four courts, two of which were full. The house next door was surrounded by six-foot-tall hedges, giving it a great deal of privacy from the club. They opened a gate and walked down a tree-lined path to the front door of the one-story villa. He rang the bell and they waited several moments, but he couldn't hear anyone coming.
"She's not home," Maya said with disappointment.
"Maybe she's on one of the courts. Or this might not be her house." He moved toward a nearby window and then swore as he saw what appeared to be a woman lying on the floor.
"What's wrong?" Maya asked.
"There's someone on the ground."
As Maya moved past him to look, he returned to the door and jiggled the handle, but it was locked.
"I'm going to check around back." He sprinted through another gate at the side of the house and around the home to the backyard. When he got to the patio, he saw the back door was also ajar.
Maya was right on his heels.
"Hang back," he ordered.
"The last time you said that, a guy almost took you out and then went after me. Let's do this together."
He didn't have time to argue. He pushed open the door and listened for a moment. He couldn't hear anything. They moved through the kitchen and down the hall. A blonde woman was lying on the living room floor. She was fighting to stay conscious, her eyes flickering open, then closed. Next to her was a needle and an empty