U.S. Male Page 6

  “Stubborn,” Bax commented, bouncing his loosely curled fist lightly off her chin.

  “Determined,” she countered.

  “Not to mention sexy as hell. I seem to remember something about a payment due, by the way.”

  “Payment?” she echoed innocently.

  “If I don’t get it, I’m going to have to send you to collections,” he warned.

  Joss smiled. “Well, then, I guess I’d better pay up.”

  6

  THE CHERUBS SMILED at her, golden-haired and rosy-cheeked, their bellies coquettishly round. Hanging on the wall over her head, their lively faces stared out, not at Joss, but at the sailing ship behind her, the enormous relic of a bygone age, the ornately carved king’s folly that hadn’t even made it out of the harbor before capsizing centuries before.

  It was hard to say what was more extraordinary, Joss thought, the fact that for over two centuries people had forgotten where the Vasa warship lay, just a few hundred yards from the bustling waterfront, or the fact that the ship had been rediscovered and brought up to the surface nearly intact.

  When she’d capsized, the sailors on the Vasa must have prayed to God for salvation. Now, the vessel was ensconced in a temple of its own, a soaring building of soft light designed to protect and display the ripe and luscious lines of a sailing ship that barely sailed.

  “It’s incredible,” Joss murmured turning to stare at the stern rising high above them as she and Bax stood on one of the observation floors of the multilevel museum. “How can anything be this big?” As they walked toward the front of the ship, the height of the ship’s side dropped in a slow, graceful curve until they were looking down at the deck by the time they’d reached the midway point. “How could anything be so beautiful and yet so useless?”

  “Makes you wonder if there wasn’t some sort of collective memory behind the drive to Swedish functionalism.”

  “The Vasa begat Ikea?”

  “It’s a theory.”

  “As amazing as it is, though, I feel guilty playing tourist. Shouldn’t we be doing something to get the one-penny Mauritius back?”

  “We’re not playing tourist. We’re going to meet my contact here, see what he can tell us about Silverhielm.”

  “Mysterious meetings in public museums. And you told me being a detective wasn’t glamorous.”

  “Most of it’s not,” he said frankly. “It’s a lot of legwork, most of which winds up being pointless. But eventually if you get enough information, you’ll find something you can use, just like we will with Silverhielm. We’ll get to him and take the stamps.” He considered. “Unless he keeps his goodies in a vault somewhere, in which case we’re out of luck.”

  “He won’t keep them in a vault,” Joss said positively.

  “How do you know that?”

  “You could see it in the way he moves. Stamps aren’t just a business for him. There are too many other ironclad ways to make money.” She followed the mizzenmast of the Vasa with her eyes as it rose overhead. “There’s something about the stamps that he wants and needs, and that means having them handy. Besides, with all his goons around, he’s got to feel smug, like no one can get to him. That’s how we’ll take him down, his pride.”

  “She’s right, you know,” said a lightly accented voice. Next to them stood a stocky, round-faced man with an incongruously tip-tilted nose. More than anything, he looked like a middle-aged elf.

  A smile broke out on Bax’s face, though he merely looked at the gun ports of the ship. “Rolf.”

  “Bax.”

  “Rolf Johansson, meet Joss Chastain.”

  Following Bax’s lead, Joss simply nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Are you one of Bax’s Interpol friends?”

  “No, I’m with Stockholm’s organized crime division. We met when Bax was working in Stockholm. Perhaps Interpol is where you learned this sort of rendezvous spot, Bax. Certainly, the Swedish police would not think of it.”

  Bax shrugged. “They should. Less likely that someone would follow you here than to a restaurant or bar.”

  Rolf considered. “Perhaps you have a point. So what brings you to Stockholm?”

  “Work, of course.”

  “Ah. Our friend who lives in the archipelago.”

  “So you are watching him.”

  “Of course.” Rolf leaned on the rail of the observation deck. “He is my favorite waste of time. What do you know about him?”

  “Officially that he’s an import/export man for jewelry.”

  Rolf nodded.

  “Organized crime?” Bax asked.

  “Not in the classic way. In fact, he and the mob do not get on. Our friend is what you might call a freelancer, a very successful one. The mob disapproves.”

  “I can imagine. So how would you characterize him, a businessman pushing the edge of legal?”

  “A criminal with a legal front,” Rolf said flatly. “His jewelry business has been amazingly successful, from the very beginning.”

  “Isn’t that interesting.”

  “Suspiciously so. We know he uses it to launder money but we can’t prove anything.”

  “Where does he get the dirty money from?” Joss asked.

  “Smuggling. Drugs, currency, rare goods, so the rumor goes. And he’s not shy about hurting anyone who gets in his way. We’ve had more than a few dead bodies attributed to his organization.”

  “Have you infiltrated?”

  Rolf shook his head. “The one time we tried, the agent was killed in a convenient accident.”

  “Murder?”

  “I honestly could not say. If he were not involved in Silverhielm’s organization, I’d have no doubts it was just bad luck. Because he was…” Rolf shrugged.

  “Can’t you turn someone?”

  “No one wants to talk.” He smiled faintly. “It is not healthy. We occasionally get anonymous information. Always, we follow up but the leads come to nothing. Two years ago, we came close to putting him in jail and perhaps getting more. His wife of the time filed battery charges against him.”

  “Battery?”

  “He beat her quite badly. She promised to testify to all she knew about his business.”

  “And?”

  “What do you think? A few days passed, she had visitors, and she withdrew the charges. We could do nothing. She has since left Sweden. He sits out there on his island like the king of the archipelago and laughs at us and gets richer every day.”

  “Frustrating.”

  Rolf’s eyes hardened. “He will make a mistake one day and when he does, we will be there.”

  “How would you like to have something to truly hang on him?”

  Rolf casually walked a few steps past them toward the bow of the boat and leaned again on the rail, using small binoculars to examine the upper reaches of the mast. “Bax, my friend, nothing would make me happier. What’s on your mind?”

  “We have reason to suspect that he may have arranged to have a very valuable rare stamp stolen from Joss’s family.”

  “That is work for Interpol.”

  “Interpol tried to run it down and came up with nothing.”

  Rolf put down his glasses. “He is very slippery, our friend. So you come to visit us, instead?”

  “I figured I’d be more effective on site.”

  “We are watching him, Interpol has already pursued him. What makes you think that you can do what we can’t?” Rolf’s voice hardened a little.

  “I’m not trying to run down mobsters, pedophiles and prostitution rings. I can afford to just focus on him. Besides, I’m not even trying to lock him down. I’m just trying to get back Joss’s family’s property.”

  For the first time, Rolf turned to look directly at him, eyes cool. “We don’t think well of vigilantism in Sweden.”

  “Don’t think of it as vigilantism,” Bax returned. “Think of it as help.”

  “Help?”

  “I’m having to poke around in Silverhielm’s life to do this job. If
I happen to come across evidence of a crime, I would pass that to the proper authorities.”

  The corner of Rolf’s mouth twitched. “I am sure the proper authorities would be happy to pursue it. They are always glad of help.”

  “Help goes both directions, of course. Depending on what happens, I may need the help in a hurry.”

  “Perhaps now is a good time for us to trade mobile telephone numbers.”

  “It might be quicker than leaving a message on your voice mail,” Bax allowed.

  “You Americans,” Rolf tsked, “always so impatient.”

  “We get that way when we face master criminals.”

  Rolf smiled briefly. “Don’t we all.”

  THE SKY WAS still light as Bax and Joss walked across the cobbled expanse of Berzelii Park toward Strindberg’s auction house. Trees hung over the broad stone benches and the reflecting pond glimmered. To the other side lay the sea that seemed to be at every turn in Stockholm, this time a narrow inlet that gleamed in the afternoon sun.

  In such a beautiful city, it was easy to forget that their business was serious, indeed. He could imagine that Joss was just his lover, walking next to him in the slanting afternoon sunshine. She wore a splashy black and white patterned halter dress, her hair a loose mass of curls, big white hoop earrings dangling at her ears. Her spike heels were fire-engine red.

  It had been a long time since a woman had captured his imagination so fully. Since Stephanie. Since his biggest mistake.

  Bax stopped and drew Joss down to sit. “We need to talk,” he said abruptly.

  “Shouldn’t we be getting inside?” she asked.

  “Sure, but not together.”

  She frowned. “Why not? They’ll find out we’re a pair eventually. It’s part of our cover.”

  “I want to get the lay of the land first. Information is power. If they know everything up front, we lose any advantage we have.” And in a situation like this, they needed every advantage they could get.

  “So how do you want to do it?”

  Alone, was his first thought. Alone, he’d be efficient. Alone, he’d be free to do the most practical thing without worrying about her safety. Alone, he wouldn’t have to worry about his own. “I’ll go in first, just to check it out. I’ll ring you on your cell phone when it’s clear to come in.” It was against his better judgment. Why in God’s name had he agreed to this ridiculous situation?

  Then he looked at the dapple of sun and shade on her bare shoulders and he knew why.

  “So you’ll stay back and I’ll hook up with Silverhielm.”

  “Be casual. Don’t tell him everything all at once. You’ve got time. Remember, you’re the one who has something he wants, so ultimately you’re in control.”

  “Have some faith, will you? I’ve stalked music promoters for years. I know how to meet someone accidentally on purpose. Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to start a conversation with him. Why do you think I wore this dress?” She glanced down at the swells of her cleavage.

  To drive him nuts, Bax thought, remembering the feel of her naked body against his.

  “I figure Jerry would be dating someone a little cheap, a little flashy,” Joss continued, oblivious. “It fits with the profile.”

  “It fits a few other things, as well,” he observed dryly.

  Joss flashed him a quick grin. “Thank you. It’ll get Silverhielm’s attention, I think. And if it helps distract him a little while I’m talking with him, so much the better.”

  Bax couldn’t say about Silverhielm, but seeing the way the dress molded itself around her body distracted him, and at a time he could ill afford it. “I’m sure it’ll do the job.”

  “Thank you.” She gave him an amused look, reminding him that not much got past her. “So once I get talking with him, how far do I go? Do I mention Jerry and the Blue Mauritius?”

  “Play it by ear. Remember, we just want to catch his attention at this point. Keep him a little off balance. That gives us the advantage.”

  “Okay.” Joss took a deep breath.

  “You sure you’re up to this?”

  She blew the breath out. “Of course I am. So we meet at the hotel afterward?”

  Bax nodded. Without thinking about it, he reached out to take her hand. “One important thing to remember. Don’t trust Silverhielm and don’t, under any circumstances, leave with him. No matter how good an opportunity it seems, we can’t afford the risk.”

  “Even if he offers me a ride in his way cool limo?” Joss said, widening her eyes.

  “Especially then.”

  “Relax.” She gave a quick grin. “I get my adrenaline rushes other ways than hanging out with murderers.”

  Bax knew it wasn’t smart, but he couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss her, just for a moment. He wouldn’t think about what a familiar pleasure the taste of her was becoming. For a few moments, he just let himself savor her mouth, warm and mobile against his. Finally, he straightened. She would be okay, he told himself. And so would he. “I’ll beep your mobile when the coast is clear.” He rose. “Be good.”

  Joss gave him a reckless smile of promise. “I’ll be great.”

  7

  STRINDBERG’S CATERED to the wealthy and it showed in every aspect of the auction house, from the tony address to the rich decor. The furnishings whispered of discreet luxury—thick carpets, softly lustrous silk wall coverings, fresh flowers everywhere. A sweeping marble staircase led to the second floor showroom, with a richly patterned Aubusson runner held in place at each step with brass rails. The carpet was worn slightly in the center from the footsteps of decades worth of Scandinavia’s affluent collectors.

  In the showroom on this particular evening, the sleekly designed mounting pedestals displayed a selection of rare stamps and coins from around the world. The Strindberg management had probably planned the event to coincide with the stamp expo, but it was the type of auction that dealers would fly in to attend—at least the kind of dealers who, like Gwen and her grandfather, bought issues for millionaire clients.

  Joss wandered around the room, holding a martini and inspecting the lots to be auctioned off the following evening. A glance at the auction catalog showed her that there were no stamps of the caliber of the Post Office Mauritius set going on the block, but a number of them were valued in the mid-to high-hundreds of thousands of dollars. The auction would make a tidy profit for Strindberg’s, no doubt, not to mention the owners of the objects.

  She did another circuit of the room, glancing around casually for Bax. He stood near an alcove by some plants, holding himself in a way that rendered him innocuous and unmemorable, though he was neither. It made her feel better to see him there, to know that he was around if she needed him.

  In the center of the room, a small knot of people chattered animatedly around a Lucite display case. In an art museum, it might contain a sculpture; here, it held the two most valuable lots in the auction.

  And in front of it stood Karl Silverhielm.

  Up close, his eyes were a pale gray, the same shade as his hair. He wore another elegant suit, this one the color of steel. His tie was a pattern of small, interlocking black and cobalt diamonds, tied in a Windsor knot. A matching blue display handkerchief showed in his breast pocket.

  The force of his personality came across even more strongly at this distance than it had from across the street. This time, though, the sense of menace was banked back. He looked refined, courteous, even affable.

  She mistrusted him immediately.

  Unobtrusively, Joss made her way to the central display case as the couple talking with Silverhielm wandered away. She stared at the stamps, throwing all of her concentration into what she could see with her peripheral vision. He glanced over at her, looked away and then turned her way.

  Score one for the dress.

  “Can I answer any questions for you about these issues? I’m the current owner.” His voice was deep and expansive, filled with confidence.

  Joss favored him with
a smile. “Josie Astin.” She gave him the alias she’d agreed to with Bax.

  “Karl Silverhielm.” He spoke English with a faint hint of an accent. When she held out her hand to shake, he raised it smoothly to his lips. “You don’t look like the typical philatelist. To what do we owe the pleasure, Ms. Astin?”

  “Oh, I’ve heard people invest millions of dollars in these stamps. I figured I’d come see some of them myself.”

  “And what do you think, now that you’re here?”

  She shrugged and took a drink of her martini. “They look just like anything you can buy in the post office, only older.”

  “Well, that’s where the value comes in. When you own a stamp that’s over a hundred years old, you buy a slice of history. That’s power, in its own way.”

  “And you want to buy power?”

  “I don’t need to.”

  She opened up her catalog and looked up the stamps in it. “But these are yours. If stamps are power, then why are you selling them?” Across the room, Bax moved to another spot by the wall, seemingly staring at the exhibits though she knew he was watching her.

  “A collection changes all the time. You update it, consolidate, the same way a smart man consolidates financial holdings.”

  Joss considered him. “Are you a smart man?”

  “I’ll let my deeds speak for themselves.”

  “And what do you do?”

  “I broker goods. Import/export.”

  “What do you import?”

  “Whatever sells.” He looked over her shoulder. “Hello, Markus.”

  Joss hadn’t seen the tall, blond man materialize at her elbow and she started just a little.

  “I apologize if I startled you.” His English was entirely without accent. He had the high cheekbones and the sharp jaw line of the classically Nordic face.

  Silverhielm nodded at him. “Ms. Astin, meet my associate, Markus Holm.”

  Joss found herself staring into a pair of entirely emotionless blue eyes. He looked at her the same way he probably looked at the potted plant behind her, and she had a feeling he’d cut her down with no more emotion.