Authors: Kristin Hardy
S
TRINDBERG
’
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.
Unnerved, Joss glanced down at the hand that clasped hers.
And saw a thin, uneven white line running between the thumb and forefinger.
A stir of excitement went through her. If Markus was the intermediary that Stewart had dealt with, that meant that Silverhielm was her man. Joss blinked and gave Markus her most brilliant smile.
“So very nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine,” he said and released her hand.
“So what do you do for Karl?”
“I assist him with his various projects.” Markus smiled so faintly she couldn’t be sure she’d seen it.
“He is indispensable to me,” Silverhielm assured her. “Excuse me a moment.” Markus leaned close to him to murmur something in his ear. Silverhielm shook his head. “Take care of it,” he told him. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” Markus nodded and left and Silverhielm turned his attention back to Joss. “So where are you from, Ms. Astin? You do not look like the usual collector.”
“I’m from Las Vegas.” Was it her imagination, or did he come to attention when she said it? “My boyfriend—actually, my ex-boyfriend—has acquired a few stamps. I was in town and thought I’d come here and see if I could make any contacts that would help me unload them.” She drifted toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Berzelii Park and Silverhielm drifted with her.
“Alas, I am not in the market for stamps at present. In
fact, as we were just discussing, I am reducing the size of my collection.”
“Really? Does that mean you’ve just made a nice acquisition?” She stopped to study another exhibit.
He gave her a bland look. “I buy and sell stamps all the time, Ms. Astin. A collection that does not change becomes stagnant and loses its luster.”
“Perhaps you should get something new. I was just at the Postal Museum earlier today and saw the Post Office Mauritius pair. The most valuable stamps in the world, or so they say.” She reached the windows.
“Many collectors prize the Post Office Mauritius set,” he agreed, looking at her carefully.
“So I hear. I understand you’ve been in the market for a Post Office Mauritius pair for some time.”
That got his attention. “And who do you understand this from?”
“I also understand that you’ve managed to accomplish half of that goal,” she continued softly, ignoring his question.
Had she thought that he was affable? The stare that he aimed at her was nearly toxic in its intensity. This was a man who’d killed more than once, she reminded herself. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled up one by one.
“I do not understand you, Ms. Astin.” Silverhielm’s voice remained calm but now icy cold, the control almost more alarming than anger would have been. She looked for Bax in her peripheral vision.
Brazen it out, she told herself. “Transactions don’t always go as anticipated, Karl,” she said, gesturing carelessly with her nearly empty glass. “I should know. My ex-boyfriend, Jerry, is an…associate of Stewart Oakes.” She finished off her martini and turned toward the bar.
He caught her wrist in an iron grip. “You will explain yourself.”
She refused to wince. Instead, Joss aimed an icy look at Silverhielm. “You will let me loose and I will go get a drink,” she enunciated. “After that, I may choose to continue this conversation or I may not.” She saw Bax come to attention and shook her head infinitesimally at him.
“No.” Silverhielm signaled Markus, who appeared at her elbow. “Another martini for Ms. Astin.”
“Ketel One, with two olives,” Joss told Markus. She trembled down inside but her hand remained steady as she pulled the skewered olive from the remains of her current glass.
“So, Ms. Astin.” Silverhielm stared at her as Markus walked away. “Pray continue.”
Joss looked right back at him, refusing to be intimidated. Then she turned to look out at the moonlit cobblestones of Berzelii Park. “I can make it very simple,” she said calmly. “I have something you want. You have something I want. We ought to be able to come to an agreement.”
“What do I have that you want, Ms. Astin?”
She raised her martini glass. “Money,” she said and took the final swallow.
S
ILVERHIELM ESCORTED
her down the marble stairs that led to the front door of the auction house, Markus trailing behind them.
“I am sorry that the other potential bidders interrupted our very interesting conversation, Ms. Astin,” Silverhielm said. “There is a very fine bar nearby. We can go for a drink and talk further.”
“I must be getting back to my hotel.” She slipped the strap of her small black evening bag over her wrist.
Silverhielm suppressed a flare of irritation. He was a man used to being obeyed. “Where are you staying?” he
persisted. “Perhaps I could offer you a ride home.” He opened the door and gestured for her to pass through.
“That won’t be necessary. I can get a cab, thanks.”
“Oh no, I insist.” He waved and his gleaming black car pulled smoothly up to the curb.
“Thank you, but no.” She turned to shake hands. “I will be in Stockholm for several more days. I am sure we’ll have an opportunity to talk.” She smiled and turned to head across the square toward the lights of the boulevard and a taxi.
A wave of fury washed through Silverhielm. People did not treat him this way. People did as he told them. He watched her go and Markus stepped up beside him. “A lone woman playing a dangerous game,” Silverhielm said softly. “She has the Blue Mauritius, she hints.”
Markus looked at Silverhielm impassively. “Is she here to deliver?”
“For a fee.” The gleaming black car idled gently in front of them. “I refuse to pay twice for something I should already possess.” His voice hardened, the polished sophisticate erased by the ruthless thug. “You will take care of it.”
B
AX STOOD INSIDE
the doorway to Strindberg’s and watched Silverhielm’s soldier close the door to the sleek black limo, shutting Silverhielm inside. Then the car pulled away, leaving the blond man at the curb. For a moment, he just stared after Joss. Then he tucked his hands into his pockets and set off through the gloaming, across Berzelii Park.
After Joss.
Bax stepped swiftly out the door. She’d stood her ground with Silverhielm and refused to get in the car, he reminded himself as he followed them, suppressing a little twist of concern. If she was taking a risk now by crossing the park alone in the evening, at least there were people around. Anyway, it was only until she’d reached the broad boulevard where she could get a taxi to the hotel.
He quickened his pace a bit to get closer to Silverhielm’s man. Once she got into a cab, her tail would be stymied, unless he wanted to try a “follow that cab” routine. Bax had a pretty good feeling that the guy was a little too smart for that one.
And then he cursed. It looked like Joss was going to save the guy the trouble. She didn’t even bother to stop on the corner but just made the turn down the street that led toward Gamla Stan and the Royal Viking.
It was why he didn’t like working with a partner, Bax
thought in irritation. When he worked alone, he didn’t have to worry about someone deviating from plan, he didn’t have to worry about them taking foolish chances and putting the whole operation at risk. Even on a busy street, especially on a busy street, a professional would have no problem pulling someone like Joss aside and threatening her until she told him what was really going on. She didn’t have the skills to fight off a professional thug or to withstand an interrogation, even a short one.
And Bax couldn’t stand the risk.
He worked his way closer to Silverhielm’s man. It wasn’t easy to follow someone solo, but Bax was operating at an advantage this particular night. The Swede appeared convinced that Joss was alone and wasn’t worried about being shadowed himself. He seemed to be focused entirely on her.
Bax was good enough at reading lips and body language to be pretty confident that Joss had brought up the stamps to Silverhielm, who hadn’t been happy about it. It was a good guess that Silverhielm had put his guy onto her when they chatted outside of Strindberg’s.
The question was what were his orders? Was he following her to see where she went, following her to get her alone somewhere and scare information out of her, following her with an intent to do harm? Bax had been trained over his years on the job to suppress any emotion while he concentrated on the task at hand. Somehow, it was more difficult this time around. He couldn’t quite get rid of his concern for Joss.
He cursed again. It was what he got for working with an amateur.
Instinct warned him to drop back further on the tail so that the Swede wouldn’t make him, but he didn’t dare. He couldn’t take a chance of being too far away to react if Silverhielm’s man made a move.
Joss crossed the boulevard and the Swede followed as the light turned yellow. Bax broke into a slow jog but the light had already gone red and a steady stream of cross traffic was whizzing by when he hit the corner. A bus stopped in front of him to let off passengers.
Bax moved impatiently through the bus riders, skirting the front bumper of the bus when the light changed and sprinting across the crosswalk.
Joss and the Swede were nowhere in sight.
His pulse began hammering in alarm. The boulevard he was on led straight to the waterfront and the street of the Royal Viking. It was the quickest way to get there. There was nowhere else they’d logically be. Unless the Swede had pulled Joss aside and was now interrogating her.
Or worse.
Keep the feelings out of it, Bax reminded himself. When you felt too much, you started acting on emotion and not reason. There was no place for the Swede to pull Joss aside on the brightly lit main boulevard. He slowed his steps and looked around before leaving the corner. Half a block away, he saw the opening to a narrower street that paralleled the boulevard to the waterfront.
Bingo.
He knew the street, a narrow lane of exclusive shops that would be thinly populated at this time of night. He jogged over to it, wishing that he had a weapon on him besides his hands, his feet and his wits. Holding his breath, he stepped around the corner.
And saw Joss a block and a half away, ambling slowly past the storefronts, glancing at the window displays. Well away from her, the Swede hung in the shadows of a doorway on the other side of the street for several seconds before following.
Bax let out a breath he hadn’t been conscious of hold
ing. When Joss made the turn onto the waterfront, Bax watched the Swede stay back and follow her in his turn. Finally, Bax himself reached the end of the street to observe Silverhielm’s man watch Joss walk into the hotel.
She was safe. For a split second, it was all he could think.
The Swede wandered over to the waterfront to stand by the ferries, looking back at the hotel facade. He lit a cigarette and stood for a few more minutes, watching. Finally, he walked briskly away.
Bax strode hurriedly from his shadowed corner to the hotel, his concern morphing into irritation, an irritation that intensified moment by moment as he made his way up to the room.
“It’s him.” Joss jumped off the couch to meet him as he walked through the door.
Bax glowered at her. “Which ‘him,’? The one you talked with at the reception or the one who just followed you home?”
“Oh, did he follow me?” she asked happily, ignoring him. “I was hoping he would but I couldn’t quite see him in the shop windows.”
“What?”
“Well how else are they going to know where to find me?” she asked reasonably. “I didn’t just skip the cab for the heck of it, you know.”
“Are you out of your mind?” he demanded.
“To walk half a mile in these shoes? I’d have to be,” she told him as she sank down on the couch and pulled off her stilettos with an expression of bliss.
“Joss, it’s not a goddamn game,” he snapped.
Her effervescence evaporated, making him feel like a bully. He was only trying to get her to understand the risks she was taking, he told himself, fighting off the guilt.
“Bax, I didn’t just do it to be foolish. I did it because I thought it was important. He’s Silverhielm’s guy and Silverhielm’s our man.”
“You think.”
She raised her chin. “I know. I saw the scar on the hand of the blond guy. His name is—”
“Markus Holm,” Bax said flatly.
Joss blinked. “Yes. How did you know?”
“I know him. We ran into each other during an undercover assignment I did for Interpol in Amsterdam.”
“He’s Interpol?” she asked incredulously.
“No, he’s a genuinely bad guy. I was Interpol, posing as the shooter for a Dutch heavy while I looked into Markus’s boss.”
“Silverhielm?”
“Someone else. Markus is an equal opportunity employee,” he said sardonically. “If the fee’s right, so is the job.”
Joss gave a little shiver. “He kind of gave me the creeps.”
“He should.” Bax stalked over to the minibar to pull out a scotch. “He’s dangerous. Stable, which is more than you can say for a lot of people in that line of work, but capable of doing just about anything if he considers it the most expedient means to an end.”
“I could see it in his eyes. It was like he didn’t even register me as a human being.”
“He’s very smart and very, very good at what he does. It ups the stakes considerably.” And if it was an advantage to have an enemy whose moves he knew well, Markus would have just as much of an advantage on him.
“So what’s our play now?”
“Stop taking foolish chances, for one. Go slow, for another. Having Markus involved changes things. The longer we can go without him knowing I’m involved, the better.”
“Did Markus know you were with Interpol?”
Bax shook his head. “I was pulled from the assignment long before they took action. As far as he knows I’m a Danish-American shooter named Johan Bruhn, just another freelancer like him. Brothers in arms.” He smiled faintly.
Joss shivered a little. “You and he are worlds apart.”
“Not so far as you’d think. I got to know him well during the time I was on assignment. He has a code of honor of a sort, it’s just not the kind that you or I recognize.”
She frowned. “You sound like you like him.”
“I don’t know that like is the right word, though he can be intelligent company. Respect, maybe. By our lights, he’s totally amoral, but he seems to have a set of standards that he lives by. And I saved his life once.”
Joss raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “Now this I have to hear.”
“In a minute. First, I want to go get some ice.” He took the bucket and a key and went out the door.
J
OSS LAY BACK
on the bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to imagine Bax working with Markus, saving his life. It seemed incomprehensible. Then again, she didn’t know Bax very well. She had to remember that.
The phone rang. Joss reached out to grab it from the bedside table. “Hello?”
“Ms. Astin.” Unaccented English. Markus.
She sat up, the hair on the back of her neck prickling. “Yes.”
“It is Markus Holm.”
Attitude, she reminded herself and took a deep breath. “Well, when I said I hoped to hear from you soon, I had no idea it would be this soon.”
“Your discussion with Mr. Silverhielm generated many
questions. More questions than answers. Of course we need more information, much more information, before proceeding.”
Hook, line and sinker, she thought. “What did you have in mind?”
“We should meet with you to continue the discussion. Tomorrow morning, perhaps?”
“I’d have to think about it.” She looked at the door, waiting for Bax to return. How far did a person have to go in this hotel for ice, anyway?
“What is there to think about? It is just a discussion. Mr. Silverhielm wishes to know more about your proposal. If you are interested in progress, we must talk.”
“I guess, but…”
“So a meeting is good, yes? It is a simple thing to do.”
In concept, delaying was a good strategy, but somehow it wasn’t working. “All right.”
“Good. Look out your window.”
She felt a little twinge of consternation. She wasn’t surprised that he knew her hotel, but her room location? The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she picked up the phone and carried it with her to the glass.
“There is a small park ahead of you, just off the water. It is called Karl XII’s
torg,
in front of the Kungsträdgarden, the King’s Garden.”
Cobblestone walks separated tidy flowerbeds in the moonlight. “I see it.”
“Meet me there tomorrow morning at seven.”
“Why so early?”
“Mr. Silverhielm does not care for enigmas. He wishes more information as soon as possible.”
The words sounded vaguely ominous. At first she was alarmed, and then it just got her back up. “Then perhaps he should show up for the meeting instead of you.”
“Mr. Silverhielm will attend when it is time. For now, you and I can discuss what needs to be discussed. It is enough. Until tomorrow morning, Ms. Astin.”
“Okay.”
At first, she was merely irritated at being outmaneuvered. Quickly, though, excitement began to bubble up. It was progress, real progress. She wasn’t sure where it would take them, but going forward beat standing still.
Behind her, the door opened and Bax walked in.
“How good am I,” Joss crowed. “See, my little walk home paid off. I just got a phone call from your friend Markus.”
Bax set down the ice and stared at her. “And what did my friend Markus have to say?”
“They want more information. I’m meeting him tomorrow morning.” She began to speculate, thinking aloud. “We’ll have to work out what I should say. Do you want to be there? I wonder if—”
“What are you, nuts?” Bax’s brows drew together. “Meeting with Markus? Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”
“Of course I have. He wanted an answer. They want more information. What was I supposed to do?”
“Stall.” He bit the word off.
“I tried to. He wouldn’t fall for it.”
“You didn’t push hard enough. He would have caved eventually. You’ve got what they want, or at least they think you might. They’d do whatever was necessary to find out more. And we’d tell them more, on
our
timeline.” He paced across the room. “Joss, listen to me, you can’t run around doing whatever you feel like whenever you feel like it. You hired me to do a job. Stand back and let me do it.”
“I’m trying,” she flared. “Look, I was supposed to drop the bait tonight. I did just what we’d agreed.”
“And then turned around and went totally off plan.”
“Off plan? We hadn’t worked out a plan yet. I was winging it.”
“You don’t know enough to wing it.”
“Thanks very much.” She rose and paced across to him. “What would you have liked me to have done?”
“Make him wait. Give me some time to check with my contacts on what Markus has done lately.” He dumped his scotch into a glass and added some ice.
“Stall, wait, that’s all you want to do. I thought this was about getting the stamp back, not collecting a nice per diem in a cushy hotel.”
“Trust me,” he said through gritted teeth, “right now I’d be thrilled to have that stamp in my hand so that I could end this case before I wring your neck.”
“Oh, nice, Baxter.”
“You didn’t hire me to be nice. Now, you are not going to that meeting tomorrow. We don’t know enough yet. It’s an unacceptable risk.”
“It’s an unacceptable risk not to show.”
“Cancel.”
“I don’t know how to reach him.”
“You didn’t even get a number?” he asked incredulously.
“You think the bad guys give out their cell numbers?” she retorted.
“Okay, so you just don’t show. Leave them wondering. They’ll call.”
“Will they? What if they think it’s all a fabrication?”
“They can’t afford to. Look, you’re not going tomorrow and that is final.”