Sealed With A Kiss

As long as he was a one-man show.

“MR. BAXTER will be with you in just a moment,” the blond receptionist told Joss, punching the button on her console with one red-lacquered nail before she pulled off the telephone headset and prepared to go home.

Joss turned to the deep, pewter-colored couches that lined the walls. A receptionist? Who’d ever heard of a private eye with a receptionist? Then again, who’d ever heard of a private eye having a lobby with ice-blue carpet so thick you could snag a heel in it? And five-foot-tall ficus plants? Weren’t P.I.s supposed to work out of tiny offices with venetian blinds and half-glassed doors, in tired old buildings on the wrong side of town?

Tom’s lawyer was going to have a lot of explaining to do. She should have known better than to trust his referral. Simon Fleming had told her his investigator might be able to help her out. He’d neglected to tell her the guy was going to be some corporate clown.

An expensive corporate clown.

Scowling, Joss stalked over to the wall of windows that overlooked Montgomery Street, now pooled with shadow in the late afternoon. She didn’t like the idea of telling her problems to some pretentious twit who’d look down on her. She knew the type—if you didn’t have a brokerage account and an MBA, they wouldn’t take you seriously. She could just imagine the kind of private eye who’d have an office here. He’d probably be short, for starters, pasty and soft. And balding, with a comb-over that didn’t hide anything.

“Are you here for Executive Security Consulting?”

Joss jumped and whirled.

He didn’t look soft at all, was her first thought. He’d come up behind her so quietly on the plush carpet that she hadn’t heard a thing. Then again, he looked like he always moved silently. There was something about him that reminded her of a panther, dark, sleek and dangerous.

Then he smiled and the impression evaporated. He looked, if not entirely friendly, at least approachable.

“I’m John Baxter.”

Tall, she thought, tall enough that she had to raise her chin to meet his eyes as he came closer. Not lanky, though. Self-possessed and lean, solid without being bulky. He looked like the kind of guy who could snatch flies out of midair or explode into violence if the need arose. Confident, capable and eat-him-with-a-spoon sexy.

She squared her shoulders and held out her hand. “Joss Chastain.”

BAX WASN’T sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t her. She looked like nothing so much as a gypsy in her long flowered skirt and cropped T-shirt, her dark hair sweeping loose and wild down her back. It had red highlights, he noticed, then frowned at himself.

“Simon Fleming sent me over.” Her hand was softer than he’d expected, and stronger. When she tugged it away from him, he realized he’d been holding it for far too long.

“I know. He called me. Come on back to my office.”

He led the way down the winding hallway with its crown molding and subdued lighting.

“Pretty fancy digs for a private eye,” she commented.

“I’m not a private eye. I’m a security consultant.”

“Which means?”

“I check out security setups and do some investigative work—legal, industrial espionage, that sort of thing. My kind of clients expect to see this kind of office.”

“Are you saying that I’m not your kind of client?”

Prickly, he thought. Nerves, maybe. Sometimes people got that way before they had to spill their story. Or maybe she was just feisty. She had that look. “I usually deal with corporate personnel. They’re more comfortable with this sort of look.”

“But you’re not a cop?”

He opened his office door. “No. Strictly private sector.”

“Exactly. Private eye.” She walked past him, leaving a whisper of scent in her wake that had every one of his hormones sitting up and panting.

Now he was the one feeling prickly. Bax crossed to his desk. Taking his time, he studied her. She had the kind of bone structure that you saw in old Italian paintings, the mysterious arch above the eyes, the haunting hollows in the cheeks. Something in the set of her shoulders told him that she was very used to having her way. Her mouth was wide, the upper lip just a bit more full than the lower. When he’d first seen her, it had given her the look of a mistreated child, but now it made him think of stolen kisses in the darkness. He wondered suddenly what she looked like when she laughed.

“Let me know when you’re finished,” she told him, shifting to get more comfortable in his client chair, draping an elbow over the back. The trouble was, she didn’t look like any client he’d ever had before and she was playing hell with his concentration.

Bax leaned his elbows on the desk and tried to ignore the taut belly exposed by her T-shirt. “So why are you so dead set on getting a private detective?”

“I need someone who’s good at finding things. Are you?”

“When I decide to be. What do you need to find?”

She studied him in her turn. Finally, she nodded to herself, apparently deciding he passed muster. “A stamp.”

“I’ve got a whole roll of them here in my drawer.”

“Cute. This particular stamp is worth a bundle. It was stolen from my grandfather and I want to get it back.”

“Why isn’t he the one here?”

“He’s on an extended vacation with my grandmother. My sister and I have been taking care of his business and the theft happened on our watch.” She pushed the tumble of dark hair back over her shoulder. “I want to get the stamp back before he comes home.”

Just for a second, that anxious kid expression came back. The urge to wipe it away flickered through him. “Do you know who stole it or where it is?”

“I have an idea. A colleague of my grandfather’s, Stewart Oakes, was approached by a Swedish collector who wanted my grandfather’s prize pair, the Blue Mauritius and the one-penny red-orange Mauritius.”

“I’ve heard of the Blue Mauritius,” Bax said slowly.

One of the most valuable stamps in the world, as he recalled. “It’s extremely rare, isn’t it?”

“And worth a bundle. About three million for the two of them together.”

Bax whistled. “I can see why you want them back.”

“It. We got back the Blue Mauritius. It’s only the one-penny Mauritius that’s still missing.”

“What happened?”

“The Swede made an offer, my grandfather said no. So Stewart hired a thief to get a job in the store and steal the stamps.”

“Some colleague.”

“Ex-colleague.” Anger tightened her voice. “My sister was able to get most of the stamps back, and Stewart and Jerry—the thief,” Joss elaborated, “are in jail.”

“Sounds like something for the cops.” The twinge of regret he felt surprised him. “It should be pretty easy to track since you know who the collector is.”

“Well, that’s just it. Stewart claims he doesn’t know, just that maybe the guy is Swedish. He only met a go-between. As far as the police are concerned, the trail has dried up.” Again, that look of desperation flickered across her face.

Bax shook himself irritably. No matter how vulnerable—and touchable—she looked, she was not for him. “You still have to leave it to someone like Interpol.”

“They’ve given up on it. My sister is pretty sure she knows the identity of the collector, but Interpol said they’d investigated him and can’t find any evidence to substantiate a theft or to allow them to search. They’re on to more important things, I guess,” she finished bitterly.

“Or maybe you don’t have the right collector,” Bax commented. Joss fixed him with a look that would freeze water. Definitely feisty. Amused, he leaned back in his chair. “All right, so, what do you want me to do?”

“Investigate, if you think you’re up to it.” She gave him an appraising look. “Simon said you’d worked in Europe and spoke a bunch of languages. I want to go over to Stockholm and check out the collector, see what we can find out. There’s a stamp expo over there next week and we can—”

“Whoa.” He held both hands up. “Hold on there just a minute. One, I haven’t agreed to take on your case yet.

Two, if you hire me, you have to let me do the job. There is no ‘we.’ I work alone.”

“Well, maybe you’re going to have to change the way you work. I can be a good partner.” The corner of her mouth curved and for a fraction of a second he found himself putting a whole different translation on that phrase. “Besides, Simon said you’d help me.”

“Simon’s wrong.” And he was way out of line sitting here getting hot for a possible client.

“He says you have a contract with him.”

Simon had been saying entirely too much, Bax thought with annoyance, shaking himself loose. “But it doesn’t guarantee referrals. All it says is that I’ll talk to you.” He pushed his chair back a little, preparatory to getting up. “It’s an interesting case but I just finished a big job and I’ve got some time off coming. And even if I did decide to take you on as a favor to Simon, I don’t let clients work as assistants. It’s not a game.” The hurt kid look was back on her face, he noticed with discomfort.

His comments didn’t dent her determination, though. “You want time off, come to Stockholm. Once we get the stamp back, you can jet off to anywhere you like. Who knows, we might have fun.”

Then she smiled and the punch of sexuality blasted through him. Her smile was generous, radiant and filled with naughty promises. He found himself almost ready to say yes without thinking, just for the chance to see what came next. Still… “This isn’t audience participation. If there’s a crime, there’s danger. I can’t babysit and investigate at the same time. I can’t have you involved.”

“You have to,” she blurted, then took a breath. “Look, you need me for your cover.”

“What cover?”

“I’ve got it all figured out. We go over there together, as lovers. I’m Jerry’s girlfriend—or ex-girlfriend, actually, only I’ve still got the Blue Mauritius that he’s stolen and I’m trying to fence it.” She rose and began to pace around the office intently, creating a picture with her hands as she walked. “I dangle it in front of the collector and tell him that for a small fee, he can have his property.” Like her face when she smiled, her body in motion was a fascination that made it impossible for him to look away.

“His property?”

“You know that’s how those people think.”

He nodded as he folded his arms across his chest. “Oh, of course. And what happens after that?”

Her hands dropped. “I haven’t figured that part out yet. But I’m working on it,” she added hastily as he shook his head.

“No way.”

“It’ll work,” Joss insisted. She leaned a hip on the corner of his desk, entirely too close for his comfort. “It’ll at least let us confirm that he has the one-penny Mauritius and get a dialog going. You know how these criminal types work, Simon said you used to do undercover work. We can play like we’re a couple, get a room together, all that.” She gave him that smile of temptation again, like Eve holding out the apple. “Jerry’s a hustler, through and through. I figure the type of girlfriend he’d pick would glom onto whatever guy could help her. Jerry’s in the slammer? She’ll find someone else useful.”

He didn’t want to want her. It had no place here. He groped for reason as her scent spread around him in an invisible net. “So why do I feel like I’m getting glommed onto as someone useful?”

“Of course you are. I’m trying to hire you, although you’re making it difficult. What’s it going to take with you?” Impatience filled her words. “I have to get that stamp back and I need your help to do it. Why not go over there and play pretend?” She leaned forward until she was just inches from his face. “Or do I have to make it for real? Would you do it then?”

It would take so little to close the distance between them. “Maybe.” He regretted the response the minute it was out of his mouth. What the hell was he thinking?

He wasn’t thinking, that was the problem.

A smile slid slowly across Joss’s face. “Really?” she said, stretching the word out like it was hot taffy. “If I said I’d be your lover, no strings, the entire time we were in Stockholm, you’d do it?”

The situation was rapidly slipping out of his control. “Look,” he backpedaled, “It’s not that simple.”

Something predatory entered her eyes. “Sure it is.”

Before he could react, she’d risen to step in front of him, pushing his shoulders back against the chair.

“What are you doing?”

“A feasibility study,” she told him and placed one knee on either side of his thighs, straddling him. Her eyes were deep and dark enough to dive into. Her scent wound around his thoughts. He watched without moving as she leaned in.

And when her mouth touched his, all he could feel was a hot, slicing arousal.

He had no business doing this, Bax told himself even as he closed his eyes. She was a client, or a potential client, they were in his office, at his desk and oh hell, he thought and gave himself up to it.

He’d kissed women before, even thought he’d loved one once, but he’d never felt anything like this. She was all he could touch. She was all he could feel even though she tempted him only with her lips on his, with the warmth of her thighs bracketing his own.

Her mouth was warm and mobile, her lips parted and ready to go deeper. With one impetuous move, she dragged him into want, into need. He wasn’t used to needing anyone, but even as he struggled against it, she beckoned to him with her mouth, her hands and her body.

And he followed willingly.

SHE’D NEVER been able to resist a dare, Joss thought hazily as she let the taste of him flow over her. She’d planned to kiss him until his head spun, until the little head began to overrule the big head and he gave in and agreed. Maybe she’d been a little curious, too. After all, if she could give them what they both wanted physically and get him to Stockholm at the same time, what was the harm in that? She’d expected kissing him to be good and sexy.

She’d never in a million years expected the taste of him to rock her back. She’d never expected the feel of his hard shoulders under her fingers to set up a drumming demand in her head for the rest of him, naked. She’d never expected desire to take control. All too quickly, the kiss stopped being about persuasion. It existed for itself, for the tempting brush of his tongue, the soft slide of his mouth, the touch of his hands sliding up her back.

More. She wanted more. She wanted to toss aside caution and dive into this heady sensation, dive into him. And somewhere in there, she might lose control. Trembling, she pulled back.

“Well.” She resisted the urge to press her fingers to her lips.

Bax stared at her as she walked back to the client chair. “What kind of a game are you playing?” he asked hoarsely.

“Just making sure we had chemistry.” She sat because her knees wouldn’t hold her. “So, do we have a deal?”

BAD IDEA, he told himself as his system refused to level. She was trying to play him and he was walking right into it. And yet, looked at a certain way, it made sense. Why not? Why not take the case? Solve her problem, make a little money and get a free trip to Stockholm and a warm and willing woman in his bed in the bargain. “Maybe,” he found himself saying. “I’ll think about it.”

She ran her tongue over her lower lip. “You’ll think about it?”

What could it hurt, he thought. “All right.”

“Great. And you’ll let me be part of the investigation?”

Not on his life. “Only if you can demonstrate to me that you know what you’re doing,” he hedged.

Joss rose and leaned over the desk to brush her lips against his. “Oh, I know what I’m doing, all right, Bax. Just wait and see.”

3

“YOU’RE KIDDING.” Gwen stared at Joss across the table at Rose Pistola that night, while the waiters bustled back and forth behind them. “You’ve promised to go to Stockholm and sleep with some guy you don’t know from Adam?”

Gwen didn’t sound nearly as horrified as she once would have, Joss reflected. Vegas had certainly changed her. “It’s no worse than a one-night stand, which you’ve had recently yourself. Besides, I sort of know him from Adam. He comes with references anyway.”

“How about blood tests? This is pretty out there even for you, Joss.”

Joss forked up a bite of salad. “Why? The guy is sexy as hell. Why shouldn’t I have a fling with him? You and Del just did out in Vegas.”

“That was different.”

“How? You might be serious about each other now, but it wasn’t that way at the beginning. Look, we’ll get the job done and have a good time while we’re at it. Besides, you know the saying—if you’ve got ’em by the ’nads, their hearts and minds will follow.”

“Ah. So, you’re going to sexually enslave him and have your way with him, is that the plan?”

Joss considered. “It has its advantages.” She leaned forward and the humor vanished. “The guy’s good, Gwen, and we need someone good for this job.”

Gwen looked at her, lips twitching. “Just don’t bonk his brains out so much that he can’t do any detecting.”

“I sincerely doubt that’ll happen, although you never know.” Joss thought of the hard swell of his shoulders under her fingers. “If he was that good with his tongue when he was kissing, who knows what else he’ll be good at.”

Now Gwen did grin. “You’re so bad.”

“Oh, come on. Tell me the thought hasn’t gone through your head when you’ve first kissed a guy.”

“So, what’s he like?” Gwen asked, ignoring her.

Joss considered. “Confident,” she said finally. “Maybe a little bit of a control freak. Hot, though, really hot. He’s serious but he’s got this wonderful, strong face and you just know if he’d let loose, he’d be…” She thought of the way he’d looked after they kissed. “I got to him at the end, I could see it in his eyes.”

“Watch out that you’re not the one who becomes enslaved.” Gwen pulled some bread out of the basket on the table.

“He’s a guy. They’re pretty easy to manage,” Joss said carelessly, giving the busboy such a brilliant smile he accidentally overfilled her glass, slopping water on the tablecloth. “I’m not worried about it.”

“So you fly to Stockholm together and then what? I mean, you can’t just wander around asking everyone you meet questions.”

“You said you knew this Silverhielm guy has the stamps.”

“I said I thought he had the stamps. Not the same thing as knowing.”

“Well, I hope you’re pretty certain, because I’ve got a plan for getting in good with Silverhielm. It means taking a risk, though.”

“How do you mean?”

Joss hesitated. “I need to take the Blue Mauritius.”

“You’re out of your mind.” Gwen’s reply was immediate. “That stamp is in the bank vault where it belongs, and that is where it’s going to stay.”

“We’ve got to have it to smoke out Silverhielm,” Joss argued and outlined the plan, leaving out the fact that Bax had had doubts.

“It’s too risky,” Gwen almost wailed. “Do you know what it would do to the value of that stamp if it got so much as creased? Let alone wet or torn. It wouldn’t even be worth the price of a replica. We can’t take that chance.”

“We have to,” Joss told her. “It’s the only angle I can think of. Don’t you want the one-penny Mauritius back?” she coaxed.

Gwen pressed her face into her hands. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this. You swear you’ll be incredibly careful with it?” she demanded, raising her head.

“I swear.”

“And you’ll put it in a bank vault over there until you need it?”

“Don’t worry about it, Gwen.”

“Oh, like that makes me feel better. You need to take this seriously, Joss.”

“I do take it seriously. Haven’t I been different since I came back this time? Haven’t I?” she demanded.

Gwen nodded grudgingly. “You’ve done a good job at the store. Frankly, I expected you to be gone a long time ago.”

“I’ve changed, Gwen, I really have. Letting Jerry steal the stamps was a screwup by the old me. I need to make it better. Anyway, we’ve got Bax on the case, remember? He knows what he’s doing.”

“And what is he doing so far to earn his exorbitant fee?”

Joss shrugged. “He doesn’t go on the clock until we leave, and that’s got to wait for me to get my passport. Right now, he’s looking into Silverhielm’s background. I figure I’ll see what I can find out, too.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Get a briefing from you, for starters. I need everything you know about the stamps Silverhielm has, who he deals with, where he lives, anything. If you’ve got it electronically and can send it to Bax, so much the better.”

“That’s not going to help you find him, though,” Gwen pointed out.

“I know.” Joss paused. “I need to go see Stewart.”

Gwen sat absolutely still for a long moment. “Why do you need to go see Stewart?” she asked finally. “I told you before, he says he doesn’t know anything.”

“I don’t believe that. Maybe nothing obvious, but I bet he knows some little nugget that will help us.”

“He’s in Las Vegas. It’ll mean driving or flying.”

“I know.”

“It’s not free, Joss,” Gwen said with an edge to her voice.

“I know. You said we could use your winnings from the poker tournament to pay for Stockholm and Bax. I found a ticket that’s twenty-nine bucks each way. I’ll fly down in the morning and back in the afternoon. You won’t even have to pay for a hotel.”

Gwen drummed her fingers restlessly on the table.

“What makes you think he’ll talk to you?” she demanded. “He’ll barely remember you.”

“That might make it easier. He’s probably so stir-crazy in the slammer that he’ll see anyone just for something different. Besides, he’s already pleaded guilty. At this point, he’s just negotiating with the Vegas and San Francisco D.A.s, so it’s not like anything he tells me will make a difference. What’s he got to lose?”

Gwen mulled it over as the waiter set her grilled trout in front of her. “I feel like I should be the one doing it, but I just can’t.” She swallowed. “Do you understand?”

Gwen had always been so self-sufficient that she sometimes seemed more the grown-up than Joss. Seeing her vulnerability now, Joss felt fury at Stewart Oakes anew. “Of course. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it handled.” She stared at her sister. “I’m going to bring back the one-penny Mauritius, Gwen, I swear it.”

“Well, you’d better be quick about it. Grandma and Grampa are due back in a month.”

Joss grinned. “Hey, with me and Superhunk on the case, it’s a done deal.”

JOSS SAT in the visitation room at the Clark County jail, waiting for Stewart. Even though she was on the outside, there was a heaviness in the air that made her shiver a little as she sat in front of the Plexiglas window at her assigned booth. She was here voluntarily. She could leave at any time. What must it be like to be inside, to be without a choice?

Except that an inmate like Stewart Oakes had made his choice long since.

Around her, the faces of the other visitors largely mirrored her unease. The expressions were sober, mostly, and distracted. It wasn’t a happy room. People came here because there was trouble. Only the children seemed blithely unaware of the tension in the air.

For a while, nothing happened. Then she heard the faint sound of a door opening and the prisoners began to file into the visiting area on the other side of the Plexiglas, under the watchful eyes of the guards.

She wasn’t sure what to expect. She’d had no recent connection with Stewart as Gwen had had. Then again, knowing him hadn’t protected Gwen from nearly being shot, so Joss wasn’t sure it really mattered. He’d either show or he wouldn’t, he’d talk or he wouldn’t. Either way, she’d at least know she’d tried.

The man who sat down, wearing tired-looking orange coveralls, looked nothing like she remembered. Joss had seen a photo of Stewart pinned to the office bulletin board. In it, he’d been laughing, his arms around Gwen and their grandfather. Despite the streaks of gray at his temples, he’d looked young, lighthearted.