Sealed With a Kiss

by Kristin Hardy

  THE SINGLE red light flashed on the end of Silverholmen dock in the gathering dusk. Oskar slowed the little cruiser to a crawl and began to thread his way in through the breakwaters. He glanced at Bax.

  “Just about there,” he said.

  Bax nodded. “You remember the drill.”

  “Yep,” Oskar said cheerfully. “Stay alert and out of sight.”

  “The guards may come to talk with you.”

  “And I will tell them that you insist I stay with the boat.”

  “No matter what. Even if they tell you that I’ve sent word for you to come in. If anything changes, I’ll come tell you personally. Otherwise, stay here. We may need to leave in a hurry.”

  “I have no desire to spend any more time with Silverhielm’s men than I have to.”

  “Do you think they’ll recognize you?”

  Oskar shrugged. “It is possible, although almost a year has passed. Anyway, they have no reason to care if I am here. I did not leave under suspicious terms.”

  The long, wooden finger of the dock projected out from the steep gray rocks of the island. At the landward end, a short path made a sharp turn to the stairs that threaded up the side of the ten-foot bluff to reach the level of the back lawn and the house beyond. From where they sat on the boat, only the upper part of the house was visible.

  Oskar piloted the boat up to the dock, stopping as close to the end as he could. On the other side bobbed Silverhielm’s cigarette boat. And at the end of the dock, waiting for them in a charcoal shirt, jacket and trousers, was Markus.

  “You made it, I see,” he said.

  Bax jumped to the dock to dog the bow line around a cleat, then moved to do the same with the stern line. “I wouldn’t miss it.” He brushed his hands off briefly and shook with Markus.

  Meanwhile, Oskar shut down the engine and positioned a couple of fenders to protect the boat from contact with the dock.

  Joss stepped up onto the side rail of the boat and reached out for Bax’s hand. In deference to the occasion, she’d worn a little black silk jersey dress with a plunging neckline and long sleeves that ended in belled cuffs. The hem hit her at midthigh. Heels and dark hose added the finishing touches. It wasn’t, perhaps, the best costume for walking down a dock at dusk, but it might distract Silverhielm at a crucial moment. Every bit of carelessness they could achieve was a benefit.

  “Your pilot is welcome to come up to the house and stay with our men,” Markus said, talking to Bax but looking at the boat. “Oskar, wasn’t it?”

  Oskar tilted his head in acknowledgement. “You have a good memory.”

  “So I do. How very clever of you, Johan, to find the one person in Stockholm who knows the route to Silverholmen well.”

  “I suspect there are others,” Bax observed. “A man like Silverhielm is very popular.”

  “But private. It is not everyone who is invited to visit his home.”

  “Then we should consider it an honor.”

  “Indeed. Shall we all go up to the house?”

  Bax glanced at Markus. “Oskar will stay here with the boat, thanks.”

  “That would not be Mr. Silverhielm’s choice.”

  “I don’t see why not. Oskar has delivered goods to Silverholmen in the past. He is trustworthy.”

  Markus considered and finally nodded. “You are right, of course. So, we will leave young Oskar here and hurry up to the house. Mr. Silverhielm has something very special planned.”

  FACETED CRYSTAL sparkled in the flickering light of dozens of candles. Decanters of doubtlessly expensive wine sat on an antique sideboard. The thick napkin on Joss’s lap was of creamy white linen, as was the snowy tablecloth. The fork and knife she held had the heft of solid silver.

  Stylishly ornate, the dining room suited the exterior of the house. Formal baroque carvings surrounded the high ceiling with its painting of Norse gods reclining on clouds. An elaborate chandelier formed of hundreds of crystal drops shimmered overhead. Paintings of hunting scenes adorned the wood-paneled walls. In one, a tusked boar bled, torn at by a pack of dogs.

  It made Joss feel faintly sick.

  “A toast.” Silverhielm held up his glass. “To accomplishing long-held goals.”

  “To long-held goals,” they echoed and crystal rang.

  “The world is fraught with disappointment,” he remarked, sitting. “What a happy occurrence, then, for a situation to occur in which everyone is satisfied.”

  “It’s just a matter of having a common goal,” Joss told him.

  His eyes held some private amusement. “And so we do.”

  The butler began serving the dinner in silent ceremony. Course followed course, with wines to match the herring appetizer, the crab bisque, the stuffed lobster and the venison in port wine sauce.

  It was surreal, Joss thought, watching Silverhielm slice off a piece of meat so rare that blood oozed out onto the white plate. How could he play the expansive host, catering to the comfort of his guests, when she knew the kind of acts he was capable of? What would he say if he knew why they were really there, she wondered, watching him chew the meat.

  And what would he do?

  “SO BUSINESS does not have to be all labor,” Silverhielm remarked, taking a drink of his port. “There is always time for pleasure.”

  Dinner had given way to dessert, which had given way to brandy and cognac in the opulent living room with its deep, soft couches. A wall of French doors overlooked the water as the last rays of the setting sun gave way to the full moon. Markus sat in a chair against the wall, observing everything, saying nothing.

  “Your house is exquisite,” Joss told Silverhielm, doing her best to sound sincere. “As is your chef.”

  “He is very talented,” Silverhielm acknowledged. “He is not my first chef, of course. The first chef, I found, used the kitchen budget to attempt to cheat me. I took it poorly, as you might imagine.”

  Joss swallowed. “Where is he now?”

  “It is of no concern.” Silverhielm swirled his brandy. “Will you have some more brandy?” he asked Joss.

  “No thank you. I had too much at dinner. I’m wearing high heels. If I don’t watch it, I won’t be able to walk,” she joked.

  “Then slide them off. Come now, it is my house. I demand that you be comfortable.” He stepped over and lifted one of her feet by the ankle, slipping her shoe off. “And the other?”

  “I can get it,” Joss said hastily, trying not to shudder at his touch.

  “Now, some brandy for you.” He picked up a snifter from the tray the butler had left and brought it over to her.

  Joss took the balloon glass, cupping her hands around it. Without shoes, she felt a bit naked.

  “And now,” Silverhielm rose, “it is time to get to our private business, Ms. Astin.”

  “Josie,” she corrected.

  “Of course. So, if you will join me, Josie?” He put out his arm in a courtly fashion.

  Bax stood as well. Silverhielm eyed him.

  “Oh, I do not think that is necessary. This is a friendly meeting. Markus can keep you company here.”

  Bax looked at Joss. “All right with you?”

  “We’ll be fine,” she told him. “Won’t we, Karl?”

  He led her into the hallway outside of the living room. “But of course.”

  MARKUS ROSE from his chair. “Come.” He walked to the open door to one side of the room. “We can play billiards while we wait.”

  “Sure.” Bax followed him into the dark green room with its carved mahogany table.

  “Did you consider Mr. Silverhielm’s offer any further?” Markus asked as he picked up a cue. “I think you will find his terms very generous. He rewards loyalty.”

  Bax began pulling balls from the leather net pockets of the table and setting them in the wooden triangle of the rack. “I have a job to finish here. When would Silverhielm want me to come on board?”

  Markus chalked his stick and adjusted the position of the cue ball. He stroked the
cue twice and slammed it against the cue ball so that it knocked the colored balls all over the table. “Perhaps now.”

  “PLEASE, SIT,” Silverhielm said, relaxing back into his cordovan leather chair.

  Joss sat looking past him to the deepening dusk and thought of the man who’d probably sat in this chair moments before getting his knee shattered. She suppressed a shudder.

  “So, here we are at last,” Silverhielm said.

  “Here we are,” she agreed.

  “And you have the Blue Mauritius?” His eyes glinted with avarice.

  “Of course.” Her palms dampened just as she raised her purse into her lap.

  “A momentous occasion, Ms. Astin. One I have waited for. I do not deal well with frustration, as you might imagine.”

  Was it her imagination or was there just a breath of malice in his voice? “Isn’t it good that I came to see you, then?”

  “Indeed.” He opened a drawer and brought out a mat and a pair of stamp tongs. “I do not wish to wait any longer. The Blue Mauritius, please.”

  “The money,” she countered, ignoring his clipped tone of command.

  He smiled as though at some private joke. “You do not trust me? I thought we were friends.”

  “I still need to see the money.”

  “Very well.” He pressed a button in his desk and a section of his bookcase popped ajar. “It is, perhaps, too dramatic, but for a man like myself, security must be of paramount concern. Always, there are those who attempt to cheat me.”

  Behind the bookcase was a panel that slid aside to reveal a wall safe. Like her grandfather, Silverhielm apparently believed in keeping his precious belongings close at hand.

  Unlike her grandfather’s, those belongings were guarded by killers.

  He opened the safe and moments later returned with a banded stack of bills and a leather stamp album. “Two hundred thousand dollars U.S., as you requested. Would you like to count it?”

  “That won’t be necessary.” She didn’t really want his money. Taking it would be tantamount to stealing. All she wanted was her grandfather’s property.

  “Ah. You do trust me, then. I’m flattered.” He opened the cover of the stamp album. “Well, then, I will show you the prizes of my collection. Of course, you are not a stamp collector so perhaps they will not please you as much as they would some.”

  “I appreciate rarities as much as the next person,” Joss corrected him. “You have the other half of the Post Office Mauritius pair, right?”

  “I suppose your ex-boyfriend would know that, would he not?” There was laughter in Silverhielm’s eyes.

  “I suppose he would.”

  “Here it is.”

  Joss let out a breath as he turned the page to display an orange stamp, the stamp that was a twin of the one she’d seen in the safe at the Postmuseet. “May I look at it?” she asked reaching for the album.

  But Silverhielm raised a hand. “The Blue Mauritius, first, if you please.”

  Reaching into her purse, she pulled out the stiffened glassine envelope that held the Blue Mauritius.

  “You have taken proper care of it?” he asked sharply.

  “See for yourself.” She slid out the transparent mount that held the stamp, then laid it on the mat in the center of the desk.

  Silverhielm set aside his stamp album and reached out to move the mat directly in front of him. For a moment, he just looked at the stamp reverently. Using the tongs, he reached inside the mount to pull out the Blue Mauritius, his hands shaking just a bit. From a drawer, he produced a loupe and inspected the stamp at length. Finally, he let out a long breath. “It is genuine.” He leaned near, brought his fingers almost into contact with the colored square of paper.

  It made her sick to see it in his possession. Her only comfort was that it wouldn’t be for long. “Of course it is genuine. And now you have them, side by side.”

  He blinked for a moment as though coming out of a trance. “Yes,” he said briskly and reached for the album to pull out the one-penny Mauritius. Using stamp tongs, he reverently picked up the Blue Mauritius and slid it into the empty slot. “So long,” he whispered. “So long I have waited for it to be mine.”

  Hands below the level of the desk, Joss reached into her purse and palmed the forgeries. “May I see them?” she asked, rising to lean over the desk.

  Just then, a tone sounded. Silverhielm’s eyes flickered over to his computer and in that instant Joss palmed the Post Office Mauritius pair and substituted the forgery.

  “I can see why you’re so fascinated by them,” she commented. Silverhielm’s gaze, she noticed, slid to her cleavage and she remained standing and leaning over his desk to look at what was now the forged Post Office Mauritius pair. Finally, she sat.

  “So, I have the stamps and you have the money. I think this calls for a toast,” he said, raising his glass. “To the Blue Mauritius.” He took a drink. “My dear Ms. Chastain.”

  “YOU KNOW where I stand on this.” Bax squinted along his cue and popped the six ball in. “I have a client already. Until this job is done I can’t switch.”

  “Perhaps the job will be finished more quickly than you had planned.”

  Bax flicked a glance at Markus and set up his next shot. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Markus smiled slightly and nodded his head forward a fraction. “I commend you on a most excellent charade. We initially had no idea of your client’s true identity.” Markus stepped up to the table as Bax straightened. “Fortunately, Mr. Silverhielm is a practical man who appreciates skill. Things may not go well for Ms. Chastain, but you may find yourself in a position to profit from your audacity.”

  Bax gave him a hard look. “What?”

  “It means that you have a choice. Mr. Silverhielm, of course, has brought you here falsely—he has no intention of giving you or Ms. Chastain any money for the one-penny Mauritius. But then, you have come here falsely yourself. The fate of Ms. Chastain has already been settled. What happens to you has not.”

  Only through years of training was he able to keep from reacting. Joss was alone with Silverhielm, with a man capable of just about anything. And to get to her, Bax had to go through Markus, not to mention assorted other goons around the house. He needed to figure out a strategy but the fear for Joss kept rising up to choke him. Push it down, he told himself. Put all the emotions away and concentrate. “So what are you asking me to do? Beg for my life?”

  “I know you won’t. That’s the kind of man you are.” Markus crossed to the other side of the table, keeping his distance, Bax noticed, keeping balanced. “Of course, the more important question is what kind of man is Mr. Silverhielm?”

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

  “Indeed. He is a man who wants always to have his way. He is very vicious when he is crossed. Just as you and Ms. Chastain have crossed him. He would like to kill you. But I believe he would also appreciate someone like you on his side. And I can make that happen.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  “A show of loyalty to your new employer, perhaps.” Markus leaned his cue against the table. “Ms. Chastain’s punishment is likely to be messy if not attended to with proper care. You have always been so neat.” Markus reached into his coat toward the holster Bax was sure was there.

  Their eyes locked.

  “I believe it is your shot, Johan.”

  “WHAT DID YOU SAY?” Joss stared at Silverhielm.

  “Did you really think we wouldn’t find out who you are?”

  Her heart began rabbiting in her chest. “I told you who I am.”

  “Come now.” He thumped his glass down. “It is an embarrassment to both of us for you to try to maintain this falsehood. You are Joss Chastain, the granddaughter of Hugh Chastain.”

  “The rightful owner of that Post Office Mauritius pair you’re so proud of,” she snapped, unable to keep quiet.

  “The Post Office Mauritius pair I won’t be paying for now,” he said smoothly, picki
ng the stack of bills from the desk and slipping them into a drawer. “You were a fool to think you could fool me, Ms. Chastain, even with the help of Mr. Bruhn. It may interest you to know he’s agreed to come to work for me, so you won’t find any assistance from that quarter.”

  It was a trap, they’d been drawn into a trap on this remote island.

  Or she had.

  Joss moistened her lips. “He wouldn’t betray me,” she whispered, as much to herself as to Silverhielm.

  “No? I think he would. But it is of no matter. You are on my private island, surrounded by my employees. I have the upper hand. Then again,” he raised his eyebrows, “I always do. I don’t like being cheated.”

  It stiffened her spine. She glared at him. “You stole those stamps from my grandfather.”

  “On the contrary. The thieves are already in jail.” He smiled faintly. “Your fine American criminal justice system at work.”

  Her fingers tightened on the stem of her balloon glass. “You stole them.”

  “The Post Office Mauritius pair is mine,” he snapped, goaded into anger.

  “Then have them.” She rose and flung the contents of the snifter over the album on the table.

  Silverhielm roared and snatched at the stamps as Joss whirled and ran for the door.

  It was as she’d gambled. He was more interested in saving his million dollar babies than in running after her.

  She ran down the hall toward the living room, her stockinged feet slipping on the hardwood floors. Bursting into the living room, she stared at the empty couch. Gone? They couldn’t be, he wouldn’t have abandoned her. She looked around wildly.

  And saw the light coming out of a door across the room, partially ajar.

  She burst through the door to see Bax standing on the far side of a pool table. “Bax, we’ve got to go, now.”

  “Not so quickly, Ms. Chastain,” said a soft voice from behind her.

  She turned to see Markus Holm standing against the wall, his gun pointed directly between her eyes.

  22

  BAX FROZE, pool cue at his side, and stared at the two of them.

  “Now is the time to choose your side, my friend,” Markus said. “The girl can do nothing for you. Silverhielm can offer you money, a job. And, of course, since I am the only one in the room with a gun, I can offer you something more immediate. You have only to walk away.”