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