his eyes wearily. “You don’t understand. I couldn’t help if I wanted to. I dealt with an intermediary the whole time. I never even found out the client’s name.”
“Don’t sit there and tell me you didn’t at least have an idea. Gwen thinks it might be Karl Silverhielm.”
Stewart’s gaze skated off to one side. “I told you, I don’t know. I only dealt with my contact.”
“What did he look like?”
“It’s all in the police report.”
“Save me some work. What did he look like?” she repeated.
Stewart shrugged. “Light hair, tall, blue eyes. One of those Nordic faces.”
“What was his name?”
Stewart snorted. “Do you think for a minute he gave me his real name? You can bet it was a fake.”
“What was it?”
“Michael Houseman.” When she rolled her eyes, he shrugged. “I told you, there’s nothing I can give to help you.”
“Was there anything else about him, anything that would let us identify him?” Joss persisted. “Think about how he moved.”
“He didn’t look like a thug. He was smooth, classy, even. And he moved like he was trained, like a boxer or something.”
“Can you remember anything about him that couldn’t be changed, his ears, maybe, or the shape of his fingers?”
“Nothing that stands out. His features were normal, nothing unusual about them. His hands were—” He stopped.
“What?”
“Well, it might not be important.”
“Let me decide that. What?”
“His right hand. There was a scar on it, between the thumb and the forefinger. I noticed it when we were shaking hands.”
“What was it shaped like?”
“A jagged line, like a knife had slipped or something.”
“Nice company you keep,” she said dryly.
He bristled. “Look, you wanted me to help, I’m helping.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. Look, you’ve given me something that might be useful.”
“And my lawyer would knock me in the head if he knew I was talking to you.”
“You did the right thing, if it helps.”
He gave a brooding stare. “Little enough of that lately.”
“Stewart.” Joss hesitated. “This’ll mean something to Gwen.”
“Tell her…” The tone signaling the end of the visiting period rang. He waited until it was silent. “I’d give anything to have done things differently,” he said finally. “Tell her that, would you?”
4
BAX SAT in his chair with his feet up on his desk, rubbing the back of his neck. He’d spent too much time on the phone that day, trying to clear up business so he could leave for Stockholm. And wondering if he were nuts. Now, as the afternoon bled away, he was trying to decide whether to write up his notes or just call it a night. He hadn’t slept well the night before, waking in the darkness from dreams of unfulfilled cravings and dangerous pursuit.
And Joss Chastain.
The bargain they’d struck the previous day had been absurd, he knew that. He’d given her his word that he’d take on the case and he’d hold to it, but there’d be no charades of being lovers, no charades of being partners. His better judgment might have been overruled at the time but it had reappeared and he needed to do the responsible thing.
With a thump, Bax dropped his feet to the floor just as Joss swept through the door, all color and light in a pleated royal blue miniskirt and a stretchy blue and silver striped shirt that wound around her body.
“I’ve found something,” she announced.
She was something, something he’d fought all day not to dwell on. Now, with her standing in his office practically vibrating with energy, their agreement seemed just a way to make a formality of the chemistry that flowed between them. The wide ebullience of her grin tempted him to taste. The curve of her waist begged him to touch. In a whirlwind second, she filled the room with her presence and completely destroyed his concentration.
And it pissed him off. “Now what?”
“I just got back from Las Vegas and I’ve got a clue.”
“Let me guess. You figured out that we’ll all be better off if you leave me alone to do my job?”
“Not that kind of clue.” She gave him a withering stare and sat in his client chair, taking her time getting comfortable. The getting comfortable involved lots of shifting and stretching that made him only more aware of her body. “Now, if you’re nice, I’ll share with you. If not, I’ll just keep quiet and let you tell me what you found out today.”
Irritating, he thought. “Let’s get something straight—”
“As your client, I’ve got a right to a report on anything you’ve found out,” she reminded him serenely.
What she didn’t have was a right to blow in here smelling of summer and seduction and completely fracturing his ability to think. “As my client, you pay me to do the investigating. That means if anyone was going to Vegas, it should have been me.”
She didn’t rise to his tone. Instead, she gave him a smile that made his pulse bump. “Some things need a woman’s touch. Anyway, in two days we’ll be flying all the way to Stockholm. Vegas is small change, by comparison.”
“You still should have told me before you went. I’ve already got the police report.” He held up a thick bundle of paper and slapped it back down on his empty desktop. “You wasted your time.”
“Not at all. I went to the Las Vegas jail to visit Stewart Oakes.”
“Who told you to take a flying leap, I hope.” Bax frowned. “His case is still in progress. You shouldn’t be talking to him.”
“His case is a formality at this point. He’s copping a plea on both sets of charges. Talking to me won’t change that. Besides, I can be persuasive when I want to be.”
Didn’t he know it, Bax thought, tearing his gaze away from her mouth. “All right, Nancy Drew, what did he tell you?”
Amusement crossed her face. She obviously knew where he’d been looking. “Well, I tried to get him to say something about the Swedish collector, but he played dumb.”
“Now there’s a surprise.”
“Not dumb
