Free U.S. Male by Kristin Hardy Page A

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. Infact, 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,