Free Certified Male by Kristin Hardy Page A

“So, how do you know it’s for real? You have a certificate or something?”
    He cleared his throat. “This is a recent acquisition. I don’t have paperwork for it yet, but I hope to.”
    â€œThen how do you know it’s authentic?” she asked casually, flipping the pages of the catalog to spy another stamp from the store collection. And another. “Do you know where they got it?”
    â€œI don’t ask those questions.”
    I’m sure you don’t, Gwen thought. “How much?” she said aloud.
    He looked at her and looked at the stamp, considering. “Oh, normally I’d ask six thousand, but since you look like you might be interested in long-term collecting, I’ll take five to get you started.”
    Outrage flooded through her. Five? The catalog value of the stamp was thirty-five hundred.
    â€œOf course,” he said silkily, brushing his fingers over the back of her hand, “that price includes personal advice on the investment value of rare stamps, perhaps in a more…conducive setting. Who knows, you might even get me to drop the price even further.”
    It made her skin crawl but she took care not to show it. “Well, you can start by telling me more about this stamp. I guess every one of them has a story. Tell me—” she looked at him speculatively “—did the guy who sold it to you say where he got it?”
    â€œI make my business buying and selling, not asking.”
    â€œHow do you know it was his to sell?”
    The dealer moved his hand away. “The appraisal takes care of all of that,” he said briskly, seeming to realize that he’d already said too much. “Are you interested?”
    â€œLet me think it over.” She gave him an intimate smile, but she’d let her moment slip away, she understood. He wasn’t going to tell her any more. “Can you set the stamp aside? I need to talk with my friend. I’m sure he’ll want an appraisal.”
    â€œFor you, anything.” His hand drifted south of his belt. “And think about what I said. I can teach you a lot about stamps and maybe throw in a tour of the city. I’ve lived in Vegas for twenty years. I can show you all the sights.”
    â€œI’ll bet you can,” Gwen told him. “I’ll just bet you can.”
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    B ACK IN HER ROOM, SHE DIALED Stewart’s cell phone. “I’ve found him,” she said without preamble.
    â€œHuh? What?” She could practically see him trying to catch up. “Where?”
    â€œVegas, of all places.”
    â€œVegas! How’d you find him?”
    â€œI tracked the 1847 Benjamin Franklin. A guy from out here answered that posting I put on the loop.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, out here? You didn’t go carting off to Vegas to find him, did you? For god sakes, Gwennie, use some sense. Your thief could be dangerous.”
    â€œStewart, I’ve got to get those stamps back.”
    â€œSo, what, you’re going to grab him and pound him until he tells you where they are? Point a gun at him and make him sweat? This isn’t a movie.”
    â€œI know,” she said, her excitement dissipating. No, it wasn’t a movie, but the whole thing certainly felt unreal. “And I don’t know where he is exactly, anyway. I just know he’s been here. The dealer’s got three of our stamps.”
    â€œYou sure he bought them from your guy?”
    â€œThey’re ours, that much I know. Where he bought them, I can’t be sure. He’s giving me the runaround.” Gwen rose and began pacing, the cordless phone in her hand. “Hehad to get it from Jerry, though. It’s too soon for them to have changed hands more than once.”
    â€œI’m surprised he’d bother messing with you.”
    His confidence warmed her. “I didn’t tell him who I was or why I was asking. I couldn’t take the chance of it