Sealed With A Kiss. Kristin Hardy

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      5

      AT FIRST GLANCE, Stockholm seemed to be as much water as land, vivid bands of blue weaving their way among the confusion of islands that formed the city. Whereas most metropolitan areas boasted a single river winding through, in Stockholm water charmed the visitor at every turn, from broad passes to narrow inlets between the steep rock, or tree-lined edges of the islands. Bridges vaulted from shore to shore and boats and ferries sailed in between, seeming more a part of the city than the streets and cars.

      As the taxi brought Bax and Joss into the heart of Stockholm, the modern utilitarian structures that had dominated the landscape at the fringes gave way to the aged, graceful buildings of the old city. They sat shoulder to shoulder on the waterfronts, their ornate and gabled facades tinted ocher and blush, tan and pale yellow. The old city was a pastel fantasy, reflected in the rippling waters of lake and sea.

      “It’s lovely,” Joss murmured. “So much blue and so many trees. I had no idea.”

      “You should see it farther east, in the archipelago,” Bax said. “It’s something else, just islands and water. That’s where our friend lives, on his own private island.”

      “His own private fortress, more like.” Joss stared out the windows of the cab, eagerly taking in the sights of the city. “So you’ve been to Stockholm before, I take it?”

      “Passed through a few times.”

      “Often enough to know anyone useful?”

      He gave her a pitying look. “Isn’t that why you hired me? As a matter of fact, I’ve already arranged a meeting.”

      “I apologize for underestimating you,” Joss said, looking over to see him relaxed on the seat in his travel clothes. She should have known he’d be organized. There was nothing for getting to know another person like taking a long and complicated international flight together. Bax always had ticket and passport in hand, chose the right line, knew where their seats were. That wasn’t too much of a surprise to her. What had been a surprise was how quickly the hours together had gone, lightened up by his flashing humor and odd bits of knowledge.

      She’d expected the trip to be illuminating on the subject of John Baxter. She hadn’t expected it to be fun.

      The taxi swung around a U-turn and pulled to a stop in front of a rococo fantasy of a hotel. “The Royal Viking,” the cab driver announced. Windows topped with stylized lintels marched across the high, sheer front of the hotel. On the first floor, elaborate carvings decorated the rosy stone facade. Flags flew from the green copper roof, snapping in the breeze. Behind them, script letters spelled out Royal Viking against the sky.

      At the foot of the hotel lay the waterfront, lined with the white tour boats and ferries.

      The building had the same sort of presence as an aging prima ballerina, stylish and graceful, but mellowed. There were small signs, perhaps, of the passage of time, but the bones and muscles remained disciplined.

      “The Royal Viking, huh? You’ve got expensive taste,” Bax commented as they got out.

      “I figure if we want to get our friend’s attention, we’ve got to walk the walk, as well as talk the talk,” Joss said with a little smile, watching the blue-uniformed bellhop bring a wheeled luggage rack out to collect their bags. “If I’ve inherited some of Jerry’s stolen swag, I should already be living well off the more easily fenced items, right? Besides, if they think I’m not too smart, they’re likely to drop their guard.”

      “To their peril.”

      She smiled at him. “Exactly. By the way, the room’s under your name,” she said over her shoulder and walked through the doors into the hotel.

      “What?” Bax stopped her, brows lowering.