U.S. Male by Kristin Hardy Read Free Book Online Page A

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 saidwith 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.
    “Well, we don’t want our friend to somehow find out that a Chastain is staying here, do we?” She didn’t see the point in mentioning the fact that she didn’t have a credit card to her name. That was the old, feckless Joss. The new Joss was getting her act in gear. Bax didn’t look convinced, though. She tried again. “Look, if we’re lovers, we’d be registered under your name, wouldn’t we? It makes sense. Breathe,” she patted his cheek. “We’ll pay you back at the end.”
    “I’ll make sure of it. Any more surprises?”
    “Only of the most enjoyable kind,” she murmured and continued through the doors.
    Like the city outside, the lobby was a fantasy of gold and blue. Marble pillars with gold-leafed crowns soared to fifteen-foot ceilings ringed with crenellated moldings. Crystal chandeliers glimmered overhead. Underfoot, herringbone-patterned hardwood floors gleamed at the edges of royal blue carpet woven with twisting gold vines.
    “Good evening,” said the smiling woman behind the polished mahogany counter.
    “Hej,” Bax said, using the Swedish word for hello. He then astounded Joss by producing a stream of what sounded like Swedish. Once or twice, he searched for a word or the desk clerk frowned, but mostly they chatteredalong like magpies. Finally, he signed the registration card and received the key.
    “Was that what I thought it was?” Joss asked as the bellhop collected their luggage and they headed toward the elevator. “Are you fluent in Swedish?”
    “Not exactly. I’m fluent in Danish. I can get by in Swedish. Not all the words are the same, but the two are close enough that we can generally understand one another. I’m sure nearly everyone here speaks English—but I wanted to get the rust off.”
    “Didn’t sound like there was any rust on it to begin with,” Joss said, thinking of the lilting conversation she’d listened to.
    Bax shrugged and punched the call button for the elevator. “My mother was Danish. I lived in Copenhagen