Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)

by Tessa Bailey

  That brought the Bowen up short. “How’s that?”

  Sera’s head tilted, her cop sense obviously alerted by the seriousness in Polly’s tone. In her periphery, she saw Austin rock back on his heels, hands dipping into his pockets. As if he simply knew something important was coming, even based on the little information she’d revealed so far. Connected.

  “The police department set up…alerts on our police files. Past bank accounts, credit reports, social media profiles—not that any of us have one—but these alerts were put in place to ping the department if anyone tried to locate us through our cyber presence.” Polly walked backward until she could open her file cabinet, located to the right of her desk. “The safeguards were garbage, though. It took me two minutes to circumvent the firewall. So I set up my own alerts. We’ve all had hits. People digging. But Bowen…yours and Sera’s are continuous.”

  Bowen’s face lost all color as he pulled Sera into the protection of his side. “New York?”

  Polly nodded. “We’ve all been advised by Derek not to open new bank accounts or apply for credit cards…” She put her chin up. “But I opened one in your name anyway and routinely place bogus charges on it. To make it look like you two are in Los Angeles.”

  “Oh my God.” It was obvious Sera’s mind was already racing with possibilities. “Do we need to leave Chicago?”

  “No,” Polly assured her. “You’re just as safe here as anywhere.”

  Bowen was silent for long moments, but Polly could almost see him replaying the horrors from his past, one by one, behind his eyes. “Tell us what you need.” He threw a hollow glance at Austin. “Just so we’re clear, this isn’t for you.”

  Austin inclined his head at the other man, but he was staring at Polly. His expression was difficult to read, or maybe it just made Polly uncomfortable to read the awe she saw there, because she had to look away.

  “Noted,” Austin murmured. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

  An hour later, the plan had been detailed. Polly felt sick. Not because the plan wasn’t sound. It was. It would put her up close and personal with Reitman on Saturday night. If it went off without a hitch, she would finally be able to return the money the thief stole from her fathers. Austin’s daughter would be removed from the presence of evil. And everything would go back to…normal.

  But would “normal” hold the same meaning anymore?

  In order to beat a con, she would have to become one. The very thing she’d always hated the most. Sitting in a beige Chicago kitchen, hatching an illegal plan. One that required lying, stealing…it felt as though her very identity hung in the balance. And she felt a desperate need to remember where she’d come from. Why Reitman’s demise was so damn important to her. Her fathers. What they’d been through.

  When Austin’s steady focus prickled along her skin, Polly realized she’d been staring at Bowen’s small set of car keys where they sat on the kitchen table. She quickly looked away.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Having an almost-girlfriend was a damnable business, anyway.

  Austin adjusted his starched collar, nodding at an elderly woman as they crossed paths, reminding him why he’d stopped wearing the priest disguise in the first place. The blue-haired set seemed to gravitate toward him when he donned it, asking him questions about religion of all things. It was Polly’s fault, really. He’d been in a rush to grab supplies, sensing his almost-girlfriend was about to elude him in some manner that he wouldn’t appreciate.

  As usual, his prediction had proven correct, but it was of little consolation. Because instead of being ensconced in their hotel room last night, he’d spent the wee hours of the morning following her to Roanoke, Indiana. In a stolen Lincoln. One that had been parked on his block in Chicago for months, amassing parking tickets left, right, and center. Honestly, the owner had been begging for it to be lifted, hadn’t he?

  That morning in Austin’s apartment, Polly had confided her father, Drake, lived in Roanoke, although Austin had no address for the man. Something a certain hacker might have been able to help him with, ironically. He’d followed her to an apartment complex, but while he’d been waiting outside, she must have exited through the parking garage or back entrance because he’d just managed to catch sight of her leaving in the passenger side of a red Jeep. Her father’s vehicle, presumably, since Polly drove a black hybrid. He’d had to guess as to her destination, hoping she would come to town for breakfast, shopping, or some such activity. Waiting outside the complex for her return was an option, he supposed, but it would mean waiting longer to see her. And that, he didn’t like.

  Her gradual withdrawal yesterday during the meeting at her apartment gave him some indication of why she’d felt the need to get out of Chicago. And if he was correct—as he usually was—Polly had driven three hours for…comfort. Which jump-started the dreadful ache in his chest cavity that never seemed to stop anymore.

  Austin thought they’d hit a milestone of sorts in the hallway outside her apartment. He’d promised to hold her, and she’d seemed amenable. Hadn’t she? Yes. Quite amenable. If memory served, she’d moaned his name when he touched her pussy. In his experience, that served as a yes, please for any outstanding suggestions.

  “You’re mental,” he muttered under his breath. Polly wasn’t like anything in his experience, a fact that had been solidified on countless occasions. Not the least of which was her display of quiet genius yesterday evening. Of course she’d been protecting her squad mates for months without breathing a word. The stark opposite of what he would have done, likely lording it over their heads in exchange for something advantageous. In the end, she had, and it had everything to do with his influence.

  You’re bad for her. You’d be bad for anyone.

  A squeal of laughter caused a stutter in Austin’s stride, his attention zeroing in on a park across the moderately busy avenue of downtown Roanoke. Children hung upside down from monkey bars, kicked up sand as they ran from one end of the playground to the next. They were of varying ages, but if he guessed any of them, he would probably be off by a matter of years. He knew nothing of children or parks or squeals of laughter. Gemma was only three, so she wouldn’t be among those children just yet, would she? Someday.

  One of the children let go of the monkey bars only to be caught by a man—presumably their father—and tossed up into the air. Gemma would never know her father. Austin held no delusions in that regard. But his final act in her life would be to make sure she never felt the negative effects of his past misdeeds. That was all he had to offer.

  But what did he have to offer Polly?

  A hot tingle at the back of his neck made him break stride again. Did the mere act of thinking Polly’s name cause a physical reaction now?

  It always has.

  Right.

  No, this time it was more. Half a block ahead, Polly walked arm in arm with a gray-haired man. In the opposite arm, she carried a small bouquet of pink tulips, and it was very suddenly all too much. Seeing her walking with someone else—father or not. A someone who’d probably been the one to buy her tulips. He would have gone for roses. Red ones to match the way she blushed. The color of her lips when the wind chapped them.

  What the sodding hell was he doing in Roanoke? She had every right to visit her father without Austin tailing her movements. It was an invasion of her privacy, and yet if he’d stayed behind in Chicago, he would have been climbing the goddamn walls by now worrying for her safety. Wondering if she’d needed space to remind herself why he was a shit almost-boyfriend. Really, that wouldn’t take much space at all, which is why he’d been planning on fucking her to distraction, giving new meaning to “the best-laid plans.”

  Maybe you’re not quite the mastermind you thought you were.

  With an effort, Austin smiled at yet another elderly lady—apparently this town was bloody well brimming with them—and she stopped, laying a hand on his arm. “Good morning, Father.”

  He swallowed the i
rony of anyone at all calling him “father” and smiled back, careful to keep an eye on Polly as she stopped outside a café. The gray-haired man rubbed a circle onto her back as they perused a sidewalk menu, presumably deciding whether or not to go inside. “Good morning.” He hadn’t used his Irish brogue in ages, but it was spot-on. It was a good thing he’d done his homework while waiting for Polly outside the complex, too. This disguise required him to hide in plain sight, as it were. Priests didn’t lurk behind buildings, after all. They chatted and employed patience. Damn, but he hated that disguise. “Could you direct me to Saint Paul’s? I’m visiting, you see. I fear I’ve gotten myself a bit turned around.”

  “Of course.” The woman pointed in Polly’s direction, where she and her father had been seated at a sidewalk table, taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather. She was smiling. How could he love that smile and resent it at the same time, simply because it wasn’t for him? Would they ever eat together in public, or had he doomed them already by suggesting their encounters remain within the confines of a hotel room? He’d hoped it would just be a stepping-stone, but perhaps he’d sold them short early, thinking he’d satisfy her physically and worry about the rest later.

  All right. Time to face facts. He was a bloody idiot. Yes, he’d found what Polly needed in bed and made sure she received it, but she wasn’t a mark he could overwhelm with sex and expect her trust to follow. Even if he could accomplish such a feat, he didn’t want the kind of blind, gullible trust from Polly that he’d won from women in the past with so little effort. No. The idea of it made him queasy. Earning her trust was the key, and the opportunity to prove himself worthy lay just ahead. His final con.

  The older lady stopped and resumed her direction-giving one more time, but Austin had been safe tuning her out considering he knew exactly where Saint Paul’s was located.

  “Father, if it’s not too much trouble, would you mind if I walked with you a ways? My friend Jean is sitting in the park over yonder and she could use some counsel. She’ll tell you she doesn’t, but trust me. She’s a damn wreck and I know I shouldn’t swear in front of a man of God, but I—”

  “Lead the way,” Austin interrupted gently. “I’m on God’s time. And God’s time belongs to the people.”

  She pressed a hand to her bosom. “Thank you, Father. Now, I’ll just fill you in on the way over…”

  Austin actually had to bite down on his tongue as they passed Polly where she placed a breakfast order, for fear he would shout at her for leaving Chicago without a word. Honestly. When had he become so irrational? Or he might have just shouted at her for looking so edible in a red-and-white polka-dot dress when he couldn’t get his fucking hands on her. God, the things he would do to her right now. Probably best to hold off on images of tongue-fucking Polly while dressed as a priest, however. A hard-on might be a touch difficult to explain.

  When he heard Polly placing her order, however, he couldn’t resist reaching into his pocket and dropping the contents onto her table.

  ...

  “It’s the strangest thing,” Polly’s father said, drumming his fingers on the table as he perused the menu. “I can’t find our Fullings’ verbena mint tea anywhere now. It’s like it up and disappeared off the face of the earth.”

  The waiter stood to Polly’s left, pen scratching down their orders as her father sighed in disappointment that their tea wasn’t listed. “Yeah. Something like that,” she muttered, wishing little reminders of Austin—such as his epic tea-bag hoarding efforts—would stop popping up. “I’ll have coffee instead, please.”

  “Me, too,” Drake said, handing his menu back to the waiter.

  Polly followed suit, smiling when they were alone again. “So. Have you forgiven me for surprising you?”

  “You know I hate surprises. There’s a reason people have phones and calendars and phones.” Her father reached across the table and tapped her hand in reproof. “Would it have killed you to call ahead? The guest room hasn’t been dusted in months.”

  “I’m not staying.” She had to look away from his disappointment. “I can’t stay. I have to get back to work tomorrow.”

  “On a Saturday?”

  Well. She hadn’t really thought that one through, had she? Not that many nuggets of wisdom had been forthcoming since she’d made the decision to break up with Chicago for the day. The farther she’d gotten from Chicago, the worse the drilling in her middle had become. A little crew of tinkers chipped away at her stomach lining with tiny pickaxes, singing merrily through her misery. It had taken her a few hours to clue in to the problem, but her humorless laughter had rung out inside the borrowed car when the reason for her anxious feelings became obvious.

  These were withdrawals. She was addicted to Austin. And God, she wished it were just the sex. Because, by all things holy, the man was criminally talented. Putting on her underwear, showering, tying her shoelaces. All these actions had taken on new significance. Every action felt like preparation. Would he call her “mistress” next time? Or would he be too desperate to allow games?

  What would it feel like when he held her?

  She wanted the promised holding almost as much as the epic, leg-shaking orgasm that would surely precede it. I can’t think of anything but you. She still couldn’t believe those words had come out of Austin’s mouth. Even more unbelievable, they could have come straight out of hers.

  Much as she’d like to pretend otherwise, the sentiment had been mutual for so long. She’d put it down to a rivalry, the way he’d commandeered her thoughts that first meeting. Using the excuse of wanting to stay on her toes where Austin was concerned, she hadn’t seen her infatuation for what it was. Now that those glimpses beneath his surface were no longer fleeting, but…extended and powerful? The truth wouldn’t stay buried anymore. She’d fallen for Austin despite his past, his arrogance, his seeming lack of remorse. And getting to know him as more than an admittedly manipulative con man had only solidified her feelings.

  But Polly had always been a realistic person. That personality trait was what had drawn her to computers in the first place. Once programmed, they didn’t deviate. You could depend on the outcomes they provided, and if they froze or encountered a glitch, there was a tried-and-true method of fixing them. If she and Austin tried…holding…what if they didn’t compute? Was there a method of fixing her when he walked away, his sights set on the next mark? The next…woman? Truth was, they didn’t work together on paper. They were already a failed line of code. The time they’d spent together over the last few days didn’t change the very important fact that he was a con. She was supposed to loathe him.

  Somewhere along the line, though, she’d stopped. And looking at the man across from her, the father who’d been conned by Austin’s ex-partner, she felt like the ultimate traitor.

  “So eerily quiet over there.” Drake gave her that familiar smile, the one where she could see the overbite he claimed made him accessibly handsome. “Makes me think this visit is more than some whimsical road trip.”

  Polly smirked at his sarcasm. They both knew she did nothing in the name of whimsy. But she appreciated his humor all the same. He’d even maintained it throughout her prison time and tangles with the law, when he should have been questioning his lot in life. After being swindled and left alone by his partner, he’d still managed to remain positive over having adopted a dud daughter. “I owed you a visit. It’s been—”

  “Three years.” He lifted a white eyebrow. “But who’s counting?”

  “You, obviously.” Polly sucked in a slow breath, wishing she could just sit there and enjoy her father’s company and the familiar surroundings of Roanoke. There was too much on her mind that needed resolving, however, and so little time existed in which to accomplish it. “Dad, did you ever…was there anyone before Kevin who wasn’t as good for you?”

  “Women, you mean?”

  She laughed. “Sure. Make me spell it out.”

  “I’m just funnin’ you.” His eyes tw
inkled in the midmorning sunlight. “But I’m also not going to accept some roundabout bullshit when we’ve always dealt straight with each other.” He chuckled. “Dealt straight. Did you hear me?”

  The pressure on Polly’s shoulders was easing with each passing second, but something else replaced it. Regret? Yes. More than usual. Why? “You’re right. That was some roundabout bullshit.” She smoothed the napkin already resting on her lap. “The man who took your money—”

  “You mean, the man you’re after. The man you won’t stop going after, no matter how many times I tell you the past must remain in the past.” He lifted an eyebrow. “That man?”

  “Yes. Reitman.” After she’d been sentenced for hacking into the government server, Drake had implored Polly to use her talent for something positive. All it had taken was an extended silence, and the man who knew her so well had deduced her next move. That it would include hunting down Reitman. He also knew Polly well enough not to expend any more energy talking her into ending her crusade, which only increased her love for him tenfold. Made it even more imperative that Reitman pay for what he’d done. The life and livelihood he’d stolen.

  Polly’s eyes were drawn across the street to the park, where a priest was surrounded by a dozen elderly women who were giving him very little space. Oddly enough, the sight lifted her mood.

  “I’ve met a man in Chicago. A man who…he made his living stealing money. The way Reitman did.” She couldn’t tell him they’d stolen together. Saying it out loud was still too hard and somehow pushed her relationship with Austin over the line from probably doomed to definitely doomed.

  Drake coughed into his first. “Any time you want to try to stop shocking me into an early grave would be ideal.”

  “I’m sorry.” The waiter dropped off their coffees, but neither of them made a move to touch the steaming mugs. “With Reitman, did you ever feel like a veil dropped and you could see the real him?”

  “Yes. But it was calculated. Something I ascertained when it was too late.” Her father sighed and reached into his jacket pocket, searching for cigarettes she’d made him stop smoking at age fourteen. “There were also times the facade fell away and I saw something unsavory. I chose to make excuses or put my premonitions down to stress.”