Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)

by Tessa Bailey

  “Good.” His jaw flexed. “Tonight, I’m a fallen cop who’s been reduced to fighting for money. Not that far off when you think about it. I don’t have much of a reason to smile.”

  Polly wanted to reassure him things would get better, but the words would have been empty. “You have every right to hate me for digging into your business, I—”

  “The only person I hate is myself. For not seeing it coming. For needing the information you found in the first place. But I do. I need it.” He looked irritated with himself for revealing too much. “Your smile is slipping, Polly.”

  He’s right. Polly mentally shook herself, putting her game face back on. Austin was probably shitting a brick, listening to her talking about anything that didn’t pertain to Henrik’s upcoming boxing match.

  A man stood with a clipboard just outside the partially ajar door, watching the foursome approach with an expression of awe and apprehension. Before tonight, she’d never stopped to wonder what their band of ex-convicts presented to the world, but they were nothing short of daunting in street clothes. Throw in party attire and a fuck-off attitude and they were a force. She could hear Austin’s accented voice in her head. Walk in like you own the bloody place. For all they know, you do own it. Nine out of ten people abhor confrontation, so be someone they want to avoid. No one holding a clipboard is desperate enough to keep their job that they’ll fight you about entering a party where you clearly belong.

  Bowen turned to Polly and Henrik, speaking loud enough for Clipboard to hear. “Just one quick drink, I swear, then we’ll get back to my place.”

  “Thank God,” Polly returned, leaning into Henrik’s side. “I’ve been to so many of these fundraisers lately, I should be nominated for sainthood.”

  Sera threw her a skeptical look. “Uh. I think it’s safe to say that last night knocked you out of the running.”

  Three of them burst into laughter, Henrik being the sole holdout, as Bowen jerked open the ballroom door. They didn’t pause on their way into the noisy event, ignoring the suited gentleman’s muttered request to see an invitation. Polly trailed a finger over his chest as they passed, cutting him off.

  And just like that, one obstacle was down.

  The biggest one lay ahead.

  Inside the semi-crowded darkness, playing the carefree party girl was easier than it had been in the lobby. For one thing, there were a lot of boobs on display, not just her own, although she could feel eyes traveling over her as they filtered through the guests on their way to the bar. My mistress.

  Polly lifted a glass of champagne from a passing tray and tipped it to her lips, allowing the healthy swallow to slide down her throat. Immediately, the music sounded louder, the risk of their actions more pronounced. There were approximately two hundred guests at the function, wealth projecting from each of them. Reitman would see them as marks.

  As if the simple act of thinking the man’s name had produced his location, Polly saw Reitman in her peripheral vision. Adrenaline spiked in her veins, but she sipped the champagne to keep it contained. She counted to ten, then performed a slow perusal of the dance floor and seating area, only allowing her gaze to pause on Reitman for one-tenth of a second. He was tapping an empty champagne glass against the side of his leg, a speculative expression molding his features as he watched their group fan out at the bar. Bowen hopped up on a leather stool, dragging Sera into the space between his outstretched legs, all while ordering a round of drinks. Polly made a mental note to have a discussion with Derek about their underutilization of Bowen during undercover operations.

  Henrik crossed his arms and stood at Bowen’s elbow while Polly swayed in a circle to the music. The other guests gave them a wide berth, speaking in hushed tones behind their beverages. Honestly, they were taking hiding in plain sight to the next level, although their behavior wasn’t inappropriate. Just loud as hell without saying a single word. They made small talk with one another, throwing out innocuous topics to keep them appearing animated. All the while, she could feel Austin’s presence just outside, listening to her, speaking to her even though she couldn’t hear him.

  They had been inside the ballroom for four songs when Reitman sidled up to the bar beside Bowen and Sera. Not one of them so much as blinked, merely continuing to laugh at the story Bowen had just finished telling. A story about him stealing a chicken off the back of a truck in Brooklyn and putting it in his grade school teacher’s desk, although Polly had no idea whether or not it was true.

  “Should we have another drink here, or head out?” Bowen asked the group, already reaching for his wallet.

  “Out,” Polly sighed, echoed a second later by Sera.

  Henrik’s bored expression was his only response.

  “Excuse me.”

  That was the first time she’d ever heard Reitman’s voice. It sounded like a shiny nickel. Harmless. Years of resentment twisted like a wrench in her sternum, but she fought to ignore the pain and focus. Reitman smiled at each of them in turn, before nodding at Bowen. “Mind if I buy you and your friends a drink?”

  Bowen traded a suspicious look with Henrik. “Is there something we can help you with?”

  Reitman didn’t show even a hint of alarm at the instant animosity. “I hoped we could talk.” He tipped his now-full champagne glass in Henrik’s direction. “You’ve got a fighter’s stance. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  A subtle change transformed the air at the bar, making the group feel pressed in close, rather than in a loose circle as they were. This eventuality was exactly what they’d wanted, but now that it was upon them, Polly felt an almost-giddy need to make an excuse and leave. No. No. Years of strategic choices had led her to this night, and she wouldn’t abandon her cause now. It wasn’t only her cause anymore. It was Austin’s. The friends they’d involved.

  “I’ve been told that a time or two,” Henrik finally answered, tight-lipped.

  Bowen laughed, breaking just enough of the tension for Polly to draw a breath. He passed Reitman a conspiratorial look. “We weren’t exactly invited to this little shindig, so you’ll excuse us for not being warm and fuzzy.” He scratched a spot beneath his right eye. “Who knows? You might have been security.”

  “I’m about the furthest thing from security,” Reitman returned smoothly. “And hotel security would take one look at your friend and make for greener pastures. No one wants to tangle with a dirty cop turned prizefighter.”

  Henrik remained still as a statue. Sera and Polly laughed nervously, but Bowen only appeared speculative as he watched Reitman. “That’s right. I heard there would be action at this party. Is that still the case?”

  A reed-thin woman with a cap of blue-black hair bumped hips with Reitman, before dropping a noisy kiss on his cheek. “Hey, babe. You left me hanging back there. Where’s my drink? I’m going to die.”

  Polly just managed to maintain an expression of mild interest, but jealousy prowled like a caged animal in her stomach. Why hadn’t she expected this? Isobel had just joined them. Reitman’s mark. The mother of Austin’s child.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Austin thought he might be sick. He’d known Isobel would be at the event, but he’d banked on Reitman’s shaking her long enough to arrange a deal with Bowen. He’d considered the possibility that she and Polly would come face-to-face, but it was an altogether fucked-up difference to hear his girl’s breathing change, her heartbeat dull to a soft pound via the wire taped between her breasts. Goddammit. Having this situation so far out of his control was unacceptable. She was upset, and he was stuck in a bloody panel van with a gaggle of cops. How had he gotten here?

  He took a deep breath through his nose and focused on later. Later. Later. When he would have Polly beneath him in bed. She would be stiff at first, still fresh from sharing oxygen with someone with whom he had a past. A child. If the shoe were on the other foot, putting Austin in the same room with an ex of Polly’s? He’d have the man in a chokehold already, whether it were rational or not. His h
ands fisted and shook just imagining it. If Polly felt even a fraction of that…

  Focus on tonight. She wouldn’t want to be soothed, but he’d give her no choice except to listen. She would hear the words he’d been holding back, again and again, while he rocked into her. There would be no satisfaction for him until she believed him. That life before her was unbearable. That he’d been hiding under a series of identities until she’d made it all right to be…Austin.

  He just needed to hold on to tonight. It was almost over.

  Bridling his apprehension as much as humanly possible, Austin tuned back in to the voices interspersed with static. Derek grumbled something to an officer wearing a headset, who turned a series of knobs, making the conversation clearer.

  “Ah, here’s your drink.” A beat passed. “Isn’t that your friend Shayna?” Reitman, obviously talking to Isobel. A muffled female response followed, to which Reitman replied, “Sure, go catch up. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

  Some static intruded, clearing just in time for Bowen to speak up. “I have to say, man, seems like you’ve already got a good thing going. Sure you want to take this action?”

  Reitman laughed, but there was an underlying note of tension. “Why don’t you let me worry about that?” The tinkling of glasses. “You might be the first fight promoter I’ve met to question cash in any form.”

  Austin could picture Bowen spreading his arms, chip on his shoulder all but visible beneath his suit jacket. “Maybe I don’t need it.”

  “I don’t trust my money with people who do need it.”

  Derek whistled through his teeth. “Smart motherfucker.”

  Austin nodded. “Don’t assume you’ve seen the tip of his iceberg. Imagine how intelligent one must be to be my mentor.”

  The technician turned to Austin with a raised eyebrow, but he only shrugged and went back to listening in on the exchange. He could hear Bowen and Henrik having a low discussion, obviously feeling out Reitman between each other.

  “Now these two stick out like sore thumbs…” Reitman was speaking. To Polly and Sera? “You ladies stand out for a different reason. It’s a pleasure to be in such beautiful company.”

  “Thank you.” Polly giggled. “Pretty smooth, aren’t you?”

  Austin could practically feel Reitman’s grin through the wire. “Sometimes. But I can be rough when the occasion calls for it.”

  Bile burned in Austin’s throat. “Fuck. I want this over.”

  “This is your show, in case you’ve forgotten,” Derek said. “We could have done this by the book if you hadn’t kept me in the dark.”

  “Keep believing that, if it helps your badge stay shiny.”

  Bowen’s voice filtered through the speaker. “Fight is two nights from now, but we don’t give out a location until two hours before the bell, for obvious reasons. It’ll be posted on this website and will go dark after thirty minutes.” Austin imagined the business card he’d crafted being slid across the bar. “Our boy has three-to-one odds in his favor. These cats are lining up to bet on an ex-cop with nothing to lose.” Silence passed. “A shit-ton of money will be lost when he takes the fall, but it won’t be us losing it. If you’ve got the cash up front.”

  Reitman cleared his throat. “I’m good for it.”

  “Well, then,” Bowen said, backed by the sound of glasses being tapped together. “Fucking mazel tov.”

  “You’re not good for it until we see it.” Henrik’s voice rumbled amid the crackling connection. “I’m not lying down based on your word. We don’t know you from Adam.”

  “He still talks like a cop,” Reitman said, amused. “I don’t expect blind faith. But one of you will have to come along with me to pick up my offering. I can get away long enough to make one stop, but not two.”

  Bowen’s sigh wasn’t overdone, just a touch irritated. Not bad. “If it has to be right now, I’ll go.” A yelp from Sera, following by the musical notes of feminine laughter. “Much as I don’t want to let this girl out of my sight.”

  “No.” Despite his negative answer, there was a smile in Reitman’s voice. “She comes with me. I’ll let you know where to pick her up.”

  A frigid wind blew through Austin, icing every inch of his insides. Breathing ceased to be an option. Which girl? Polly? No. No. What the fuck was happening?

  “Me?” Polly laughed, Sera joining in. “I said you were smooth, not lucky.”

  Reitman wasn’t laughing. “As we’ve already established this evening, I play winning odds. And four against one is a losing bet, especially when my money is on the line.” No one spoke for a moment. “I’m not picky about which girl comes along, but I get the feeling no one’s prying her out of your cold, dead hands,” Reitman continued, obviously referring to Sera. “So the redhead comes with me and gets the two-fifty. Real easy.”

  “Not happening,” Bowen said. “It’s all of us, or the deal’s off.”

  Austin slumped back against the van wall, making a silent but fervent promise not to be an asshole to Bowen in the future. At this point, he just wanted Polly out of there so fucking bad, weight bore down on his chest, crushing his lungs. They would regroup. Do it by the book—

  “Whatever. I’ll go,” Polly broke in, speaking in a hushed tone, pushing straight through Bowen’s repeated protests. “You can’t turn down that much money. Take his wife’s name and phone number and call it if you don’t hear from me in half an hour. Fair?”

  “She’s smarter than she looks,” Reitman observed. “Maybe you should listen. She’s already contemplating how many dresses she can buy with the winnings.”

  “Look, it’s settled,” Polly said. “No big deal. One quick ride so we can get this party back on track. Take the number.”

  Austin knew what Bowen and Henrik were thinking. With Polly wearing the wire, they would be able to hear everything. They would have him on illegal gambling charges as soon as he handed over the cash. Not to mention, Chicago PD was outside, prepared to follow Reitman’s vehicle. But they didn’t know Reitman like Austin did. There was blood in the water, and no one could see it but him.

  “Get Polly out of there,” Austin croaked, forcing words past the squeeze in his throat. “He’s made her. I don’t know how, but he’s made her.”

  “I’m not getting that.” Derek appeared skeptical, but not dismissive. “He’s covering his ass. And we’re going to cover it, too, as soon as they’re on the road.”

  Austin lunged toward the van door, but Derek wrestled him back. “If he sees you, this entire operation—or any others—will be blown. You think Polly wants that?”

  Austin heaved Derek off of him with a growl. “I want her alive to be mad at me.” He was shouting and didn’t give a fuck. His heart was going to explode inside his chest if he didn’t get eyes on Polly now. “I’m getting her out. If you try to stop me, I will kill you all.”

  Two guns were drawn on him. “Wrong thing to say,” Derek said, gesturing for his officers to lower their weapons. “You can either sit down and be an asset in this operation or I can have you taken downtown to wait in a cell to hear the outcome.”

  There was only one factor in play that kept Austin from tearing the van apart from the inside out—and he hoped to God he hadn’t misplaced his faith. I never go into a job unless I know for sure I can win. When he’d told Polly that, he’d meant it. If tonight were the one time that oath failed to be true, he wouldn’t allow himself to see tomorrow’s sunrise.

  …

  Polly waited for Reitman outside the hotel’s back entrance. He’d gone around front to retrieve his car from valet parking, after which he would swing around and pick her up, since they couldn’t be seen leaving together. She truly expected Austin to come storming down the dark, narrow street any moment, asking if she’d lost her mind. Maybe she had. But letting the whole ruse drop when so many people were counting on the outcome seemed worse than a car ride with Reitman. His logic had made sense to her, his lack of desire to be robbed or overpowered by t
wo men he didn’t know. They were so close to the finish line, derailing now wasn’t an option.

  Her decision might have been different if the captain hadn’t supplied her with a gun, in addition to the wire. The department-issued piece weighed her purse down in a manner both comforting and unnerving. Polly’s wits were her weapon of choice in every instance. Having the option of violence, whether it was unlikely or not, started a pulse ticking behind her right eye. Made her depth perception feel off, the way it does in abstract dreams.

  Trying not to think about her squad mates’ obvious disapproval over her choice, Polly ran a finger down the wire between her breasts, between the unbuttoned opening of her coat. It was comforting, knowing Austin could hear her. But she couldn’t say what was on her mind with God knew how many officers listening, so she kept quiet. When headlights illuminated the street, Polly straightened from her casual lean against the wall. He slowed to a stop at the curb in a silver Mercedes, reaching across the console to push open the passenger door.

  “Such a gentleman,” Polly murmured, sliding onto the leather seat and closing the door. “Silver car for a silver fox, huh?”

  His smile was tighter than it had been inside. “Sure.”

  Polly crossed her legs and dug through her purse for a piece of gum. “How far away are we going?”

  “Not far.”

  All right. That wouldn’t really help the officers listening. She’d been hoping for a neighborhood, at least. She resisted the urge to check the rearview for any headlights following them. “You’re a real conversational—”

  “It was the way you danced,” Reitman interrupted. “I didn’t get a good look at your face that night at the club, but I remember the way you danced. Same way you danced tonight. All hips and no shoulders. Not that I’m complaining about the hips.”

  Before he even finished speaking, Polly was considering a grab for the door handle, prepared to dive out of the car, if necessary. Her decision was split between that dangerous idea and removing the gun from her purse, but two things happened at once, preventing her from following through on either. Reitman locked the passenger-side door. And he cocked a gun at her, holding it down in his lap with the hand not occupied steering the car. Her breath echoed so loudly in her ears, it almost drowned out the passing traffic. Shit. Shit.