Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(27)

One of the background guys sucked his teeth. “You think we’d accept a drink from one of you *s?”

Austin pretended to consider his question. “No, I suppose not. If we placed a friendly wager, however, and you won the round of drinks, it would ease the sting of accepting beer from an * such as myself. Would it not?”

Give him any group of four red-blooded American males in a sports bar, and—at the very least—one of them would find it impossible to turn down a wager. Every single time. As predicted, the leader felt compelled to step forward, although he was clearly wary. “What’s the bet?”

Austin placed the bottle cap on the bar and nodded at the bartender. “A brandy snifter and an ashtray, if you please, good sir.”

The bartender looked to the group for approval, doing what Austin asked only when he got the nod. Once the brandy snifter was set down beside the bottle cap, Austin turned the glass upside down, placing it on top of the bottle cap. To the right of the snifter, he positioned the dented metal ashtray.

“All you need to do is get the bottle cap into the ashtray, using only the snifter.” Austin grinned. “Shouldn’t be difficult for a man of constant action and daring such as yourself.”

“I don’t like this,” one of the cops muttered, but Austin kept his focus on the glass as the cop took hold of the glass stem…and quickly twisted the snifter on it’s side, attempting to scoop the bottle cap up. And failing. They always tried to scoop.

“Almost had it. I’ll give you one more go.” Austin sighed. “But if you fail this time and I succeed, you’ll send my friends and I the round of drinks instead. Sound fair?”

The leader grunted. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“No?” Austin sent a perplexed look toward the dart section, where Henrik, Bowen, and Connor watched him with quiet amusement. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll take my bottle cap back, then.” He held out his palm for a shake. “You gave it the college try, old chap.”

“Now, just wait a minute,” the leader said, right on cue. “I can get it in the damn ashtray this time. You’ll be buying the drinks, *. Not us.”

“You’re probably right.” Austin nodded toward the snifter. “You just needed a warm-up round. Now you’ve got it.”

He tried to scoop it. Again.

All pretenses dropped, Austin inserted himself between the men and took hold of the glass stem, swirling it faster and faster in a circular motion. Centrifugal force had the bottle cap rising higher and higher in the glass as it spun. When the metal piece reached the highest point inside the snifter, Austin lifted the glass quickly and let the cap drop into the ashtray.

“We’ll have two Budweisers, a Boddingtons…” Austin pointed at Henrik, lifting his voice to be heard above the cops’ irritated grumbling. “Henrik, what’s your poison?”

“Scotch. Top shelf.”

“Huh. I would have said whiskey.” Austin patted the disgruntled leader on the shoulder. “Much obliged, mate. Send them over when they’re ready.” Before the man could respond, Austin took his victory and sauntered back toward Bowen, Connor, and Henrik, who greeted him with a slow clap. “No autographs, please.”

“I can’t believe we’ve been paying for drinks this whole time,” Bowen said, flipping a dart over in his hand.

“Now.” Austin inclined his head. “Aren’t you glad your Erin talked you into inviting me?”

Connor appeared surprised by his astuteness. “She can be persuasive.”

Austin focused his attention on Henrik, who no longer looked quite so at ease as when he’d entered the bar. “Drinks are on the way. Now it’s your turn.”

The ex-cop ran a hand over his shaved head, glancing away. “I never agreed to the catch, if you’ll recall.”

“Ah, Jesus,” Bowen interjected. “That’s a total cop move.”

Austin cursed. “You know you’re married to a cop, don’t you, Driscol?”

“Fuck yeah, I am,” Bowen murmured.

Henrik’s jaw remained tight a moment, before his breath released in a long gust. “Destruction of evidence,” he finally said, voice low, challenging. “And I’d do it again. What do you think of that?”

“Money is a powerful motivator,” Connor spoke up. “Makes men do things they didn’t think they were capable of.”

Henrik shook his head. “I don’t give a f*ck about money.”

Austin had the story now, the dips and edges defining themselves. “Ah. A woman. There was a woman involved.”

The ex-cop turned his sharp gaze on Austin. “Keep the drink.”

Henrik didn’t look back as he left the bar.

As the door closed behind their new squad member, Austin picked up a dart and tossed it toward the dartboard, landing a quarter inch south of the bull’s-eye. “That’s how it’s done, chaps.”





Chapter Nine


Polly sat at the polished hotel bar she’d chosen as the meeting spot with Austin, her nerves too jumbled to drink the glass of sauvignon blanc untouched beside her right hand. She’d positioned herself strategically, across from a mirror that gave her an uninterrupted view of the hotel’s revolving door. Any minute now, Austin would walk in, dressed to kill in a dapper business suit. She really should have picked the cop uniform for him to wear. Maybe having him dressed as her least favorite profession would have turned her raging river of lust into a koi pond.