Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(36)

Henrik’s amusement over the couple’s defensiveness had made him even more striking, in a rugged, worldly manner that would usually appeal to Polly over, say, a flawless man who could grace the cover of European fashion magazines if he so chose. Henrik was an ex-fighter, a nice tidbit she’d learned via a little internet research this morning upon returning home. He came straight for a person, while Austin launched sneak attacks.

Checking her phone and realizing Mr. Sneak Attack was now three minutes late, Polly felt her own defensive move coming down the pike and did nothing to prevent its arrival. She smiled at Henrik and indicated the empty seat beside her. The one Austin usually fell into with the carelessness of an alley cat just in from a night of prowling the streets.

The ex-cop gave her a truly knowing look, reminding Polly he’d been placed on this squad for a reason, but took the seat anyway. God, Henrik was massive. From a distance he’d been tall, but up close his shoulders looked better suited to an NFL linebacker. The police force had lost a valuable asset in kicking out Henrik.

One of his dark eyebrows dipped, a conspiratorial move. “I think we’re interested in pissing off the same guy.”

She gave him a prim look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He gave her a slow wink. “Message received, sweetheart.”

Polly decided Henrik was good people, criminal record and all. Heck, his misdeeds might have even tipped the scales in his favor. She wondered if he would be upset knowing that—in dire need of a distraction—she’d hacked into his personal bank account this morning, the historical transactions of which had interested her enough to peruse his file on the department’s crime database.

To this day, Mr. Henrik Vance refused to admit why he’d destroyed police evidence that would have implicated local Irish mob boss Caine O’Kelly. But if Polly were a betting woman, she would have laid every last cent on that destroyed evidence implicating the beautiful, rarely pictured redhead who had the misfortune of being born with the O’Kelly last name. Ailish O’Kelly, the mob boss’s daughter, who—coincidentally—had been in custody around the time Henrik committed his crime.

Brisk, purposeful steps interrupted her thoughts, sending the heat comet ricocheting around her belly. Unless you’d been studying Austin for months as closely as she had, you would have missed the slight pause in his step, the tightening of his arrogant smile, as he joined everyone in the room.

Henrik didn’t even turn to look at the new addition, merely giving Polly a nudge in the side with his elbow. “Nailed it.”

Polly couldn’t prevent her smile, even though it trembled just a little, not unlike the insides of her thighs. A product of having the cocky Brit nearby after the orgasm festival he’d treated her to last night. She lifted the ice-cold cup of tea to her lips and watched Austin over her shoulder, as casually as she could manage. His answering look from just inside the entry was blistering, singeing her skin like a thousand tiny torches. As his attention shifted between her and Henrik, his reaction didn’t stop at anger. No, it promised retribution so powerful it swiped the oxygen out of her lungs.

Then his smug countenance was back in place, like it had always been there. In a movement brimming with male grace, he reached into the inside pocket of his trench coat and removed a package, handing it to Erin.

“What the f*ck is that?” Connor thundered.

“Repayment for a favor,” Austin replied, voice even more brisk than usual. “Fat lot of good it did me.”

Erin stared down at the brown paper bag in her lap, chewing on her bottom lip and looking miserable. “Why are you doing this to me? You know I didn’t hold up my end.” With an unhappy sound, she snatched up the bag and removed a Ruger, pointing it at Austin. “I feel guilty now. Why do you people insist on making me feel feelings?”

Polly realized she’d shot to her feet with a shouted denial of no when all six sets of eyes landed on her. Making sense of her reaction was too difficult with adrenaline sweeping through her veins; she only knew she didn’t like that gun pointed at Austin. In fact, she found herself swallowing a shout at Erin, her feet itching to move in their direction. What the hell would she do when she got there?

Her gaze was drawn to Austin, who watched her through narrowed eyes, that same unnerving but arousing way he’d done last night. “It’s not loaded, sweet.”

“Too bad,” every other male in the room muttered.

Feeling the beginnings of a red flush climb her neck, Polly spun back toward the front of the meeting room and dropped down into her chair, ignoring Henrik’s pitying headshake. Austin’s footsteps were the only sound in the room as he came closer, circling in front of her and Henrik, the way a hawk circles field mice. She refused to look up when he stopped, although his regard made her want to squirm, much the way he’d made her do on the hotel bed.

A steaming cup appeared in her line of sight, a string dangling from the side attached to a familiar square of pink paper. Her verbena mint tea. She risked a glance at Austin as she accepted the drink in his hand…and felt it down to the soles of her feet. Rage danced behind his calm exterior, making it so much more effective for the control he displayed.

Her stomach muscles seized as Austin leaned down and spoke for her ears alone. “If this is a newly devised brand of punishment, sweet, know that I prefer your other methods far more. As do you.”