Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(53)

“She won’t be in danger, per se.” Austin blew out at breath. “I—we need you to be your old self just for one night. A man out to make some cash with an easy score. There’s a series of unsanctioned fights taking place late Saturday night—an underground operation—and through a connection of mine, I’ve managed to put Henrik’s name on the lineup.”

Bowen and Sera exchanged a perplexed look. “Henrik?”

Austin nodded. “You’ll be posing as his manager, for lack of a better term. Sera will be safe as houses, but her role as your night’s entertainment may require her to show a little cleavage.”

When Bowen’s chair scraped back, Polly and Sera both stepped in between the two men with their hands out. “Bowen. Wait,” Polly said, her attention straying to the desktop computer where she spent so many hours, reading, filing away information. “You won’t just be helping Austin. It’s for me. And you owe me.”

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.