Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(56)

“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 twinkled 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.”

Polly thought back to her first encounter with Austin, then let six months of interactions play out like a movie reel. Memories of hot glances that caused a flush beneath her clothes. His voice speaking in her ear, saying just the right thing to keep her on edge, start her pulse skipping like stones across a quiet lake. Long before they’d met at the hotel, he’d been employing an effective brand of seduction. Until now, she’d chosen to ignore the little things, though. Austin slipping an umbrella into her hand on a morning when she’d forgotten hers, but disguising the kind gesture with a warm breath against her neck. Austin using work discussions as an excuse to accompany her home on the train, dropping constant innuendos along the way so she wouldn’t notice he’d just wanted to see her into the building safely.

So many instances where he would negate a kindness…on purpose. As if it made him uncomfortable to be sincere, but he accomplished it in his own way that was almost too subtle to notice what he’d done. But never—never—had her gut told her Austin possessed the same evil as a man like Reitman. Would Reitman—or any irredeemable con for that matter—find his way to Chicago to watch over a daughter for whom he could never be a parent? Would he protect another person without the promise of any personal gain, as he’d done with her?

Lost in her train of thought, Polly reached for the sugar, intending to doctor her coffee—

Tea bags with pink tags. Two of them were haphazardly placed just behind the plastic container. “Did you bring these?”

She snatched them up, excitement drumming in her veins when Drake appeared just as surprised to see them. “The restaurant said they were out.” Her father plucked one out of her fingers. “God, I haven’t seen one of these in ages.”

Austin was there.

Polly only half heard Drake speculating on the tea bags’ mysterious appearance as she stood back from the table, felt the napkin flutter to her feet. Of course he’d come. Relief swept in and blanketed her, its instantaneous calming effect taking her by surprise. As soon as her legs straightened, she wondered how she hadn’t felt Austin’s presence before. It sat on the air, potent and crackling with dynamism. It attacked her stomach, twisting it in delicious knots as she scanned the streets, the other sidewalk diners.

When her gaze was drawn back to the priest, now surrounded by no less than twenty bickering women, Polly’s upper lip curled.

“Dad, is it okay if I meet you at home?”