Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(69)

There was no time, either. As Austin had reminded her over and over, she was playing a role. Breaking character wasn’t an option.

Bowen walked ahead of her on the sidewalk, a careless arm thrown around Sera’s shoulders, although Polly knew his attitude was far from casual. He’d made it clear if he sensed a hint of danger, Sera would be out of there in seconds and heads would roll. Polly sensed that Sera’s provocative attire wasn’t doing anything positive for Bowen’s nerves, either. Sera wore a black corseted dress with a slit running all the way to her hip. Paired with a short blond wig, the getup rendered the undercover cop virtually unrecognizable.

Initially, when Austin had pegged Bowen as the closest member of their group resembling a con, she’d been skeptical. But like had recognized like, apparently, because Bowen’s swagger and confidence were exactly what they needed to project. In his expensive suit, he was every inch the cocky boxing promoter. Smooth with just the right amount of cunning in his eyes.

Henrik was to her right, clearly unhappy at being the epicenter of their strategy, especially since he’d been informed of Derek’s involvement. Polly understood that sentiment all too well. The captain had given them a second chance, and they’d gone behind his back. It would take them a while before they earned his trust back, if ever. She didn’t hold out any hope of Henrik ever trusting any of them, however. Not after she’d unearthed the only tool that would guarantee his participation.

When they reached the glass double-door entrance, a hotel employee stepped back to allow them entry, unable to hide his interest in their ostentatiously dressed party of four. Polly checked the urge to tug her dress’s neckline higher, preferably up to her neck. Heat stole up her cheeks when she remembered Austin putting her into the garment, the way he’d dragged his tongue across her chest, his gaze locked on the swells of her breasts the entire time.

“I’m going to press these together later and slide my cock between them,” he’d said. “Other men will look tonight, sweet. They’ll want to touch. But you know your servant touches them best. And so do they.” He’d blown cool air across the damp path left behind by his tongue, turning her nipples erect. “My mistress.”

Polly pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to still the cyclone of need.

It turned out the memory was exactly what she needed, because suddenly, the hotel’s interior wasn’t intimidating. It was…sexy. Luxurious. Lit with tasteful lamps, the lobby bespoke elegance with a hint of edge, achieved by the seductive strains of modern jazz. She and Sera were drawing the attention of the male clientele, as planned, while receiving reproachful once-overs from the conservatively dressed women who frequented the upscale hotel. Bowen eased the sting, however, by sending winks in their direction.

Henrik’s surly expression—whether intentional or not—garnered a different kind of attention. With his size and authoritative demeanor, he was intimidating under normal circumstances, but his lack of smile was in such contrast to the amused, half-drunk expressions worn by Sera, Bowen, and Polly, he stood out. They followed scripted signs through the lobby and down a wide, lushly carpeted corridor where big band music signaled the event.

Just before they reached the entrance, Polly tucked a hand inside the crook of Henrik’s arm, well aware of any possible eyes on them. Reitman was just inside those doors, marking the first time she would see him since the nightclub. God, had it really only been a matter of days? “Your animosity is showing,” Polly murmured to Henrik, smiling as she said it.

“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 f*ck-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.”