Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(7)

Austin had a contentious relationship with Bowen, the former Brooklyn gang leader, but more of it stemmed from jealousy than anything else. Not over his looks, obviously. Austin had everyone beat in that department, thank you very much. No, his envy stemmed from Bowen’s inability to hide his thoughts or emotions. They flashed in his face one by one. Humor, vexation, anger. What that must be like. Not bothering to expend energy on keeping your hand hidden to the other players.

Underneath the jealousy of having such freedom, however, was a worry that kept him awake at night, when he wasn’t thinking about Polly.

What if he dropped his mask and nothing lay on the other side?

Connor Bannon, the ex-SEAL who was usually first to arrive at every squad meeting, strode into the room, stone-faced, as was his custom. Riding on Connor’s back was Erin O’Dea, the blond pyromaniac and escape artist who was rarely seen out of Connor’s company. Their first mission as a squad six months ago had coincided with Erin’s uncle attempting to institutionalize her and steal her trust fund, but uncle had ended up with a bullet in his head instead, the details of which were still sketchy, but Austin suspected Connor had fired the kill shot. As he was a dishonored SEAL who had turned to violent street-enforcing back in New York, Austin doubted there would have been any hesitation on Connor’s end. Especially not with Erin trapped in a cage, teetering over a lake as she’d been at the time.

Leading up to those events, Austin had developed somewhat of a soft spot for Erin, sort of a half-crazed sister who didn’t judge him for being a cheat. He’d liked her loony, but seeing her settled made him feel…good. As a result, his animosity toward Connor had thinned out somewhat. Not that they’d be attending some ghastly baseball game together or something anytime soon.

“Who’s the pig?” Erin asked, dropping down off Connor’s back.

“For f*ck’s sake,” Austin said, disgusted.

“Come on, guys.” Sera stood and tried to sidestep Bowen, but he blocked her. She sighed. “Derek will make introductions when he gets here. Try to resist alienating him right off the bat.”

“Alienation has worked like a charm for me so far,” Austin commented, sending a tight smile around the room. Yeah, he was the resident prick among the group, and the title suited him just fine. He cast a glance at Polly over his shoulder to make sure she hadn’t moved from behind the protection of his body. She lifted an eyebrow as if to say, take a picture, *. Well. Being the resident prick suited him most of the time. He’d made a right bollocks out of the tea bag idea, hadn’t he? It had been meant to soften her up, not harden her even further toward him. For the millionth time, Austin wondered why his wits failed him only around Polly. Normally, he rose to a challenge, but the one she presented was proving far more difficult than he would have imagined.

His lack of finesse where Ms. Banks was concerned made up only a small portion of his confusion. In the past, he’d been required to seduce marks. He’d done it fast and he’d done it well, if the nail marks on his back were any indication. Perhaps he’d still had an ounce of conscience remaining, however, because he’d begun to feel guilt following the act. Swampy, inconvenient guilt. So he’d shut himself off during sex, moved on autopilot in a way that would achieve his goal, while blocking out the subsequent emotion that came along afterward. By Austin’s count, it had been nearly a decade since he’d enjoyed sex. Pitiful, that. But true. So why this attraction to Polly? If he succeeded in getting her into bed, who would she even encounter there? What if she looked up at him and saw what he suspected he’d become? Another soulless con beyond redemption.

“Since our illustrious leader is running late,” Polly started, “shall we piece together what we already know? He’s an ex-cop—”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” said the new man.

Austin flexed his right hand. “Don’t talk to her like I’m not here.”

“My apologies.” Polly came to stand beside Austin, giving him a curious look, before returning her attention to the man. “You’re an ex-cop, but you’re here with us in convict hell, so you’ve done something to earn it.”

Erin trudged across the floor in the man’s direction. When she stood within five feet, she leaned close and sniffed him. “Peanut butter.” She turned and looked at Connor, who clearly wanted to haul her back, but respected the escape artist’s need to be untethered, able to gain freedom at the drop of a hat. “Connor, he smells like peanut butter.”

“I heard you,” came the ex-SEAL-turned-street-enforcer’s rumble. “That means he’s harmless?”

“No, it means he’s dangerous.” Erin waved a hand to indicate the room. “Any one of us could have had a nut allergy.”

Connor nodded, as if Erin’s reasoning made perfect sense.

Bowen scratched the back of his neck, looking restless until Sera settled a hand on his shoulder, stilling him. “Five more minutes. If the captain is a no-show, I’m taking Sera home.” He eyeballed the newcomer. “I’m not exactly aflutter with anticipation to make your acquaintance, man.”

“Yeah?” The guy’s jaw hardened. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled to find out a group of criminals and cons have been running free in my city.”

Austin gave a slow clap, unable to contain the laughter that escaped him. “You are aware this is Chicago, are you not? Home of the Chicago White Sox—or Black Sox as history will remember them for fixing your precious World Series?” He looked around the room for support, which didn’t come. “The phrase ‘vote early and vote often’ originated in your city, good man. Rest assured that Chicago’s reputation is already too black for a handful of criminals to tarnish it further.”