Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(70)

Three of them burst into laughter, Henrik being the sole holdout, as Bowen jerked open the ballroom door. They didn’t pause on their way into the noisy event, ignoring the suited gentleman’s muttered request to see an invitation. Polly trailed a finger over his chest as they passed, cutting him off.

And just like that, one obstacle was down.

The biggest one lay ahead.

Inside the semi-crowded darkness, playing the carefree party girl was easier than it had been in the lobby. For one thing, there were a lot of boobs on display, not just her own, although she could feel eyes traveling over her as they filtered through the guests on their way to the bar. My mistress.

Polly lifted a glass of champagne from a passing tray and tipped it to her lips, allowing the healthy swallow to slide down her throat. Immediately, the music sounded louder, the risk of their actions more pronounced. There were approximately two hundred guests at the function, wealth projecting from each of them. Reitman would see them as marks.

As if the simple act of thinking the man’s name had produced his location, Polly saw Reitman in her peripheral vision. Adrenaline spiked in her veins, but she sipped the champagne to keep it contained. She counted to ten, then performed a slow perusal of the dance floor and seating area, only allowing her gaze to pause on Reitman for one-tenth of a second. He was tapping an empty champagne glass against the side of his leg, a speculative expression molding his features as he watched their group fan out at the bar. Bowen hopped up on a leather stool, dragging Sera into the space between his outstretched legs, all while ordering a round of drinks. Polly made a mental note to have a discussion with Derek about their underutilization of Bowen during undercover operations.

Henrik crossed his arms and stood at Bowen’s elbow while Polly swayed in a circle to the music. The other guests gave them a wide berth, speaking in hushed tones behind their beverages. Honestly, they were taking hiding in plain sight to the next level, although their behavior wasn’t inappropriate. Just loud as hell without saying a single word. They made small talk with one another, throwing out innocuous topics to keep them appearing animated. All the while, she could feel Austin’s presence just outside, listening to her, speaking to her even though she couldn’t hear him.

They had been inside the ballroom for four songs when Reitman sidled up to the bar beside Bowen and Sera. Not one of them so much as blinked, merely continuing to laugh at the story Bowen had just finished telling. A story about him stealing a chicken off the back of a truck in Brooklyn and putting it in his grade school teacher’s desk, although Polly had no idea whether or not it was true.

“Should we have another drink here, or head out?” Bowen asked the group, already reaching for his wallet.

“Out,” Polly sighed, echoed a second later by Sera.

Henrik’s bored expression was his only response.

“Excuse me.”

That was the first time she’d ever heard Reitman’s voice. It sounded like a shiny nickel. Harmless. Years of resentment twisted like a wrench in her sternum, but she fought to ignore the pain and focus. Reitman smiled at each of them in turn, before nodding at Bowen. “Mind if I buy you and your friends a drink?”

Bowen traded a suspicious look with Henrik. “Is there something we can help you with?”

Reitman didn’t show even a hint of alarm at the instant animosity. “I hoped we could talk.” He tipped his now-full champagne glass in Henrik’s direction. “You’ve got a fighter’s stance. Anyone ever tell you that?”

A subtle change transformed the air at the bar, making the group feel pressed in close, rather than in a loose circle as they were. This eventuality was exactly what they’d wanted, but now that it was upon them, Polly felt an almost-giddy need to make an excuse and leave. No. No. Years of strategic choices had led her to this night, and she wouldn’t abandon her cause now. It wasn’t only her cause anymore. It was Austin’s. The friends they’d involved.

“I’ve been told that a time or two,” Henrik finally answered, tight-lipped.

Bowen laughed, breaking just enough of the tension for Polly to draw a breath. He passed Reitman a conspiratorial look. “We weren’t exactly invited to this little shindig, so you’ll excuse us for not being warm and fuzzy.” He scratched a spot beneath his right eye. “Who knows? You might have been security.”

“I’m about the furthest thing from security,” Reitman returned smoothly. “And hotel security would take one look at your friend and make for greener pastures. No one wants to tangle with a dirty cop turned prizefighter.”

Henrik remained still as a statue. Sera and Polly laughed nervously, but Bowen only appeared speculative as he watched Reitman. “That’s right. I heard there would be action at this party. Is that still the case?”

A reed-thin woman with a cap of blue-black hair bumped hips with Reitman, before dropping a noisy kiss on his cheek. “Hey, babe. You left me hanging back there. Where’s my drink? I’m going to die.”

Polly just managed to maintain an expression of mild interest, but jealousy prowled like a caged animal in her stomach. Why hadn’t she expected this? Isobel had just joined them. Reitman’s mark. The mother of Austin’s child.





Chapter Nineteen


Austin thought he might be sick. He’d known Isobel would be at the event, but he’d banked on Reitman’s shaking her long enough to arrange a deal with Bowen. He’d considered the possibility that she and Polly would come face-to-face, but it was an altogether f*cked-up difference to hear his girl’s breathing change, her heartbeat dull to a soft pound via the wire taped between her breasts. Goddammit. Having this situation so far out of his control was unacceptable. She was upset, and he was stuck in a bloody panel van with a gaggle of cops. How had he gotten here?