Risking it All (Crossing the Line, #1)(84)

When they reached the precinct, Bowen felt a prickle of unease at the officers staring at them curiously; some even eyed him with open hostility.

Wisely, none of them turned it on Sera or they would have been much later for the meeting.

Bowen held open the door for Sera, following her into the bustling front office. Phones rang loudly; men in navy blue uniforms shouted to one another across the space. He might never get used to this, working with cops, going to work at a f*cking police station every day. Especially knowing these people planned on putting his girl in danger. It pissed him off royally, even though he knew how capable she was. As if sensing his discomfort, Sera squeezed his hand. It was the only reminder that he needed. He’d go to work on an oil rig in the middle of the Atlantic if it meant sleeping beside her at night.

And come hell or high water, he’s protect her through it all.

A tired-looking receptionist whistled at them. “You here for the meeting with Captain Tyler?” Bowen nodded once and the woman pointed to a closed door.

“In there. You’re late.”

He traded an amused glance with Sera and led her toward the door. When he pushed it open, they both came up short.

Around a giant conference room table sat five people, all staring back at them.

Well, almost all of them. Connor was busy glaring across the table at a gum-chewing half-blond, half-pink-haired girl who wore a T-shirt that said Bitch Don’t Kill My Vibe . Beside Connor, an ancient man in a newsboy cap looked absolutely

delighted

with

himself.

Closest to the door, a black-haired girl twirled her hair with nervous fingers, back ramrod straight, obviously agitated by her surroundings.

Who the hell were these misfits?

Bowen didn’t have much time to think about it, because the fifth person at the table stood and blocked his line of vision. In a suit and tie, badge clipped to his belt, the guy had such an air of command, Bowen immediately stepped into his space to let him know he wouldn’t be following orders from just anyone. To his surprise, the guy nodded as if he approved. After the stories Troy had told him, he knew this had to be Captain Derek Tyler.

“Nice of you to show up. Now sit down. We’ve got work to do.”

KEEP READING FOR A SNEAK

PEEK OF

UP IN SMOKE





BOOK TWO IN THE


CROSSING THE LINE


SERIES

UP IN SMOKE

You can take the man out of the SEALs…

Connor Bannon stared across the empty conference room at the clock, watching the second hand tick past 3:00

p.m. Impatience prickled the back of his neck. He hated being late. Hated other people’s being late. If the Navy had taught him one thing, it was how to show up on time. Even now, when his military career wasn’t even visible in the rearview mirror and the consequences weren’t nearly as severe, his ass showed up when it was supposed to. He couldn’t be late if he tried.

Apparently he’d been banished into the midst of an undercover squad that didn’t share the same quality.

Connor tapped his fist against his knee, breathing through the need to look at the clock again. The blank whiteboard and the room’s six empty chairs mocked him. He didn’t like going into meetings blind. It went against his nature to be unprepared, but he’d been given no choice. All he knew was Bowen Driscol and Seraphina Newsom were on the squad, sent from New York City to Chicago in exchange for favors, same as him. For the first time since his short-lived stint with the SEALs, he was going to be on the right side of the law.

Or the wrong side, depending on who was doing the asking.

He’d be working with cons, criminals who wanted to stay out of prison. That was where his knowledge started and ended, truly pissing him off. If they’d been given the same options as him, they’d decided helping the Chicago Police Department catch criminals such as themselves was the lesser of two evils.

Another valuable lesson he’d learned from the SEALs? If it doesn’t look like a bomb, it’s probably a bomb.

The door of the conference room flew open, crashing against the opposite wall.

Connor’s hand flew toward the small of his back, searching futilely for his gun— a gun the uniforms had taken away from him upon arrival , dammit. He shot to his feet instead, focusing on the…threat?

“Relax, Trigger. I like to make an entrance.”

A girl sauntered into the conference room, her combat boots jingling with each step, as if there were bells attached. She wore a shirt that said Bitch Don’t Kill My Vibe over a pair of ripped jean shorts that ended just below her ass. An ass that he’d noticed even before he registered her bright pink hair.

Who the f*ck?

She tossed a frayed canvas bag onto the table and sprawled into the seat across from his currently empty one, head tilting slightly as she regarded him.

Amusement transformed her features from merely beautiful to interesting and beautiful.

From

distracting

to the

distraction he didn’t need. Like she f*cking needed the extra push.

Since when did he get mad at girls for being good-looking?

Very slowly, she looked him over.

Connor felt her gaze slide over his crotch and bit back the urge to adjust himself, to hide the wood he’d sprung in honor of a girl who’d been in his presence for thirty seconds. He didn’t like this. Didn’t like feeling out of control of the situation. He let people see only what he allowed, but somehow this girl had walked into the room, said eight words, and thrown him off his game.