Up in Smoke (Crossing the Line, #2)(7)

“Connor Bannon. Former Navy SEAL.” Derek tapped the folder against the table. “That pretty much makes him capable of anything. Infiltration, hostage removal, explosives.” Erin’s heart started to pound at the mention of explosives, red plumes of smoke streaking across her vision. So pretty. She tucked the image away for later and focused. If Connor had been good at his job, why didn’t he have it anymore? Her already-considerable interest in him grew. “Connor is good under pressure. He’ll be in charge whenever I’m not present.”

If she hadn’t been watching his face closely, she would have missed the jolt that went through him. He hadn’t been expecting that announcement. It had caught him off guard, but he still managed to retain his ask me if I give a f*ck expression. It made her want to bake him a fancy cake overloaded with rekindling candles. Or get that kiss. Kiss, fire, kiss, fire. Definitely the kiss. After all, the kiss might be fire in itself.

“Erin O’Dea,” Derek said.

“Present.”

She managed to drag her attention away from Connor to focus on Derek, but not before she saw the big ex-SEAL mouth her first name. Erin. Her nerves were playing a game of ping-pong inside her throat at the impending reveal of her special talent. So far her instincts hadn’t blipped on anyone in the room, but it was too soon to tell what kind of people they were under the surface. If they were the kind of people who would test her boundaries. Her claim to infamy tended to provoke and challenge. See if they could prove the rumor wrong.

Derek’s voice forced her to tune back in. “Her nickname is Erin ‘she’s getting away’ O’Dea. That should tell you everything you need to know. She gives new meaning to the words ‘escape artist.’ There isn’t a set of handcuffs or a concrete cell that has been able to hold her for long.”

Not entirely true, she thought, but refrained from saying out loud. All eyes were on her. She could feel them roving over her skin, making her itch. Being the center of attention only worked for her when it was on her terms. Not someone else’s.

Erin traced the shape of a half-moon onto the table with her finger. “The police are so adorable with their jangly set of keys and iron padlocks.” She scrunched her shoulders. “I just want to pinch their little cheeks.”

She caught Seraphina stifling a laugh and decided she only needed to half hate her. Derek, to his credit, didn’t take issue with her characterization of cops, only moving on with a weary headshake. “Not that I don’t love the pink hair, Erin, but it makes you too recognizable. Deal with that by tomorrow.”

Dammit. She’d known they’d nix the do. Never one to agree to anything outright, she propped her boots on the table, allowing the bells to jingle. Bells that only made a noise when she gave them permission. It was how she’d trained herself to make the quietest exits possible. “I’mma think about it, Captain. Proceed with the introductions.”

Derek’s jaw ticked as he eyed Erin’s boots, but he didn’t comment. “Last but not least, we have Austin Shaw. Simply put, Austin is a con. He can weave himself into any situation and immediately belong there. He speaks several languages fluently and the ones he does not, he can pull off an authentic accent for. He’s everything and nothing. A lifeguard, a bartender, a millionaire. He’s exactly what he needs others to see.”

The five of them exchanged baffled looks, but only Bowen spoke up. “You’re talking in the past tense, right?” He scrutinized the hunched-over old man. “No offense, Pops, but unless we’re working a missing dentures case at a retirement home, I don’t see you going undercover.”

Austin took off his hat and tossed it on the table. At the same time, he straightened, his spine shedding all signs of age within a split second. He shrugged off the coat and ran a hand through his tousled brown hair. Erin’s mouth fell open. Austin wasn’t an old man by any stretch. He was a young man…a gorgeous one at that. She caught Connor’s dark frown and shrugged.

Looking like he’d just stepped off the pages of GQ magazine, Austin stacked his hands behind his head, sending Polly a wink as he did so. “Now, ladies and gents,” he said with a faint British lilt. “Any questions?”





Chapter Three


Connor tossed his oversized duffel bag onto the hardwood floor and looked around his new apartment. The police department had rented two units on the top floor of a building in Logan Square where they would live rent-free as long as they were cooperating with the undercover squad. Apparently since Bowen and Sera had already set up home base independently, Derek had anticipated Polly and Erin sharing one remaining apartment, while he and Austin shared the other. The girls had seemed indifferent about the arrangement, quickly gathering their things and heading home to check out the new digs.

He and Austin had been a different story altogether. Neither one of them had cottoned to the idea of sharing space with a virtual stranger they knew next to nothing about, protesting rather loudly when Derek dropped the news. After his little stunt, Austin had turned out to be outspoken as hell, so Connor had just sat back and waited. Derek, needed at another meeting, had basically told them both to f*ck off and live in a Dumpster for all he cared. Austin claimed he already had a place to crash, so Connor had taken the apartment for himself.

Not bad. Back in Brooklyn, he’d split time between a run-down one bedroom and his mother’s dilapidated house in the Bronx when she felt too sick to be alone. He’d never lived in this much sunlight. It streamed in from several windows, even a skylight located just above the eat-in kitchen. The furniture they’d provided was functional, which was all he needed. Nothing flashy, just four white walls and a place to lay his head. Each bedroom was about the same size, so he took the one with a view of the street. That way, he could see anyone coming or going.