Austin left his stall, braced his hands on either side of the one occupied by Darren and kicked it open. The door slammed into Darren, sending him crashing face-first into the wall behind the toilet. Austin wasted no time wrapping an arm around Darren’s throat, tightening until drawing air was impossible.
“Forget you ever saw her,” Austin whispered into Darren’s ear, just as the other man was forced into unconsciousness.
He let Darren’s dead weight drop onto the floor before moving quickly from the bathroom and back out into the alley, palming his cell phone with a curse. Just like any good con, sometimes other players were needed to pull it off successfully.
Austin scrolled through his contacts and dialed Erin O’Dea. Arsonist, escape artist…coworker. She answered on the fourth ring in a singsong voice. “Aus-tin. Connor doesn’t like when boys call, especially on a school night.” He could hear the strike of a match in the background. “So make it snappy, before he makes your bones go snappy.”
“Right.” Austin descended the stairs to the Red Line train that would take him back to Lincoln Park. “I need you to call Polly and get her home, please. Set the smoke alarm off in her apartment or something.” As if on cue, the train pulled up and Austin entered the half-empty car. “Should be a treat for you, O’Dea. The sound of an alarm without the drawback of being arrested.”
“I don’t like easy treats. Give me a challenge.”
Austin sighed and checked his watch. Only another few minutes before Darren regained consciousness. “I’ve no time to indulge your whimsy tonight. What do you want?”
“I’m bored with my Ruger. Bring me the shiny, British.”
“Done. It stays between us.”
An alarm pealed down the line in response.
Austin hung up and fell into a hard plastic seat, staring at his reflection in the opposite window. Only it wasn’t him at all, was it?
Really, who the hell was Austin Shaw? Self-designated protector of Polly Banks? Con man? Master of disguise?
And since when did he give two shits?
Chapter Two
Polly paced the squad meeting room, which was essentially a basement in an abandoned youth center in Ukrainian Village. Seraphina, her saintly squad mate, had hung a tapestry and placed scented candles on the concrete window ledges, but it still looked like a dungeon. Which was apt, considering they were all prisoners of their past transgressions.
She’d come early, unable to remain in her apartment while harboring so much restless energy. Her lead—her one and only lead on Charles Reitman—had been within her reach last night. She hadn’t been gullible enough to buy Erin’s innocent story about the miraculous fire alarm deployment. Before she’d left the diner last night, she’d gone to check on Slim and found him unconscious in the men’s bathroom. Not wanting to end up the same way, she’d done the smart thing and bounced with a quickness.
Now she was back at square one with the added variable of a third player. A meddler. Someone had choked out her ticket to Reitman, and she was not happy about it. Since childhood, she’d been a sucker for riddles, but this was one time she didn’t appreciate having to piece a mystery together. Making another attempt to connect with Slim would be a bad move because of what had befallen him while in her company. The nightclub, Tossed, was the final venue on her list of Reitman’s haunts, and she had no choice but to seek him out there after her face had been seen by one of his associates. Chancy, but necessary.
Polly heard a familiar set of footsteps coming down the basement stairs and ordered her features to look bored. She leaned against the wall and studied her nails, even as her heart started to thud. Austin. No one else moved like him, with unhurried steps that were somehow crisp at the same time. Each footfall had meaning, a purpose. She hated having his walk memorized, but there it was. She would hear the handsome con coming from a mile away in a monsoon. He carried awareness with him, foisting it on everyone in his path, daring them not to acknowledge how truly shit-hot he was. Insufferable man. False modesty wasn’t in his repertoire, either, Polly lamented as Austin waltzed into the room, shaking raindrops from his rich brown hair.
“Ms. Banks.” He made a savoring noise in his throat, dragging his gaze from the tips of her boots upward. “Should I assume from your punctuality that you were hoping to clock some alone time with me? I usually only take scheduled appointments, but you’re always the exception.”
She knew better than to take the bait. Another facet of Austin she had memorized was his sexual gravity. Step off the ledge when he challenged you with innuendo and, well, splat. There was no way to compete with innate charisma like he’d been blessed with. Dammit. “I had no idea you would arrive first. I assumed it would be Connor.” Their resident ex-SEAL, who insisted on neat edges and precise plans, was usually fuming by the time all six members showed up. “If I’d known, I would have killed some time in Starbucks.”