“You might say that,” he said. After all, he intended to change her opinion of him tonight. He’d snow her until she’d appreciated the awesomeness of Sean O’Malley.
And then he could probe what she was hiding. He’d given Hot Shot a break because against his better judgment he liked the kid, but also because Aleta would owe him. Something was up with her, something made her nervous, and he wanted to find out what.
“How did you hook up when you’re playing a man of the cloth?” Dale asked.
“Funny thing about that. She knew I wasn’t a priest the minute we met.”
“What’d you do?”
“I busted a punk.”
“Damn, bro. You never know what’ll turn on a lady,” Dale said, shaking his head.
“Well, actually my actions didn’t much impress her,” Sean said. “She had steam coming out her ears.”
“A hot momma, huh? That’s the way we like them.”
“She’s hot all right,” Sean murmured, wondering why it felt wrong to discuss Aleta like this with Dale. They’d always talked about their conquests in the past. Dale was a ladies’ man if ever one was born. He readily hooked up with the groupies who hung around police bars, no intentions of ever settling down.
Not that Sean did either. As a kid, he’d always thought he’d have a family, but marriage to a cop was a losing proposition. Too many ended in divorce. The life of a police officer was too jammed with stress and danger for a relationship to survive. The couple usually ended up hating each other.
Far better to stay single, a player like Dale. If you never let a woman get under your skin, no one got hurt.
“Where are you taking this new lady?” Dale asked.
“I haven’t decided.”
“Try Sea Salt on Ocean Drive,” Dale said. “Trust me, that place works like an aphrodisiac.”
* * *
AT TWO MINUTES before 7:00 p.m., Aleta peeked through the keyhole to confirm her visitor wasn’t Bubba Burnett. She opened the door to Sean O’Malley and caught her breath.
He wasn’t wearing the collar.
Their gazes locked, and a tingle of arousal low in her belly didn’t allow her to break their visual connection.
Wearing crisp tan khakis, a light blue button-down shirt and a navy blazer, he looked good enough to appear on the cover of GQ. His body took up the entire doorframe. Plus, he smelled of some delicious spicy scent.
He was staring right back at her. She smoothed a hand over one hip, glad she’d opted for a skirt rather than the slacks or shorts she usually wore. Sean had never seen her in a skirt.
“You look great,” he said.
“Thanks. You look—” she swallowed “—different.”
He ran a finger along the inside of his shirt collar, and she had an insane desire to grab his hand and kiss the palm.
“Sorry I didn’t wear a tie,” he said, “but it felt too good to be loose up here for a change.”
She nodded in understanding, still unable to look away from his mesmerizing blue eyes. “This is Miami. You don’t need a tie.”
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes.”
She swiveled away, relieved she could stop leering. The sight of Sean in normal clothing had thrown her for a serious loop. Get over yourself, girl.
“Come in,” she said. “Just let me get my purse.”
He followed her inside. “Nice place,” he said, his gaze sweeping the living room, taking in every detail.
“Thanks.” She inhaled deeply and felt better, more like herself. “It’s small, but conveniently close to work.”
She turned with her purse draped over a shoulder, and found Sean focusing on three newly purchased pepper spray canisters lined up on her dining room table.
“Are you expecting trouble?” he asked.
“Always,” she said. Unsure how long ago she’d purchased her old sprays, which she’d fortunately never had to use, she’d bought new ones. She kept one in her car, one in her purse and one in the office, which she always slipped into a pocket when she walked around campus.
Sean lifted his startling blue gaze to hers again.
“I told you I could take care of myself,” she said. She grabbed one of the small canisters and dropped it into her purse.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a smile.
“So where are we going?”
“South Beach.”
By the time they were seated in the restaurant, Aleta felt almost comfortable around Sean. Well, maybe not comfortable, but more like she did when they interacted at Sunshine Center. The change likely came because they’d argued during the drive about how to coach their respective teams for the upcoming tournament.
Sean stressed fundamentals, making his kids practice dribbling and take endless foul shots. She wanted her players to have more fun.
Argument made it easier to deal with the good-looking stranger in the car with her. A stranger who’d been a priest and now wasn’t. Who was a cop, of all things.
During her wild days, she’d have laughed hysterically at the idea of having dinner at a swanky restaurant on Miami Beach with a police officer. But during those days there were a lot of things she’d never imagined. Like getting straight. Getting her GED and then a bachelor’s degree. Or testifying against Bubba the Beast.
Their table was in a quiet corner, almost as if they were at a private party. Someone had taken the time to design this bistro to absorb noise, so people could hear each other. And Sean wanted her to talk. That was the deal she’d agreed to.
She smiled at him as the maître d’ presented her with a menu. Sean ordered a bottle of wine, checking with her on whether she preferred white or red. He’d behaved like a perfect gentleman so far, even opening her car door for her, but how would the cop in him react when she told him her story? She wanted to make him understand how much she had changed...that if she could change, anybody could, but suddenly she wasn’t so sure she wanted to tell him. To Sean she’d be just another punk, another criminal.
Or was Father Mac right? Was she judging him again, doing what she swore she never did?
The waiter arrived with water, described the evening’s specials and promised to return soon.
“Do you have a recommendation?” she asked.
“I’m told everything is good,” Sean said. “But I’ve never eaten here before.”
Aleta buried her face in the menu. He’d brought her somewhere new, recommended and expensive, so maybe this was more of a date than she’d thought. Well, it would be their last. Cops didn’t consort with admitted felons, even ones who had undergone a transformation.
She took a sip of cool water. Not that she wanted to date Sean O’Malley or anyone else. She needed more time to figure out who she was first.
While Sean studied the menu, she allowed her gaze to take in the decor, appreciating the soothing colors of green and blue, the stunning hand-blown glass decorations, and told herself to relax. She was proud of how she’d turned her life around. Why did she even care what he thought?
The waiter returned with the wine, Sean went through the tasting ritual, and they ordered—both of them opting for the salmon, which the waiter claimed was legendary. When he’d left, Sean focused his bright blue eyes on her. She took a breath. What was it about this guy that unsettled her? Maybe it was the way he was waiting for her to spill her life story.
She took a sip of a cool, crisp chardonnay, which reminded her of the expensive wine she used to sneak from her parents’ huge wine cellar. Had they even noticed how much she’d taken to share with her friends?
“This is wonderful,” she said.
“I’m glad you like it.” He gazed at her with a lazy smile, and once again she couldn’t look away.
“You know, I’ve just had an epiphany,” she said.
“The wine is that good?” He took a swallow from his own glass and cocked his head as if considering.
“It’s not the wine,” she said with a laugh.
“What is it?”
“I’ve figured out why you’re such an expert on gangs.”
His brows shot up. “Oh, really. And why is that?”
“Because you belong to one yourself.”
His smile faded. “What?”
She opened her palms. “What are the police, if not a gang?”
He blinked.
“I mean, come on. You have your own colors. Blue, if I’m not mistaken. You all wear the same clothing, carry weapons and behave violently.”
“Hey. We use force only when the situation requires.”
“I’ll bet some cops even have some sort of a law-enforcement symbol tattooed somewhere on their body.”
“This is the most outrageous thing I’ve heard you say yet.”
“Admit it. When you’re a cop, you’re part of a brotherhood.” Aleta sat back, pleased with her analogy. “It’s exactly like a gang.”
“Hardly. The police are a trained force that works to prevent crime and get those who commit crime off the street.”
“I’ll agree your purpose is different, but the idea is the same. I imagine a lot of trainees become cops for the same reason kids join gangs.”
“And why is that?”
“To earn respect, for a sense of community, protection.”
“Not to mention access to drugs and cash?”
“That proves my point,” Aleta said. “The kids who join gangs aren’t served by the public schools. They can’t find employment, often because of racism, so the gangs offer a way to make much-needed money.”
“Illegal ways,” Sean said. “Usually involving a deadly weapon.”
“True, which at first seems fun and exciting.” Aleta sat back with a sigh. “Until it’s no longer fun or exciting, but just plain dangerous. But by then they’re in too deep and can’t get out.”
“So they end up in prison or dead.”
“Don’t you see? That’s what I’m working so hard to prevent.” She leaned forward again. “I want to show my kids that there are alternatives.”
“Good luck with that.”
She narrowed her eyes. His cocky attitude infuriated her, but she needed to keep her cool if she had any hope of swaying him.
“You know, the police don’t help. In fact, cops get in the way when they sweep into a neighborhood after a drive-by and alienate everyone who might help them find the shooter.”
His jaw tightened. “That’s our job.”
“But I’m trying to change these kids’ trajectories.”
“That’s not the function of the police.”
“Maybe it should be.”
“You want us to be social workers?”
“I don’t want you to lock up good kids like Hot Shot.”
Sean shook his head. “It’s inevitable that some wind up behind bars.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“You can’t change people who don’t want to change, Aleta. Did you know some gang members can’t wait to get to prison? The people they respect most are already there.”
She sighed. Unfortunately, he was correct. “I had a client who looked forward to prison as if he were a high school graduate about to go away to an Ivy League school.”
Sean took a swallow of wine. “That’s not how it works with a law-enforcement career.”
“I know,” she said. “But you have to admit there are similarities. Don’t you feel a sense of belonging with your fellow officers?”
“Yes,” Sean admitted. “But I can’t agree we’re a gang.”
Aleta shrugged. “It’s just a word, a label.”
“One that carries a lot of baggage.”
She raised her glass to him. “At last we can agree on something.”
Sean grinned and leaned toward her. “So, Aleta, you were going to tell me why you’re such a softie.”
“No way am I a softie. You don’t know me.”
“You should listen to yourself. You’re too forgiving.”
“And you’re not,” Aleta said. “That’s how I knew you weren’t a priest.”
“Let’s just say life has taught me to be cautious about trusting people.”
She nodded. And I know why. Should she reveal that Father Mac had told her about his brother? Or would Sean consider that a betrayal? Maybe he’d share his brother’s story with her.
“How so?” she asked.
“Uh-uh. I want to hear about you tonight,” he said.
“Right. Why I believe everyone deserves a second chance.” She sipped wine again.
Where to begin? She took a deep breath and blurted, “In high school I experimented with drugs. I overdosed and almost died.”
Aleta expected Sean to recoil, but he only nodded. “I figured you’d been into something bad. What were you on?”
“Meth.”
“How did you beat it? Did your parents put you in rehab?”
“My parents? Hardly. They couldn’t be bothered with my problems. They weren’t aware anything was wrong with me until I OD’d.”
His mouth tightened. “So they had substance abuse problems, too?”
“Well, I guess you could say that. They drink too much like everyone else in their fancy country club.”
“Your family belongs to a country club?”
Aleta twirled the stem of her glass. “Yep. I was a total cliché, a poor little rich girl with workaholic parents who were sorry they ever brought me into the world because I was so much trouble.”
“I doubt that.”
“You don’t know them. But my drug use wasn’t the worst of it,” she said, raising her gaze to his again. “I was in a gang, a real one. We called ourselves the Street Sisters.”
CHAPTER SIX
SEAN STARED AT ALETA. The Street Sisters?
Her drug use hadn’t surprised him. Even the overdose wasn’t that unusual. Kids experimented with drugs.
But this vibrant do-gooder had been a member of the Street Sisters, a notorious and thankfully defunct girl gang? According to the GSU’s files, the Street Sisters had caused incredible mayhem eight or nine years ago, long before his time on the force. He’d thought about running Aleta’s name through the system but hadn’t done it yet. He’d wanted to get her side of the story first.
What would he find?
“My street name was Delilah,” she said, lowering her voice.
“Delilah,” he repeated, shifting closer so he could hear her better. “Did your name choice have religious significance?”
She shrugged and leaned toward him. “I liked the idea of a woman taking down a strong man.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I was a different person. If a social worker named Myra hadn’t taken an interest in me, I’d likely be in jail. Or dead.”
“She gave you a second chance,” he said.
“Yes, but not before I’d committed some crimes.”
“Did you do any jail time?”
She shook her head. “They were mostly misdemeanors, but I pled out to one felony. I received a suspended sentence because my parents are both attorneys. They knew the judge,” she said, a bitter tone in her voice. “I think—”
Aleta sat back. The server had arrived. She took a long swallow of wine while the server placed their salads on the table.
Sean feared the interruption would make Aleta clam up, but to his credit the waiter picked up on the mood and scurried away.
“This looks good,” Aleta said softly, staring at the artfully arranged greens, but she didn’t take a bite.
“Hey.” He leaned toward her again and placed a hand lightly on her arm. “Ar
e you okay?”
She raised her dark gaze to his, and he read old, very deep pain.
Damn. He should have run a background check on her. If so, he could have steered the conversation in a different direction. He’d thought her story would be interesting, not tragic. He’d made a mistake. Aleta was a survivor of the streets, a rare thing.
The last thing he’d wanted was to cause her more pain.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I haven’t told anyone about my wild days in a long time,” she said. “Not since therapy in rehab.”
“We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”
“We made a deal,” she said, a smile softening her mouth. “I always stick to my deals.”
“I’ll bet you do,” he said. “But why don’t we talk about our teams again. I prefer you mad at me to sad.”
She stabbed a tomato with her fork. “I’m not sad.”
“You’re sure?”
“Ask anything you want,” she said.
As they ate in silence, Sean tried to remember what he’d read about the Street Sisters. He’d done a lot of research about the history of street gangs in South Florida when he received this assignment. A girl gang was rare, and they were usually formed by the girlfriends of members of a male gang. Had Aleta had a boyfriend in a gang of his own?
And what about her country club parents? How could they have let their daughter slide into such destructive behavior?
“A felony arrest didn’t wake up your mom and dad?” Sean asked.
“I was a straight A student, and they chalked it up to a silly mistake by their foolish but supposedly brilliant child.”
“I’m sure your parents are proud of you now.”
“I haven’t spoken to them in years.”
“Seriously?”
“I know they’re alive, but they washed their hands of me a long time ago.”
“But how—”
“I refuse to talk about those people,” she said. The change in her tone told Sean more than her words could. “They have nothing to do with me or my life since I left home, certainly nothing to do with my recovery.”
“Got it,” he said. Although he didn’t really understand. He couldn’t imagine cutting off all ties with his family. After Patrick’s death, he’d become even closer to his parents.
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