“Any siblings?” he asked.
“I’m an only child.” She jabbed at her salad with more force than necessary, knocking a slick kalamata olive onto the tablecloth. “Correction. Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Porter are now a childless couple.”
Likely the evening had already tanked beyond repair. Too bad. But Aleta Porter fascinated him, and he couldn’t stop himself from asking for more details. Not everything would be in her police record, which might even be sealed since she’d been a juvenile.
“How old were you when you left home?” he asked.
She blotted her mouth with a white cloth napkin. “Sixteen. I joined the Sisters the summer after my junior year in high school and never went back.”
“You lived on the streets?”
“I moved around a lot, mostly crashing with friends for a few weeks at a time.” She made a face. “If you could call my fellow gang members friends.”
“You don’t?”
“Not anymore. They made me work to cover my rent.”
Before Sean could follow up on that cryptic remark, the server returned carrying their entrées. Once again silence descended over their table as they ate.
What kind of work had she done to support herself before her recovery? Selling drugs? Theft? Had she worked the streets?
“This is delicious,” Aleta said.
Sean looked up. “Is it?” His brain had been so busy trying to figure out Aleta, he’d barely tasted the food. He couldn’t remember the flavor of the salad dressing.
She snapped her fingers in his face. “Earth to Father O’Malley. This salmon is really good, and it’s costing us a fortune.”
“Not us,” he said. “I invited you and picked the place. This is my treat.”
“Okay,” she said with a smile. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
After a few moments she said, “You know, it’s funny. I hadn’t thought about the Sisters in years, and Ice Pick mentioned them to me at the gym yesterday.”
“What did he say?”
“I think he was trying to threaten me.”
Sean glanced up. “He threatened you? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Don’t look so mean. He hinted he’d reveal my checkered past to my boss and get me fired.”
“Father Mac wouldn’t fire you for teenage indiscretions.”
“And Father Mac already knows all about my history.”
“I want to know if Ice Pick comes at you again,” Sean said.
“Yes, Father.”
“You should take this seriously,” Sean said.
“I do, but the thing is, I can’t figure out who is still alive that would know me from those days.” She sighed. “I thought I’d moved on.”
“You have.” Sean told her. “Not many people would have survived what you did, much less go back to school and get a degree. I saw the diploma on the wall in our office. You should be proud of yourself.”
“I am,” she said. She took a deep breath. “Most of the time.”
He scrutinized her troubled face, still trying to understand who she was. Aleta was a beautiful woman, one who could grace the cover of a fashion magazine. Instead, she’d dedicated herself to giving young people better opportunities to succeed, allowing them that all-important second chance. Admirable, but she’d picked an impossible mission, one that would set her up for tons of frustration.
He suspected she understood that, and yet she kept plugging away.
He liked that about her, but he liked a lot about Aleta. Perhaps too much. He’d never met a woman quite like her. He looked forward to peeling away her layers and getting to know her, but he’d probed enough for tonight. He’d fill in the rest of her story by running her record.
Time to steer the conversation to less emotional subjects. With a little luck, he could turn the rest of the evening around and get her smiling again...although tonight was not the night to initiate any one-on-one activity in her bedroom.
“So who is going to win the first game of our tournament?” Sean asked. They might argue about coaching methods, but that was preferable to dredging up bad memories.
“You know Hot Shot gives your team an advantage,” she said.
“If he can stay out of jail.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
Sean shrugged. This was more like it.
“I’m certain he’s learned his lesson,” she said.
Sean raised his wine to her. “If you say so.”
After they clinked glasses, she said, “Thanks,” in a quiet voice.
“For what?”
“For not judging me too harshly.”
He shrugged. Working with the kids at Sunshine Center had been a wake-up call, showing him another side of life. His family was far from wealthy, but his mom and dad could afford athletic shoes.
“We’ve all made mistakes,” he said.
“Even you?” she asked, brows raised.
“Nope,” Sean said. “Everyone who knows me admits I’m absolutely perfect.”
Her laughter floated over him like a warm embrace, touching him in places no one had reached in a long time. He needed to be careful around Aleta. She’d given him fair warning that she could take care of herself, and she was obviously one dangerous lady.
* * *
HANGRY, BUBBA THOUGHT. Damned hangry. Angry and hungry at the same time, never a good combination. Plus his head pounded like someone driving a pile deep into cold hard granite.
Using one of the stolen Visas, he’d bought a giant bag of chips and a cold twelve-pack of beer at a convenience store. That first sip had tasted so good, he’d downed three cans and given himself such a buzz he’d had to drive like an old lady for an hour. By the time the high wore off, the rest of the beer was warm, which had pissed him off. And the headache came back.
By nightfall, he arrived at some redneck down-and-out town called Frostproof. As he drove through Main Street, he noted four or five deserted storefronts. Good. For sure this dumpy burg would have an abandoned home he could crash in. He’d changed vehicles twice, and now had possession of a rusted-out blue truck. He’d driven beneath the speed limit and taken back roads, getting lost a few times since he had no map and had to backtrack.
He didn’t want to stop, but he needed to sleep. Sleep was the only thing that cured his headaches, and his head was about to explode. He didn’t dare use the credit cards for a motel room, but he still had the cash so he could eat.
He wanted a burger. No, make that two burgers. And two large orders of fries. The fries in the joint sucked.
He jammed the sweat-stained NASCAR gimme cap he’d found in the truck’s seat low on his brow to conceal his face and steered the pickup truck into the drive-through of a fast-food dive. The clerk barely looked at him. When he had his food, he backed into a parking space to hide the license plate, watching for cops and keeping the engine running.
Two bites into the second burger, a cop car drove by. Bubba watched as the SOB did a U-ie and headed back toward the burger joint. Maybe the pig wanted to order food, or maybe there was already a BOLO out on this truck. Either way, it was time to move.
He dropped the burger onto its wrapper and drove out the back end of the parking lot. At the time he’d gone into the joint, some neighborhoods of Miami had a foreclosed house every block or two. Shouldn’t be hard to find an area like that in this dried-up town.
But it took him an hour to find the right place, a boarded-up one-story house with a blue tarp over half of the roof, a garage, and tall weeds in the front yard. He pulled the truck around back, making ruts in the damp grass. He jumped down from the cab and looked for an entry point.
The back door was unlocked. He pushed inside and stepped into what had once been the kitchen, the cabinets now ripped from the walls and the appliances removed fr
om their spaces.
“Hey,” a weak voice shouted.
Bubba turned and found a scrawny dude standing over a pile of filthy blankets. Crumpled bags of potato chips and crushed energy drink cans littered the floor. Stacks of newspapers lined the walls. Looked like the bum had been living here for a good long time.
The pathetic weasel swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You from the bank?” he asked.
Bubba approached the squatter and grabbed him by his ripped T-shirt. The dude’s eyes went wide with terror.
“Yeah, man,” Bubba said, rotating his shoulders. “I’m from the bank. Time to pay up.”
He placed his left hand around the homeless man’s throat and squeezed hard. Bubba the Beast didn’t need a roommate.
* * *
“MORNING.”
Aleta glanced up from her monitor when Sean entered the gym office and blinked, the clerical collar he wore surprising her. But of course he was still pretending to be a priest. No one besides her knew the truth about his vocation.
“Good morning,” she said.
Sean sat at his desk and booted up his own computer.
“I didn’t see you at breakfast,” he said.
She held up a coffee cup from a fast-food restaurant. “I was running late. I ate at my desk.” She couldn’t admit that she wasn’t ready to face him.
“I didn’t keep you out that late,” he said.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Why not?”
She shook her head. Dinner with Sean had felt like time in a confessional. He knew more about her now than anyone else in the world. Even Myra. Talking about her previous life had dredged up emotions that she didn’t want to deal with.
But maybe she should. Maybe she needed to.
She thought she’d put all that baggage behind her, but obviously she hadn’t. As she lay awake in the dark, she couldn’t stop thinking about Bubba. Was he still obsessed with her, wanting to make her pay for testifying against him?
She tried to focus on her spreadsheet. Part of her job was making sure the diocese office got the statistics about the kids she served on a weekly basis. Her paycheck depended on that.
She frowned at her computer. Her numbers were off this week. What was wrong?
She couldn’t concentrate, her attention shifting to Sean.
He stared at his monitor.
She returned her focus to her own work. She was pathetic. She needed to figure out why—oh, there it was. Cyrus hadn’t been to Sunshine Center in five days, highly unusual. Why hadn’t she noticed? Likely because she’d been distracted.
Sean made a disgusted sound that bordered on outrage, and Aleta glanced at him again. What was he doing?
She knew he’d directed the feed from the new surveillance cameras to his computer, so maybe he was reviewing yesterday’s loop.
She couldn’t stop obsessing about last night, how Sean hadn’t even tried to kiss her when he’d left her at her front door. Why hadn’t he? She’d expected him to try to invite himself in, had been disappointed when he’d simply said good-night. Was that why she hadn’t been able to fall asleep?
The way he watched her, teased her constantly, she knew he was into her. Why else would he insist they go out to dinner? He could have asked for a lot of things as payment for not arresting Hot Shot.
“When was the last time you saw Cyrus?” she asked.
Before he could answer, the kid himself strutted into the office.
Swallowing a curse, Aleta rose.
Cyrus sported a new shorter haircut and wore an oversize yellow jersey and baggy red shorts. The colors of the Devil’s Posse. A heavy gold chain circled his neck. One she’d never seen him wear before. A piece of jewelry his mother couldn’t afford.
“Why aren’t you in school?” Sean asked, a steely tone to his voice.
“I got better things to do,” Cyrus said.
“Like what?”
Cyrus shrugged.
“Where did you get that chain?” Aleta asked.
Cyrus smiled and ran his fingers along the links. “Cool, ain’t it?”
“Not if it’s stolen.”
“I didn’t steal it,” Cyrus said.
“Who did?” Sean asked.
“Nobody,” Cyrus said, lifting his chin. “It was a gift.”
“From who?” Aleta asked.
“I don’t have to tell you nothing,” Cyrus said.
“Then why are you here?” Sean demanded.
Cyrus looked uncertain for the first time.
“We haven’t seen you at practice in a while,” Aleta said in a softer voice.
“That’s right,” Cyrus said, looking around. “Like I said, I got things to do. Important things.”
“Like working for the Devil’s Posse?” Sean asked. “Are you a lookout for them, Cyrus?”
Aleta held her breath, not wanting to hear this child’s answer. But she knew.
“I got me some new friends,” Cyrus said. “Friends that take care of me.”
“What about basketball?” Aleta asked. “We have our first game coming up.”
“I got no time for b-ball anymore,” Cyrus said. “That’s what I came to tell you.” With that, he whirled and ran out of the office.
Aleta watched him go, a sick feeling in her stomach. She’d failed him.
“He came to show off his new bling,” Sean said.
Aleta collapsed into her chair. “I’ve lost him. Dear God, I’ve lost him.”
“Maybe not,” Sean said.
“How can you say that?”
“Cyrus wanted you to know he’d thrown in with the Posse. He deliberately came to show you he was wearing their colors, to flaunt his decision in your face. He wanted to see your reaction.”
Feeling the heat of Sean’s gaze, she glanced at him. “You think it’s a cry for help?”
“He may be hoping for a way out of what he’s gotten himself into.”
“I should have noticed his absence this week,” she said. “It’s my fault.”
“You’ve got—what? Thirty or forty kids in the program?”
Aleta nodded miserably. “And I knew about Ice Pick’s interest in Cyrus.”
“Even if you’d noted one kid among three dozen wasn’t coming to practice, what could you do?”
“Intervene,” Aleta said. “Go talk to his mother.”
Sean stepped from behind his desk and offered her his hand. “We can still do that.”
* * *
SEAN KEPT A wary eye out as he drove, listening to Aleta’s instructions on how to reach Cyrus’s residence. Two-story apartment buildings that hadn’t seen a new coat of paint in decades surrounded them. Most of the concrete walls had cracks and graffiti. Many of the roofs featured faded blue tarps. Piles of litter decorated most corners. Sean shifted in his seat, wishing he had a gun hidden in his trunk.
This was not an area he’d come into alone at night.
And even in daylight, he’d much rather be in a marked police unit, able to summon backup with his radio.
“Do you know his mom?” he asked.
“I met her once. She came to an orientation at the center, which impressed me. Not many of the parents bother to show.”
“What’s she like?”
Aleta bit her bottom lip. “Hard to say.”
“Why?”
“She was high at the time.”
Sean nodded. Of course she was.
“But I got the feeling she truly cares about her son.”
“Right,” Sean muttered.
“Why did you come if you’re so cynical?” she asked. “You act like you’d rather bust the kid than try to save him.”
Sean shifted in the seat again. Did he appear that judgmental? Maybe so.
“Cyrus is o
kay,” he said.
“Well, that’s a change for Mr. Law and Order.”
“You were blaming yourself. I thought this would make you feel better.”
She looked up from her directions, brows raised. He shot her a look, and her face softened.
“That’s actually sweet,” she said. “Thanks.”
“About time you realized how sweet I am.”
She rolled her eyes and checked the address on a slip of paper.
“This has to be it,” Aleta said. “Cyrus lives in unit 303, and this is the only building around here with three stories.”
Sean drove into the parking lot of a dilapidated three-story structure, noting outside stairs and no visible elevator to the upper floors. He took a long look around before exiting his vehicle. It was midafternoon. Not many people on the streets, but the few who were around cast his two-year old SUV glances of overt hostility. Or maybe it was fear. Whatever. He and Aleta were white strangers who didn’t belong here, whose appearance meant trouble for someone.
No way would this half-ass attempt at an intervention do any good, but he couldn’t stand seeing Aleta so miserable, believing she’d failed one of her kids. Maybe doing something to save Cyrus would give her a little peace of mind.
Hell, even he’d come to like the little jerk. He hated the idea of the kid joining the Posse. There would be no turning back from that mistake.
Sean ran a finger along the inside of his clerical collar, wishing he had on his police uniform instead.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.
“Positive,” Aleta said, opening the passenger door.
“Then move fast,” Sean said.
He followed her quick steps across a black-top parking lot filled with potholes toward the closest stairway, and hurried up concrete steps that had crumbled around exposed rusted rebar. In another year or two it wouldn’t be safe to use this stairway.
On the third level, Aleta knocked on apartment 303.
Sean stood beside her, on alert. The door was so filthy he couldn’t say for sure what color it had once been.
The door cracked open an inch, a security chain bridging the gap. “Yeah?” a sleepy female voice asked.
A Cop's Second Chance Page 9