“Mrs. Alonso?” Aleta asked.
“Yeah,” the woman answered. “What you want?”
“I’m Aleta Porter, from St. Theresa’s. We met a few months ago.”
A pause. “Aleta Porter?”
“I’m Cyrus’s basketball coach.”
“Oh, right. Miss Porter.” The woman released the chain and opened the door.
As Sean assessed her for possible threat, his vigilance dropped down a notch. Hard to judge her age because she was so thin, but he guessed late twenties. She wore faded, ripped blue jeans and a stained white T-shirt. Her hair hadn’t been combed in a good while. Her skin was blotchy, but she’d once been an attractive woman. Drug use had likely ended her looks.
“What you doing here, Miss Porter?”
“Father O’Malley and I came to talk to you about Cyrus.”
Aleta motioned toward him, and Sean inclined his head, hoping his collar put the woman at ease. Her gaze touched his and jumped back to Aleta.
“What’s Cyrus done now?” Mrs. Alonso demanded. Sean decided her voice was slurred instead of sleepy.
“May we please come inside, Mrs. Alonso?” Sean asked. He didn’t want to have this conversation in the open hallway.
“Oh, sure,” she said, throwing open her door. “Sorry about the mess. I ain’t been feeling too good lately.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sean said.
“Did Cyrus go to school today?” Aleta asked.
“Yes, he did. My boy was up and out of here on time as usual.”
“You saw him leave?” Sean asked.
“Well, no.” Mrs. Porter looked at the floor. “Like I said, I’ve been poorly.”
“Have you noticed any changes in Cyrus lately?” she asked. Sean let her take the lead.
Mrs. Porter pursed her lips. “He been going to a lot of b-ball practice,” she said. “Seems like more than usual and coming home later at night. Something about a tournament?”
“That’s right,” Aleta said.
“He loves to play b-ball.”
“Yes, he does,” Aleta agreed. “Did you notice Cyrus wearing a new gold chain?”
“My boy ain’t got no new chain.”
“He had it on today, and also some new clothes,” Aleta continued.
“Where’d he get that stuff?”
“I’m afraid he’s joined a gang.”
Mrs. Porter sucked in a breath. “My Cyrus ain’t in no gang.”
“He’s wearing the colors of the Devil’s Posse,” Aleta said.
“You crazy,” Mrs. Alonso said.
“I wish I were.”
“Is that why you came here? To tell me Cyrus has joined some damn gang?”
“Yes, ma’am. I thought you could—”
“Well, you wrong.” Cyrus’s mother shook her head. “My Cyrus is a good boy.”
“Yes, he is,” Aleta said. “But I’m worried about him. I was hoping that maybe—”
“You think my boy stole that chain, don’t you?”
“He said it was a gift.”
“Well, then it was.”
“Yes,” Aleta said. “And I believe him.”
Sean admired how Aleta’s tone remained calm even as this woman became more and more agitated.
“Oh. My. God.”
Mrs. Alonso stepped back, flapping her arms in the air as if she wanted to take flight. Whatever mood-altering substance this woman was high on no longer worked to keep her mellow.
“You going to report my boy to the police, aren’t you?” she wailed.
“Of course not,” Aleta said. “We came here to let you know about the changes in Cyrus so that—”
“You think I don’t know what’s going on with my son?” Mrs. Alonso’s voice had moved beyond defensive into incensed. “You think I’m a bad momma? I’m a good momma, a damn good momma, and don’t you ever forget it.”
Sean took a step forward. Time to end this social work experiment.
“Please calm down, ma’am,” Sean said. “We are only here to help.”
“I don’t need your help. You go on back to church now, Miss Porter and Father whoever. You leave my son to me.”
Sean placed a hand on Aleta’s arm and moved backward toward the door.
“He’s my son,” Mrs. Alonso yelled. “And he’s a good boy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sean said.
“I don’t need anyone’s help raising my son.”
When the woman began to cry, Aleta stepped forward, looking stricken. Bad idea. Time to get the hell out of here. He tightened his hold on her arm and guided her toward the door. She nodded and moved without protest.
“Thank you for your time, ma’am,” Sean said to Mrs. Alonso as they ducked outside.
He closed the door behind them. Several neighbors had poked their heads into the hall to see what the commotion was about. Sean all but pushed Aleta toward the stairs.
“Nothing to see here, folks,” he said, using his cop voice. “Go on back inside.”
Grumbling and murmurs followed them down the steps, and fortunately Aleta offered no resistance. As they approached his SUV, he spotted a new ugly scratch extending from the driver’s door to the back fender.
He’d been keyed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ALETA BUCKLED HER seat belt as Sean accelerated out of the parking lot.
“Get low so you’re not a target,” he told her.
She ducked, half expecting a rock to hurtle through the windshield, but they made it away without further incident. She released a relieved breath as Sean took a right turn.
The wrong direction.
“Where are you going?” she asked, sitting up again.
“I know a couple of locations that gangs use to conduct business. Let’s see if we can find Cyrus.”
“You think they’re using him as a lookout for drug sales.”
“The Gang Suppression Unit reports that as the pattern, how the newbies prove their worth.”
“And afterward there’ll be some sort of initiation ceremony,” Aleta said.
“Did the Street Sisters have an initiation?” Sean asked.
“Yeah. Mine was easy, though. All I had to do was steal booze from a liquor store.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t get caught,” Sean said.
“I cheated. I took bottles from my parents. My dad had so many cases in the wine cellar, they never noticed anything missing.”
“Well, Cyrus won’t be so lucky. According to the GSU files, the Posse’s initiation involves a beating.”
“A beating?” Aleta repeated with a shudder.
“And not love pats either. Every member of the gang takes a whack, usually with a baseball bat.”
“Oh, my God. But Cyrus is so little. He might not survive an assault like that.”
“Not all of them do,” Sean said grimly. “Sometimes that’s the point.”
Aleta shook her head at the horror of pounding on a child for fun. And why did the gangbangers want Cyrus so badly? Maybe to spite her. Maybe she’d really pissed off Ice Pick.
She shot Sean a look, grateful for his help, wondering about his motivation. Was he doing this for Cyrus or for her? Either way, it seemed a huge shift in his rigid stance. Maybe sharing her story with him had actually changed his mind.
“Thanks for helping me,” she said.
“I don’t want you coming into this area on your own,” he said.
She sighed. That sounded more like Sean, a man who thought he knew what was best for everyone.
“Check out that group,” he said, taking a corner slowly. “Do you see him?”
Aleta searched the gathering of four or five young men Sean indicated, some leaning against a chain-link fence with their arms outstretched, some smoking cigare
ttes or joints. All wore the colors of the Devil’s Posse. Red and yellow.
“He’s not there.”
“I know another area,” Sean said.
“God, I hate the idea that Cyrus has joined the Posse,” Aleta said when they were out of sight of the corner.
“Get used to it. You’ve likely seen the last of him at the gym.”
“And I hate how accepting you are of it.”
“I’m looking for him, aren’t I?”
“What will you do if we find him?”
“There’s nothing we can do, but I want to confirm our assumption. If he sees us, at least he’ll know someone cares what happens to him.”
She glanced at him. He drove carefully, focused on the road. Was he including himself in that statement? Had his time at Sunshine Center changed him enough that he’d started to care about the clients?
“There he is,” Sean said.
Aleta swiveled her head and spotted Cyrus immediately. Hard to miss him with those bright colors. He stood by himself on the cracked sidewalk watching vehicles that drove in the direction of the group on the last corner.
“He’s looking for unmarked cop cars,” Sean said.
“They’re not hard to spot,” Aleta murmured, remembering her days on the street. Everyone evading the police easily learned to recognize the standard features of their unmarked vehicles.
“He’s alone,” she said. “Let’s stop and talk to him.”
“He won’t listen,” Sean said. “But wave at him out the window. Let him know we know what he’s up to.”
Aleta lowered her window and stuck out her hand. “Cyrus,” she yelled.
The kid jumped back as if startled, then made an obscene gesture and ran away, disappearing between two buildings.
“Oh, Cyrus,” she murmured. “What have they done to you?”
“Nice,” Sean said. “Really nice.”
What a disastrous day. She released a sigh. She’d lost Cyrus to a gang. He’d given her the finger. She’d offended his mother. And Sean’s car had been keyed.
What else could go wrong?
In her peripheral vision, she’d seen Sean throwing her worried glances, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. She’d expected him to bombard her with several “I told you so’s.” She was grateful for his restraint.
Staring down at her hands, she realized she’d clenched them into fists and released her fingers.
“Mrs. Alonso has no clue what’s going on with her son,” Aleta said.
“Nope. She’s an addict.”
“There but for the grace of God go I,” Aleta murmured.
“And you made a choice to turn your life around,” Sean said. “So can she.”
“Not really,” Aleta said. “I had opportunities that aren’t open to her.”
“People make their own opportunities.”
“But she sees her life as a dead end.”
“And her drug use is dooming her son to that same miserable life.”
Aleta sighed again, tired of hearing her own pity party. “I wish I could do something to help.”
“Stop beating yourself up. You can’t save the whole world.”
“I know that,” she murmured, pissed at the catch in her voice.
“Hey. You’re not going to start crying on me, are you, tough lady?”
She met his gaze and narrowed her eyes. “Well, maybe I was, but I guess I’d better not.”
Sean nodded and refocused on the road. “Good.”
“Some priest you’d make.”
His mouth twitched, and she suspected his lack of sympathy had been deliberate, an attempt to shake her out of her misery.
“I’m sorry about the damage to your vehicle,” she said.
“It’s not your fault,” he said. “It was my suggestion we make the visit.”
“Still, I’m sorry.”
They were almost back to St. Theresa’s, but she’d signed out for the afternoon to make the field visit. No one expected her to return, and she didn’t have the heart to face her kids. The gym was open, and she’d left instructions for Deacon Alsobrook and the custodian to wind things down and lock up at six o’clock.
“I don’t want to go back to work,” she said, staring at her lap.
“Where do you want to go?” Sean asked.
He braked at a red light, and she felt his gaze on her again.
“I want you to take me home.”
She raised her gaze to his and experienced that strange electrical jolt she always got from his piercing blue eyes.
His gaze softened. “You got it, pretty lady.”
She looked away, wondering why she’d phrased her request in the way she had, and if Sean understood what she meant. What she needed. She could have asked him to drop her off at her car and driven home herself, but she didn’t want to be alone right now. And it was Sean’s company she craved.
If she were honest, she craved more than just his company. She needed a physical connection. She threw him another look. Sean was definitely physical. She shivered.
He pulled into a visitor’s spot in her parking lot and shifted to face her. She scanned the area, looking for Bubba.
“I’m coming up,” Sean stated.
“I want you to,” she said.
He raised his brows. So maybe he hadn’t received her message. But why would he? She’d always been horrible at this game. All she knew was she needed to be held. And she wanted Sean O’Malley to hold her.
“You and I need to talk,” he said.
He’d surprised her once again. “Have you come up with an idea about how we can rescue Cyrus?” she asked.
“Sorry, but no,” Sean said. “You’re going to tell me what you’re so nervous about.”
She nodded. So she’d been right. The day could get worse.
* * *
SEAN FOLLOWED ALETA toward her building, noting again how carefully she checked out her surroundings, keeping her hand inside her purse, fingers no doubt wrapped around her canister of pepper spray.
Unlike Cyrus’s hood, the area she lived in was known to be safe. She’d behaved this way last night, too.
Intrigued by her watchfulness, he surveilled the parking lot. Broad daylight and nothing appeared disturbing. Was she always this vigilant or concerned about some real threat?
Neither of them spoke on the elevator ride to her fourth-floor apartment. Sean wanted to reach out and touch Aleta, to somehow reassure her for whatever was bothering her. He had a gut feeling, an instinct sharpened by three years on the job, that her unease stemmed from something more than the disasters with Cyrus and his mother.
Was it Ice Pick? Was she holding something back?
Hand still inside her shoulder bag, she peeked out of the elevator before stepping outside, which was far beyond even a paranoid’s customary prudence. When she withdrew her hand, she had her keys threaded between her fingers, making her fist a serious weapon as she hurried down the open hallway.
At her front door, she unlocked the door and quickly secured it behind them with an emphatic click.
Turning to face him, she dropped her purse on a table and used a hand to smooth her slacks.
“Would you like some lemonade?” she asked.
“Maybe after you tell me what’s got you so riled up.”
“What makes you think I’m riled up?”
“Your behavior.”
Giving him a smile that made him catch his breath, she took a step toward him.
“Maybe you’ve gotten me riled up.”
Sean blinked. He’d thought he’d been imagining things during the drive, reading meaning into Aleta’s actions he wanted to see because of his infatuation with her. But no man could mistake her soft, throaty tone. She was flirting with him. Or playing with him. But why, especially to
day?
She was afraid of something, and it wasn’t about Cyrus or the Posse.
He needed to find out what it was.
She continued to move toward him, never breaking eye contact.
“I thought nothing got to you,” he said.
“I thought so, too.” She stood before him, close enough to touch—and oh, God, he wanted to touch her—her head tilted up to his. “Turns out I was wrong.”
Feeling the soft whisper of her breath on his chin, Sean stared down at her.
“What are you doing, Aleta?”
“I’m not sure.” She placed her hands on his shoulders. “I’m rather new to seduction.”
“You’re trying to seduce me?”
She nodded and slid her hands around his neck. “Why didn’t you kiss me last night?”
“Do you want me to kiss you now?”
“Yes, please.”
Sean lowered his mouth to hers and forgot where he was and what he’d been doing. He’d wanted to do this the moment he’d laid eyes on Aleta.
Making soft noises in her throat, she opened willingly to him. He crushed her against him, loving the feel of her soft yet strong body, and felt himself harden.
He broke their kiss and stared down into her face, trailing a thumb across her smooth cheek. Her dark eyes appeared dazed. He suspected his were unfocused as well. He worked with this woman every day, at least temporarily. Before last night, he’d entertained ideas of taking her to bed, but this had gotten complicated. Before he went any further, he needed to be honest with her. She should know what kind of man he was.
“Do you still want to know why I didn’t kiss you last night?”
“No,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t?”
“Not if you keep kissing me now.”
“If I keep kissing you, I won’t be able to stop.” He slid his hand from her cheek to cup the curve of her amazing backside. “And you won’t want me to.”
“I already don’t want you to.” She stepped back and released the top button of her blouse.
His breath caught as he watched her open her blouse, revealing glimpses of a lacy black bra. He raised his gaze to hers and saw no hesitation in those gorgeous dark eyes. His erection jerked against trousers that suddenly fit too tight.
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