A Cop's Second Chance

by Sharon Hartley

  “Nothing stays secret around St. Theresa’s for very long.”

  “Does everyone know I’m a police officer?”

  “No. Father Mac asked me not to say anything.”

  Sean sighed. “It doesn’t matter now anyway. We have the guilty party. Listen, after the arrest, I’ve got to take this guy in for booking and I’ll have a report to write. That could take some time.”

  “So you’re not coming over?”

  “It’ll be too late, but I’ll give you a ride to St. Theresa’s in the morning. What time?”

  “I usually leave around eight.”

  “I’ll be there at seven. Keep your doors locked until then.”

  They said their goodbyes, and she hung up. Staring at the phone, she tried to process the information she’d just learned. Of all the people who might be guilty of stealing from the parish, Deacon Alsobrook had never appeared on her radar. Was he covering for someone else?

  Or did she have to accept the fact that someone she respected was a thief? Maybe her judgment about people still wasn’t all that great.

  She put her phone down and stared into space. She should be thrilled that the thief had been caught, even if his identity was a shock. She’d been flying high looking forward to Sean’s return, but now he wasn’t coming.

  What was wrong with her? She wasn’t ready for any sort of romantic relationship with Sean or anybody else. She’d assumed he wasn’t either, but maybe she needed to tell him that in case her radar was still off. Had she given him the wrong impression?

  With the parish thief apprehended, he might be done with St. Theresa’s, so maybe she didn’t need to worry. But the kids had gotten used to him. They liked having him around, even if she felt he pushed them too hard. The first game of their tournament would take place on Saturday, two days away. Everyone was excited about the competition.

  Which reminded her that she needed to order the cupcakes for the postgame celebration from her friend Greta’s bakery.

  Darn. Would Sean stick around long enough to coach his team through that game? He was at St. Theresa’s because of the gang activity, too.

  She closed her eyes, furious at herself for caring. She also liked having Sean around. For reasons that she never should have allowed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  WEARING HIS POLICE uniform and carrying a laptop, Sean followed Father Mac through a dark yard toward a front porch with a single light blazing. Modern police work had paid off, and Sean was proud of himself for insisting on the surveillance. Mission accomplished, even if the results were unexpected. And, in a way, depressing.

  Since the thief had nothing to do with gang activity, his hoped-for transfer to GSU might now be out of reach.

  It was late, almost nine o’clock, but for all he knew Deacon Alsobrook was making plans to blow town. Besides, whether Father Mac believed it or not, it was better for the deacon if they didn’t wait.

  As this was his first offense, Alsobrook would likely do no jail time other than one night in a holding cell before arraignment tomorrow morning. Father Mac could bail him out by 9:00 a.m., and few people would know about the humiliating arrest.

  His neighbors would wonder about the marked police car visiting the deacon, but that couldn’t be helped.

  Father Mac rapped on the deacon’s front door. Sean had agreed to let the priest take the lead, to ask some questions before they showed the video. Sean understood Father Mac wanted to give his deacon a chance to confess, probably believing it would be better for his immortal soul.

  Sean rotated his neck, enjoying the freedom from the tight collar. One thing for sure. It was better for his own soul to be back in the uniform he was meant to wear. He hoped to never put the bogus clerical collar back on.

  Alsobrook opened the door wearing jeans and a loose-fitting shirt, holding a racing form from the local Thoroughbred track. He didn’t appear surprised to see a priest and a cop standing on his front porch.

  Nodding once, he said, “Father.”

  “May we come in, Deacon?”

  “Certainly.”

  When they entered a neat but sparsely furnished living room, Sean noted stacks of racing forms everywhere.

  Alsobrook muted the television and asked, “May I offer you some iced tea, Father?”

  “This isn’t a social call, my son,” Father Mac said.

  The deacon folded his arms behind his back. “I understand.”

  After an awkward pause, Father Mac said, “Do you know why we’re here?”

  “I think so.” The deacon’s gaze swept over Sean, and his eyes widened. “My God. You’re a police officer.”

  “Why do you believe we’ve come, my son?” Father Mac asked gently.

  “I’ve sinned grievously, and I’m to be punished.”

  Looking defeated, Father Mac bowed his head for a moment, then looked up and fixed Alsobrook with a stare.

  Before Father Mac could ask another question, Sean read the deacon his rights.

  “Do you understand these rights?” Sean asked.

  “I understand.”

  “Do you admit to stealing from your parish?” Father Mac demanded.

  “Yes, Father,” Alsobrook said in a soft voice, almost a whisper.

  “May I ask why?”

  The deacon shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “It does to me,” Father Mac said.

  “You have a gambling problem, don’t you?” Sean asked. “You like to play the ponies.”

  Alsobrook dropped onto the sofa. “I can’t make myself stop.”

  “Do you use a bookie?”

  Alsobrook nodded and looked away.

  “How much are you in for?” Sean asked.

  “Too much.” When he met Sean’s gaze again, his eyes glistened with moisture. “I’ll have to sell our home.”

  Father Mac sat beside him. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Since Sylvia got the cancer. It just—I don’t know—happened. The excitement of a possible win made me feel better, forget my problems. Until my horse lost.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me for help?”

  “I don’t know, Father.”

  Sean knew the answer. Gamblers always thought they’d win big on the next bet. But of course that big payoff never occurred. The gambler only got deeper into an ever-widening hole.

  “What now?” Alsobrook asked, looking at Sean.

  “I have to take you to my station and book you,” Sean said.

  “What about my wife? She shouldn’t be alone.”

  “Is there someone who could come over to sit with her until you get home?” Father Mac asked.

  “Her sister could probably come over.”

  “Call her. I’ll remain here until she arrives,” Father Mac said.

  After placing the call, Alsobrook stood and held out his hands in a manner that indicated he thought he’d be handcuffed.

  Father Mac pursed his lips. “Is that necessary?”

  “No,” Sean said, although it was against the department’s policy. “At least not until we get to the precinct.”

  Sean locked Deacon Alsobrook in the back seat of his patrol car. Neither of them spoke on the drive. When they arrived, Sean cuffed him and walked him inside. The deacon didn’t protest. Sean was relieved to turn the man over to the night sergeant.

  He no longer felt quite so prideful about this arrest. Yeah, the deacon had committed serious crimes, but for the first time in his career, Sean experienced a twinge of sympathy for the perp. From all accounts, Alsobrook was a good man who’d made horrible decisions because of grief and the stress of a dying wife. And now his life had totally unraveled.

  Old-timers on the force always insisted crimes weren’t always black and white. After getting to know Hot Shot, Sean understood what they meant. And Cyrus. Sea
n shook his head. Too bad he couldn’t help the confused kid.

  Sean found an empty desk to complete his status and arrest reports. He hesitated, knowing it would get him pulled off the plum assignment, but added an addendum that the staff at Sunshine Center was doing a good job keeping their clients out of gangs and that in his opinion an undercover law-enforcement officer was no longer necessary.

  That should make Aleta happy.

  By the time he was finished, it was close to midnight. He saved the files and sent them to Sergeant McFadden, then sat back in the chair and stretched his shoulders. Man, but it had been a long and eventful day. The visit to Cyrus’s home seemed like a week ago.

  And Aleta had never been far from his mind. He grinned. They’d finally had their one-on-one, and that had been only a few hours ago. Hopefully, she was asleep by now and not worried about Bubba Burnett.

  It’d been a couple of hours since he’d been able to check on the status of the manhunt. Sean rolled his chair forward to catch up.

  He narrowed his eyes in surprise. The PD in Frostproof had canceled the APB. What the hell? A body had been found in a burned-out home, and the local police assumed the corpse was Burnett because they’d found a stolen truck behind the house containing trace evidence indicating Burnett had been inside. They were processing what was left of the residence for further proof, but fire had destroyed most everything. The autopsy, which would confirm the body was indeed their escapee, was pending.

  Of course it was. Frostproof was hardly a metropolis. They likely didn’t have their own forensics lab. How long would it take to get the results? What had caused the fire?

  Why the hell did Frostproof call off the manhunt before they had confirmation the body was Burnett?

  Sean stared at the report. They’d found charred beer cans in the remains of the fire, so maybe the dude had gotten so seriously wasted after a long stretch with no booze that he’d managed to kill himself.

  The outcome seemed too easy. Too pat. Burnett could have staged the fire to throw the cops off his trail.

  Should he tell Aleta?

  He read through the reports two more times, looking for something he’d missed, and decided not to tell her. It was too big of a risk. She’d let down her guard and assume she was safe. Until an autopsy confirmed Burnett was dead, she needed to relocate. Her ex could still be out there hunting her.

  Moving in with her parents remained the best option. Plus, it would force her to talk to them, which in his opinion could only be a good thing.

  * * *

  GROGGY AND UNSURE she’d heard Myra clearly, Aleta clutched the phone and sat up in bed.

  “What did you say?”

  “Bubba Burnett is dead,” Myra repeated. “The idiot set himself on fire in a foreclosed home somewhere in the middle of the state.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “State law-enforcement agencies have stood down from an active search. You don’t need to be afraid any longer.”

  Aleta closed her eyes. It was wrong to be happy that anyone had died, even a monster like Bubba. She offered a quick prayer for forgiveness, but couldn’t help thinking this was wonderful news.

  She glanced at the clock. Six a.m. She needed to get up anyway. Sean would be here in an hour. Did he already know about Bubba?

  “When did this happen?”

  “Yesterday afternoon.”

  “How did you find out?” she asked.

  “Because of my position with the state, I put in a request to be kept informed of any developments in the search. I received a text from the prison system in the middle of the night but just read it. I called my contact for the details. Sorry it’s so early, but I wanted you to know.”

  “And there’s no mistake?” Aleta asked. “They’re certain the body is Bubba?”

  “Well, they’re officially waiting for confirmation from the autopsy, but they found a truck he stole in the backyard. My contact at the prison is convinced it’s him.”

  “Thank you,” Aleta said. “I feel like I could float off into the stratosphere.”

  “Congratulations,” Myra said. “You’re finally free of him.”

  “Is it wrong to want to celebrate?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Then let’s meet for lunch soon,” Aleta said. “My treat.”

  “You got it.”

  Aleta disconnected and settled back in bed, allowing the ramifications of Bubba’s death to sink in. Was her long nightmare over? Had she finally suffered enough for her transgressions?

  She thought about Sean, who was on his way over to give her a ride to work. She suspected he was coming early to persuade her to take a leave of absence, to change her ordinary habits. But none of that was necessary now.

  Sean was on his way over. Bubba was gone. She leaped out of bed, turned in circles and waved her arms in the air doing her crazy happy dance. She hadn’t whirled for joy in a long, long time.

  She stopped dancing when Cyrus popped into her thoughts. Even Hot Shot was worried that his little buddy had disappeared. Today was the last practice before the tournament started tomorrow. Would he show up?

  Humming to herself, she hurried to take a shower. As she lathered her body, she had a sudden image of Sean with her under the warm spray with him smoothing his hands all over her skin. What has happened to you, girl?

  Would things be different between them now? Would he want to make love to her again, or would he tell her they’d made a mistake as he drove her to work?

  Her bet was on round two.

  First, she’d make him an awesome breakfast. If he didn’t know about Bubba, she needed to tell him. And she wanted to know what had happened last night with Deacon Alsobrook. She and Sean had a lot to discuss.

  * * *

  ALETA BLINKED WHEN she opened the door to Sean. He looked great—he always looked good—but he wasn’t wearing the clerical collar, which meant...what? That he was done with St. Theresa’s?

  No. He had on shorts and a Sunshine Center T-shirt, his customary coaching duds. He was also carrying a bag from Greta’s Goodies that smelled of fresh bagels and garlic. He’d brought her breakfast.

  He stepped inside, leaned over and kissed her. He tasted of coffee. When he withdrew his mouth from hers, he said, “Good morning,” his breath whispering across her cheek.

  “Good morning,” she said, trying to gather her thoughts. Sean’s kisses discombobulated her.

  He sniffed the air. “Is that bacon?”

  “It is,” she confirmed. “I thought we’d eat here for a change.”

  “You’re an angel.”

  “I take it you’re hungry?”

  “Starving.” He handed her the bag. “I brought bagels.”

  “Thanks. Come on to the kitchen while I finish up. I want to hear about Deacon Alsobrook.”

  While Aleta whipped eggs for cheese omelets, Sean poured them both coffee and related the story of the trip to arrest Alsobrook.

  She turned from the stove and stared at Sean where he sat at the pass-through to the small table. “The deacon has a gambling problem?”

  “A bad one. He’s in over a hundred grand to a bookie in Liberty City.”

  “Oh, my God. That’s why he stole from the parish?”

  “And now he wants to be punished.”

  She turned back to the stove and flipped the omelets. “I didn’t believe it,” she said. “But it’s true.”

  “I told you video doesn’t lie.”

  Aleta placed a plate with eggs, bacon and a toasted bagel before Sean. “What happens now?”

  “He’ll be arraigned this morning, and Father Mac will bail him out. The good deacon will be home with his sick wife by noon.”

  She sat across from Sean with her own breakfast. “He won’t go to prison?”

  Sean shook his head. “Not lik
ely. He’s never been in any trouble before.”

  “How do you feel about that?” she asked.

  Sean speared a bite of omelet. “About what?”

  She lifted her cup for a sip of coffee. “About Alsobrook getting off so easy.”

  “I’m not sure. His wife’s illness seems like torture enough.”

  She stared at him over the rim of her cup. “Wow. You’re changing.”

  Sean rolled his eyes and took a hesitant taste of her omelet. “This is good,” he announced.

  “You sound surprised.”

  Sean shrugged and continued to eat with obvious gusto.

  “I can cook,” she said.

  “I never said you couldn’t.”

  She spread cream cheese on a bagel and took a bite. “Mmm. I love the bagels from this bakery. My friend Greta owns the place.”

  “There’s a Greta at Greta’s Goodies?”

  “Yep, and I’ve ordered cupcakes from her for after the game tomorrow.”

  Sean raised his head. “Cupcakes?”

  “Tiny ones.” She nodded. “They’re all the rage now.”

  He pulled a face. “Tiny cupcakes for a basketball game?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Seems too—girlie.”

  Aleta narrowed her eyes at him. “There are women on the teams. And some mothers will be there.”

  “What’s wrong with good old chips and dip?”

  “Everyone loves cupcakes.”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

  “They will be wonderful,” she insisted. “You’ll see.”

  He grinned at her. “Are you planning on serving tea, as well? Crumpets?”

  “Water and sodas. So, you will coach your team tomorrow, right?”

  “Of course. I look forward to my team cleaning your team’s clock.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes. Sean shook his head, seeming vastly amused by her idea for refreshments. At least he wasn’t acting weird. He was just being Sean, poking fun at her and concentrating on one thing at a time.

  Aleta patted her mouth with a napkin. “So are we going to talk about what happened yesterday?”