With mounting rage, he patrolled the facade of the house looking for an access point. But between the lighting and the alarm and the new doors, he couldn’t get inside. He didn’t have the right tools.
He wanted to break something. Destroy anything. Kill someone.
But no. Not this time. He’d have to come back.
Bubba limped back to the fence. He rotated his neck, leaped and pulled himself up. It hurt like a son of a bitch when he jumped down on the other side.
He grunted at a comforting thought. He’d make sure Delilah experienced even more pain when he found her.
Payback was a bitch, too. And that bitch was coming for Delilah.
* * *
ON BREAK AT their regular deli at 10:00 a.m., Sean sat in a booth with Dale and Kelly, two fellow officers, both of whom had been in his rookie class. He picked up the turkey sandwich delivered by the server and took a bite. Damn thing tasted like sawdust.
“What the hell is wrong with you, O’Malley?” Dale demanded. “You haven’t said word one since we sat down.”
“Nothing is wrong with me,” Sean said.
“He misses the good life at St. Theresa’s,” Kelly said as she squirted ketchup on her burger. “No one to kiss his ring, no more free breakfasts.”
“No one kissed my ring at St. Theresa’s,” Sean said.
“Not his ring, maybe,” Dale said. “However, I’m certain his new lady friend found other things to kiss.”
“I don’t have a new lady friend.”
Kelly raised her brows. “Touchy, aren’t we?”
Sean sighed. He normally didn’t mind the shit his fellow officers gave him. They all ribbed each other constantly. It was part of the job, helped cut the stress. And he usually gave as good as he got, knowing they had each other’s backs.
But Kelly was right. He was being touchy about Aleta. The woman had somehow gotten to him. He’d allowed himself to care too much, a recipe for disaster. And the worst of it was he knew better, had promised himself he’d never allow that to happen.
Bottom line—he was worried about Bubba Burnett finding her.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “I’m not used to 6:00 a.m. roll call anymore.”
“Better get used to it,” Dale said.
“Sarge gave you a hard time this morning,” Kelly said. “You guys have a beef?”
“I asked for the day,” Sean said, pushing away his plate. He had no appetite. “Sarge didn’t like it.”
“Why did you need the day?” Kelly asked.
“I’m supposed to be coaching a basketball game in a couple of hours at St. Theresa’s.”
“So you were a priest and a coach?” Dale grinned. “Nice gig.”
“I think that’s great,” Kelly said, pointing a french fry at him. “You know, my husband coaches tennis for underprivileged kids.”
“I heard about that,” Sean said with an approving nod. Although he’d made fun of the free tennis clinic when he’d first learned of it. Funny how a billionaire helping inner-city kids no longer seemed so foolish.
Dale rolled his eyes and took a bite of his roast beef sandwich.
“Any word yet on that escaped prisoner you’ve been so worried about?” Kelly asked.
“I’m still waiting on the autopsy to confirm the body was Burnett.”
“Why are you so interested in him?” Dale asked. “The guy is a mutt.”
Sean was saved from answering when the phone on his belt vibrated. He checked caller ID. Father Mac. What now? He’d notified the priest that he’d been called back to regular duty.
“Excuse me a minute,” Sean said, and stepped away from the table.
“What’s up, Father?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Sean, but I thought you should know Mrs. Porter contacted me.”
“Mrs. Porter?”
“Aleta’s mother. She had an intruder at her home last night.”
Sean clutched the phone tighter. “Is she okay?”
“Yes. He didn’t get inside the home. But she heard a noise, woke up and checked the surveillance feed. A man, a very large man, according to her description, was trying to gain access. She is convinced it was Robert Burnett, the man Aleta testified against.”
Sean smothered a curse. “She recognized him?”
“She says the video is dark and grainy, but she’s certain it was him. How could that be, Sean? I thought the man had been killed in a fire.”
“We don’t have confirmation the body is his yet. We’re waiting on the autopsy.” Which apparently there’s no rush on.
“I see,” Father Mac said after a pause. “Aleta knows he could be alive?”
“Yes.”
“This is making more sense now. Apparently Aleta contacted her father and asked him to take precautions.”
“And he got in touch with the mother to warn her,” Sean stated. Good for you, Aleta. You might have saved your mom’s life.
“Yes, and the mother wants Aleta to know. That’s why she contacted me.”
“Have you told Aleta about her mom’s call?”
“I haven’t been able to reach her, which is strange. That’s why I’m calling. Do you know where she is?”
“No. I haven’t spoken to her since yesterday.”
“Well, if you hear from her, please tell her to be careful. Obviously, this is startling news.”
No kidding. “Can you give me Mrs. Porter’s phone number?” Sean asked. “I’d like to take a look at that video.”
After jotting down the number, Sean disconnected and immediately called Aleta. As expected, she didn’t pick up. He waited for the stupid beep.
He should be at St. Theresa’s where he could protect her. He shouldn’t have gone back on patrol.
“This is Sean,” he said. “Call me. It’s important. Someone resembling Burnett has been spotted, and you need to know the circumstances.” After a beat, he added, “Wherever you are, please be careful.”
He disconnected and thought about his next move. He had a bad feeling about this development. What were the odds that a perp who wasn’t Burnett would try to break into the Porter home? He needed to see that video and confirm the intruder had been Burnett.
Because what if the man truly was dead? What if he was spinning his wheels, worrying over nothing? Shit. Getting Aleta all worked up over nothing. Even Father Mac was now concerned.
But damn, how amazing that Aleta had found the courage to contact her dad. He’d feared she wouldn’t until he read her text, had wondered if he ought to reach out to the Porters himself. Did she know her parents were separated? How had she reacted?
And how had the conversation with her father made her feel? God, he wanted to talk to her. She was probably a wreck. Was that why she wasn’t returning calls? Why hadn’t she told him where she was?
Sean glanced at the time. He still had twenty minutes left on his break. How much shit would rain down on his head for driving out of his patrol area to visit the Porter home? If a call came in, he’d be screwed with Sarge, maybe even get a suspension. But so be it.
He placed a call to Aleta’s mother and identified himself as a police officer.
“I’d like to see the surveillance of your intruder,” he told her. “It would be helpful going forward with our investigation.”
“Certainly, Officer,” Mrs. Porter replied, sounding like a totally reasonable human being and nothing like the shrew Aleta claimed her to be. “Anything you need. I’ll be home all day.”
He returned to Dale and Kelly and threw bills on the table to cover his meal.
“Gotta go,” he said.
“Where are you going?” Kelly asked.
Sean waved her off and hurried to his unit. With lights and sirens, he could get to the Porter residence in fifteen minutes.
* * *
&nbs
p; ALETA STOOD BEFORE the door to Sean’s room at St. Theresa’s and raised her chin. She needed to get this apology over with in private. She didn’t want any drama with Sean to overshadow the game.
When she knocked on the door, it swung open a crack.
“Sean?” she called out. “Are you decent?”
No answer.
She pushed the door wide open. “Sean?”
She stepped inside and sucked in a breath. The room was clear of any of Sean’s possessions. It was like no one had ever lived here.
He’d already moved out.
Of course he had. He’d identified St. Theresa’s thief. His mission at Sunshine Center had been completed.
But wasn’t he also here to curtail gang activity?
And what about the game today? What about his team?
She fished her phone out of her purse, dismayed to find it was dead. She hadn’t brought her charger with her when she went to Pom’s.
Aleta hurried toward the gymnasium, where she could use the landline.
By the time she’d reached her desk, she’d changed her mind. Why reach out to him? He’d never cared about her kids. She thought he had changed, that he’d developed a relationship with his team, but she’d obviously been wrong.
Maybe he’d surprise her and show up. That could still happen. The game wasn’t scheduled to start for hours. He’d told her he would be here.
Yeah, right.
Aleta dropped her purse on her desk and glanced at Sean’s. Neat, as always. No signs that he’d ever even turned on the computer. He wouldn’t be back.
She needed to get used to the idea that Sean was gone.
Out of her life. It hurt, yeah, and it was her own fault. She’d pushed him away. Myra claimed she always pushed people away when they got too close.
It was better this way. Sean could never love her. No matter how far she’d come, the reappearance of Bubba Burnett—dead or alive—had proved she could never escape her past.
She drummed her fingers on the desk. Never mind how much she was hurting. Who would coach Sean’s team today? Pom might help. Or maybe this was just the thing to reintegrate Deacon Alsobrook into the fabric of the parish.
She reached for the phone, realizing it didn’t matter who she got to sub for Sean. Every player on his team would know that he had abandoned them.
Just like he had abandoned her.
* * *
BUBBA CRUISED THROUGH his old hood, looking for the pansies he’d made the buy from yesterday. He needed a weapon. He also needed to score some blow.
No one was out at the regular spots this morning, though. It was early, yeah, but something big must be going down. He’d once known everything that happened on these streets. Now he was the outsider.
Delilah’s fault. But her time was coming. And soon.
On the corner where the Palms Apartments had once stood, he spotted a dark-headed dude hurrying away from the street. The way he moved looked familiar. Shit. That dude was Marco, a wannabe who used to hang around his crew. And hadn’t he been tight with a bitch in the Street Sisters, one of Delilah’s girls?
Bubba made a U-turn, caught up with Marco, swerved in front of him and slammed on the brakes. Marco came to a halt with a shocked expression. He was a dipshit, but even a dipshit would know where to score. No doubt he’d found some new crew to kiss ass on.
“My man Marco,” Bubba said as he exited the vehicle.
Marco took a step back. “How do you know my name?”
“It’s me,” Bubba said, spreading his arms wide. “Bubba Burnett.”
“Bubba?” Marco squinted at him. “For real?”
“Yeah, man.”
“I thought you were in the joint,” Marco said.
“I got out,” Bubba said. “Good behavior.”
“Uh—that’s awesome,” Marco said.
But Marco’s tone pissed Bubba off. The dude doubted his words, didn’t believe Bubba the Beast could get out early for good behavior.
Bubba stepped closer to Marco, dwarfing the smaller man. “Yeah, it is awesome.”
The jerk held up both hands. “Peace, man. How long you been out?”
“Couple of days. I need to score. And I need a weapon.”
“Can’t help you, man,” he said, looking glum. But then he brightened as if remembering something. “Hey, you hooked up with Delilah yet?”
Bubba froze. “You know where she is?”
“She’s working at some church down south, St. Mary’s or something like that. One of my homies in the Posse was talking shit about her a while back.”
“St. Mary’s?”
“Some saint, yeah. She’s gone straight, helping kids do the right thing.” Marco shrugged. “You know, stay in school and shit like that.”
“Do you know where this church is?” Bubba demanded.
“Yeah, I told you. Down south. Somewhere near the Redlands maybe.”
Bubba grabbed Marco by his collar. “Get in the car, man. You’re gonna take me there.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AS THE GATES surrounding the Porter estate opened—and estate was the correct description—Sean eased down a long driveway toward the brick facade of a three-story home. Perfectly maintained landscaping, including mature oak trees, surrounded him on his approach.
Aleta hadn’t been kidding about country-club parents. He’d known they were upscale, but hadn’t anticipated this level of affluence. He half expected to see a private jet parked in the backyard.
When he rang the bell, a slim woman wearing jeans and a casual blouse opened the door. He blinked. The resemblance to Aleta was startling, and he wondered if that was part of the problem between them.
“Mrs. Porter?” he asked.
She nodded, her sharp gaze sweeping his uniform. “Officer O’Malley?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Please come in. Thank you for following up on this. I’ve got the video feed set up for you to review.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Sean followed Mrs. Porter inside a home unlike those he normally visited on the job. Citizens who lived with this level of luxury didn’t often summon the police to their homes because of domestic disturbances, and this area was out of his inner city patrol area.
In fact, this place could easily be featured in a slick magazine about how to live the good life. And Aleta gave all this up? Even the office, full of white furniture and white walls with white-framed pictures, looked as if it had been put together by someone with a degree in design.
“Here you are, Officer,” Mrs. Porter said, indicating he should sit before a giant monitor—white of course—one of far better quality than the PD used. On the screen was a frozen image of a pool and deck area behind the residence.
Sean sat and clicked on the video feed. The image came to life. No question a male intruder was attempting to gain entrance. Sean watched three times, the feed switching between four different cameras positioned around the residence, while Mrs. Porter paced her office, obviously deep in thought. And who wouldn’t be distraught over the idea that a man convicted of two murders had tried to gain access to her home?
The quality of the recording might be grainy, but Sean had no doubt the man in the feed was Robert Burnett. He’d spent a lot of time studying the escapee’s image trying to figure out what Aleta had ever seen in him.
When he’d learned all he could, Sean stood.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “I need to get back.”
“Do you believe that’s Burnett?” Mrs. Porter demanded.
“Hard to say for sure, ma’am, but likely so.”
“So he’s not dead.”
“It would appear not.”
She nodded. “Thank God my husband called me. Who knows if I would have remembered to arm the security system.”
“Best to always use security if it’s in place, ma’am.”
She nodded again. “Frankly, I’m surprised at this level of concern by the police. It’s not usual, is it?”
“Burnett is a dangerous felon,” Sean said.
“He came here looking for my daughter,” Mrs. Porter said. “She provided the testimony that put him in prison. I suspect he’s out for revenge.”
“Could be, ma’am,” Sean said vaguely. “Please be careful. He obviously knows where you live.”
Mrs. Porter nodded and placed a hand on Sean’s arm, searching his face with a pleading look. “Is there any chance the police could put my daughter in some sort of protective custody until Burnett is caught?”
Sean patted Mrs. Porter’s hand. Wouldn’t that be great. “Not until we get the autopsy back and confirm that he’s still alive. You could hire a bodyguard for her, though. I recommend you do that ASAP.”
“I made a lot of mistakes with my daughter.” Mrs. Porter dropped her arm and looked away. “She’d never agree to that, especially if she knew the idea came from me.”
The doorbell chimed with three clear, beautiful tones before Sean could tell Mrs. Porter that Aleta didn’t have to know where the idea came from.
“I wonder who that is,” Mrs. Porter murmured, moving back into the foyer.
“Are you expecting anyone, ma’am?” Sean asked, following her.
“Not really.”
“Then please confirm you know your visitor before you open the door,” Sean said.
When Mrs. Porter looked through the peephole, she made an excited clucking sound.
“It’s Alex,” she said, a catch in her voice.
Alex? Aleta’s father.
Sean had hoped the visitor was Aleta.
Mrs. Porter flung open the door and threw her arms around the tall, dignified man standing on the threshold. He wore casual clothing, and gray dusted the hair at his temples.
“Karen,” Mr. Porter said as he hugged her close.
Mrs. Porter wiped away tears as she stepped back. “What are you doing here?”
“How could I not come?”
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