A Cop's Second Chance

by Sharon Hartley

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Plus, I wanted you to know that I’ve hired security for the house 24/7. There’ll be guards in place until this animal is apprehended.”

  She reached out a hand and grasped her husband’s. “I should have thought of that.”

  “You would have.”

  The two gazed at each other for so long that Sean cleared his throat.

  Mrs. Porter glanced back. “Oh, I’m sorry, Officer O’Malley. This is my husband,” she said. “He’s been...away.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sean said.

  Mr. Porter stepped inside and closed the door, looking from his wife to Sean. “What are the police doing here? I panicked when I saw the cruiser out front.”

  “I came to review the video of your intruder,” Sean said. “And now I have to get back on duty.”

  “Yes, of course,” Mrs. Porter said, but she was gazing at her husband with eyes that told Sean there was still hope for the marriage.

  “Please keep us informed of any developments, Officer,” Mr. Porter said.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Sean said. “And please consider hiring that bodyguard for Aleta.” If it’s not too late.

  Still staring at his wife, Mr. Porter said, “That’s an excellent suggestion, Officer.”

  Yeah, one you should have thought of before now.

  Sean hurried toward his cruiser. It appeared as if this crisis might have opened the door for the Porters to reconcile. Well, good for them. Aleta believed in second chances, and apparently her parents did, too. And they didn’t seem to be the remote, judgmental people that she’d described. At least not to him, not today.

  But he wasn’t their daughter. What did he know about how they treated Aleta? He needed to let go of his own judgments.

  Once underway, Sean checked the dispatch log, relieved to see that no calls had come in while he was out of his district. With a little luck, command would never know he’d left the patrol area.

  His ringtone sounded.

  “Yeah, Dale,” he answered with hands-free technology.

  “You need to get back on station,” Dale said over the speaker. “Sarge will be looking for you.”

  Shit. “On my way. What’s up?”

  “Command issued a supplemental report. The body from the fire was not Robert Burnett, and they reactivated the BOLO. He’s still out there somewhere.”

  “Thanks, man.” Sean cursed and instructed his phone to dial Aleta’s number. The call went directly to voice mail again. He left another message, relieved her mailbox wasn’t already full.

  “I’ve received confirmation that Burnett is still alive,” Sean said into the speaker. “I repeat, Burnett is not dead and by now he’s somewhere in South Florida. You need to take all necessary precautions. Call me.” After a pause he repeated, “Aleta, please call me. I need to talk to you.”

  Where the hell was Aleta, and why wasn’t she answering her phone? When she finally listened to her messages, it would take her twenty minutes to wade through them all. Hell, she might quit before she reached the last one, the important one. He could see her deleting them out of frustration when the first ten all said the same thing.

  He glanced at the clock. Half-past eleven. She had to be at the gym getting ready for the game. Maybe he could reach her on the landline there. The woman needed confirmation Burnett was alive so she’d take the risk more seriously.

  He placed a call to the line they shared in the office.

  “St. Theresa’s,” a man answered.

  “Who is this?” Sean demanded, not recognizing the voice.

  “Deacon Alsobrook. Who is this?”

  Sean hesitated. He could hear a ton of background noise. The gym was rocking with people anticipating the game. God, he wanted to be there. Would Hot Shot come down with a case of nerves? Alsobrook wouldn’t know how to ground his star player. Or any of the others. His players needed him.

  “This is Sean O’Malley. Let me speak to Aleta, please.”

  “Ms. Porter is busy coaching her team, Officer O’Malley,” the deacon replied. “May I help you?”

  Sean swallowed a curse. Apparently the deacon held a grudge.

  “Hold on. What did you say?” But Alsobrook’s question wasn’t spoken into the phone. Someone had entered the office. “Tell him to wait. I’ll be right there.”

  Sean heard a shout that Alsobrook was needed on the gym floor, so Sean figured the deacon was helping out in his absence. Please don’t hang up, man.

  “I need to go, Officer O’Malley,” the deacon said, speaking into the phone again. “But I’ll be happy to give Ms. Porter a message for you when I see her.”

  “Listen to me carefully, Alsobrook. It is urgent that I speak to Aleta right now. Please get her on the phone.”

  “I’ll certainly tell her you called.”

  When the deacon disconnected, Sean wished he had a phone in his hand to throw across the cruiser.

  He placed a call to Father Mac’s office.

  “Oh, you barely caught me, Sean. I’m on my way to the gymnasium. From the sounds of it, we have a nice crowd.”

  “Sorry, I can’t be there,” Sean said. “I’ve confirmed that Robert Burnett is still alive.”

  “Then you went to the Porters home and viewed the surveillance?”

  “Yes,” Sean said.

  “No room for error? You’re certain it was him, Sean?”

  “Even if I weren’t, the autopsy came through. That body wasn’t him. Burnett is still alive. Please tell Aleta right away.”

  “Of course, of course. I guess I was wrong again about the usefulness of surveillance video.”

  “Just tell her. Please.”

  “You don’t need to worry, my son,” the priest said. “She’ll be safe in a gymnasium full of people.”

  “Okay. Maybe so. Thanks, Father.”

  Realizing he’d entered his patrol area, Sean eased off the gas. Should he detour again to St. Theresa’s to find Aleta and deliver the message in person?

  But she’d be running around the gym floor waving her arms, shouting, blowing her whistle while coaching her team. On the phone with Alsobrook, he’d heard the commotion in the gymnasium. Father Mac had confirmed there were plenty of people there to watch the game. She was safe for the time being. If Burnett had located her, he couldn’t get to her until after the game at least.

  Plus, the after-game celebration with those damn cupcakes would go on for at least another hour. Maybe two.

  Sean released a breath. He’d be off duty by then. He’d go to the gym and find her. He’d talk to his lieutenant about getting protective custody for her.

  The radio crackled. Dispatch issued a call for all units to respond to an address mere blocks from his location, giving the code for shots fired. Adrenaline pumping, Sean turned on his lights and siren and floored his cruiser. He was close enough to be the first officer on scene.

  * * *

  WHEN THE HORN for halftime sounded, with noise from the excited crowd echoing around her, Aleta dropped into a chair and wiped sweat from her brow. She was pooped, and her team was getting creamed by Sean’s.

  And he hadn’t bothered to make an appearance.

  On the other side of the court, about half of Sean’s team milled around laughing and jostling each other. Some of the players had wandered off to speak to friends or family. She shook her head. Alsobrook didn’t know enough about coaching to keep the team together during the break.

  Her players sprawled dejectedly on chairs or the floor around her. No one was smiling or even talking. No matter how heavy her own heart was, she needed to rally them. That was her job. She had to find something good to say about how they’d played.

  She knew all too well how it felt to believe you were worthless. But she wasn’t worthless, and neither were these kids.<
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  She pushed herself to her feet and opened the huge cooler Deacon Alsobrook had stocked for her. As she stared down at the contents, it hit her she’d forgotten to pick up the cupcakes on her way in this morning. Okay. So there’d be no food for the postgame party. Not the worst thing in the world.

  She grabbed chilled electrolyte replacement drinks and handed them to her players.

  “You guys are doing great,” she said.

  “Yeah, right,” Carlos said as he accepted a plastic bottle and rubbed it on his neck.

  “No, I mean it,” Aleta said. “The defense scheme we worked on is holding very well.”

  “Too bad no one can keep up with Hot Shot,” someone muttered.

  “Well, you have to keep trying,” Aleta said. Hot Shot was playing like a pro today, apparently not bothered that Sean hadn’t showed. “We have another half to play, so don’t give up. You never know what will happen.”

  “Yeah, Hot Shot might get tired,” Carlos said with a laugh.

  A few of the others joined in the laughter.

  “Hey, that was awesome how you blocked Mike,” Carlos told LaToya, giving her a high five.

  Soon Aleta’s players were rehydrating and talking. There were even a few laughs. She took a swig herself and sat down. Good. The whole idea of a game was that the players were supposed to have a good time. She wanted to teach these young men and women about teamwork and building toward a goal, about how achieving that goal felt good when you put in the effort. Losing was never fun, but this was an excellent life lesson for them. You can’t always win.

  Just as her experience with Sean was an excellent lesson, one she thought she’d already learned. When would she ever remember not to put her trust in anyone but herself?

  She scanned the bleachers. Father Mac waved at her, and she waved back. Pom, who was sitting at the end of the first row with several of her clients, gave her a thumbs-up.

  When Aleta realized she was looking for Sean, she averted her gaze. What is wrong with me? He’s not coming.

  But she scanned the opposite side anyway, jumping to her feet when she saw Cyrus. He was loitering by the back door, which was propped open so spectators could come and go easily. Had he come to watch the game? Cyrus kept glancing around, looking uneasy. Did he think he didn’t belong here anymore?

  She should go over and say something to him, welcome him. Cyrus hadn’t showed at Sunshine Center since that day he came to the office wearing his new jewelry. Funny how the kid wasn’t wearing any bling today. Maybe his mom had taken it from him. Had the mother told Cyrus about the home visit she and Sean had made? Or did she even remember it an hour later?

  Cyrus motioned for Hot Shot to come over, and the star of the show strutted over to speak to his buddy. Aleta smiled. Cyrus and Hot Shot had always been tight. Hot Shot mentored the younger, smaller boy and protected him. Bullies always liked to pick on the littlest kid, and Hot Shot wouldn’t allow that.

  “Aleta.”

  She turned at Father Mac’s approach. “Hello, Father. Are you enjoying the game?”

  “Very much. I need to speak with you, my child. It’s important, and I need to leave soon for a meeting with the bishop or I wouldn’t trouble you at this time.”

  “Of course, Father.”

  They stepped away from the players.

  “Have you spoken to Sean today?” Father Mac asked.

  “No,” she said, surprised that Father Mac referred to Sean by his given name.

  “The reason he’s not here is he’s been summoned back to his regular duties. He asked me to convey his apologies to you.”

  She nodded. Maybe Sean was sorry, but he’d abandoned her. Like everyone else in her life. After he’d told her he’d be here, he chose to go back on duty. She looked back to where Hot Shot and Cyrus stood, frowning as an argument erupted between the two friends.

  “Is there something else, Father?” she asked, wanting to get over to Cyrus.

  “I also spoke to your mother this morning.”

  It felt as if her head snapped back toward Father Mac like a rubber band.

  “You spoke to my mother?”

  “Yes,” Father Mac said, looking uncertain at her tone. “We speak on the phone from time to time.”

  Aleta stared at her priest, so shocked she couldn’t formulate an immediate response. Father Mac communicated with her mother? From time to time?

  She swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “I’m only telling you now because you need to know that Sean went to see her today to—”

  “What?” The word erupted out of her mouth like a gunshot. She didn’t care that she was interrupting her priest, who also happened to be her boss. She took another step back.

  “Sean went to see my mother?”

  “Yes, on police business,” Father Mac said.

  Police business? Yeah, right. Poking around in her business was more like it. Even if it had something to do with Burnett, he had no right. How dare Sean go see her mother? She’d been crystal clear about her feelings. And somehow he’d dragged her priest into the mess as a go-between.

  She looked back toward Cyrus. Now Hot Shot shook his head vehemently, waved his arms. Cyrus made a move to leave. Hot Shot reached forward to grab him, but the younger boy ran away. Even clear across the gym she heard Hot Shot yell after him to come back.

  Aleta held up her hand to stop Father Mac from saying more. She didn’t want to hear about the betrayal of Sean with her priest and her parents. Not today. She’d had enough. More than enough. She already was teetering on the edge of her sobriety.

  “I’m sorry, Father.” She inhaled deeply. “But I need to take care of something.”

  “Aleta, wait.”

  She ignored him and jogged toward Hot Shot. She needed to find out what was going on with these two. Whatever it was, it was far more important than her ill-advised and so-over-with romance with Officer Sean O’Malley. The backstabber.

  Hot Shot heaved a sigh of relief when she got to his side.

  “Aleta, you’ve got to help,” he said. “You’ve got to.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Cyrus was here.”

  “I saw him. Where’d he take off to so fast?”

  “He won’t listen to me,” Hot Shot said, his words tumbling out so rapidly she could barely understand him. “You’ve got to stop him.”

  “Calm down. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Cyrus is going to be initiated into the Devil’s Posse this afternoon.”

  Oh, no. She felt the air go out of her, as if someone had sucker punched her. She’d hoped Cyrus showing up today meant he’d changed his mind about joining the gang.

  “Do you know what the Posse does for their initiation?” Hot Shot demanded.

  “I’ve heard the process involves beating the new member,” she said.

  “With a damn baseball bat.”

  Aleta closed her eyes. Oh, Cyrus. What have you gotten yourself into?

  “You’ve got to do something,” Hot Shot said, his voice shrill. “He wouldn’t listen to me, but maybe he will to you. A beating like that will kill Cyrus, or cripple him. He’s too little.”

  Aleta opened her eyes, wishing Sean were here to help her. He was the gang expert. He’d know what to do.

  But he wasn’t. It was all up to her to save a vulnerable little boy.

  “Did Cyrus tell you where his initiation is supposed to go down?” she asked.

  “At that old Fennell tomato-packing place. The one that closed after the last hurricane.”

  She frowned. “Where is it?”

  “Down by the railroad crossing at 167th Street. Kids have broken out windows, and anyone can get inside.”

  Aleta conjured an image of a dark, musty interior, isolated from prying eyes. Afte
r the gangbangers pounded on Cyrus, would they leave him alone and injured, or would they take him somewhere for medical attention? A sweet little boy full of promise might die all by himself, scared and hurting, for no good reason.

  She couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Cyrus had come to the gym today as a last cry for help, as he had when he’d showed up wearing his new bling. Like Sean said, he wanted someone to stop him.

  What would Sean do if he were here?

  He’d try to stop the initiation from happening. He’d pull Cyrus away, remove the kid forcefully if he had to.

  A player named Carolina hurried up to them.

  “Come on, Hot Shot. What are you doing? Halftime is almost over.”

  Hot Shot shook his head. “I need a minute, Carolina. Start my backup for now.”

  “Shit, man,” Carolina said. She hurried away and yelled back to the team, “Put in Jose.”

  Aleta took a deep breath. “What time does the initiation start?”

  “Any minute. Cyrus is on his way there now. Come on.” Hot Shot pulled on her arm. “We’ve got to go after him. We’ve got to stop him.”

  The horn blared to end the half, and Aleta glanced back to the interior of the gym. Father Mac moved toward her with a determined look. He probably wanted to finish their discussion about her parents. Players from both teams jogged onto the court.

  “What about the game?” Aleta asked.

  Hot Shot also looked back to the court. A strange expression passed through his dark eyes. He straightened his shoulders, and then he met her gaze.

  “It’s just a game,” he said. “There’ll be others.”

  Emotion swelled inside Aleta’s chest at Hot Shot’s words. He’d chosen saving his buddy over the glory of being a star. He would be a fine man someday. In fact, he already was, one who had deserved that second chance.

  “You’re right,” she said. “It’s just a game.”

  Someday she’d tell Sean how wrong he’d been. When she recharged her phone, she’d send the backstabber a text.

  There were plenty of adults from Sunshine Center, including Father Mac, to supervise. Her kids knew what to do. They didn’t need her to coach the rest of the game.