A Cop's Second Chance

by Sharon Hartley

  “What’s up?” Sean asked. “Why aren’t you at the game?”

  “Look, you’re really a cop, right?”

  “Yes. What’s up?”

  “Some man snatched Aleta.”

  Sean went still. “What man?”

  “I don’t know who he is, but he’s big and strong.”

  Sean cursed. Robert Burnett had found her.

  “Where are you?”

  “In the parking lot of the grocery store on US One and 176th Street. I jumped out of the back seat, but the dude still has Aleta.”

  “Any chance he’s coming back for you?”

  “No. They drove away. He’s making Aleta drive, but she’s hurt.”

  “How bad?” Sean demanded.

  “I don’t know, but she’s in a lot of pain. Please come help.”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes. Stay where you are, Hot Shot. Do you hear me? Stay where you are.”

  Sean disconnected and stepped back into the room where Lana and Tanya huddled on the sofa.

  “Listen up,” he said. “I may have a lead on Robert Burnett.”

  Lana stood. “Where?”

  “I don’t know yet. He abducted a woman and a kid. The kid escaped, and I’m going to meet him for more information.”

  “Do you need backup?”

  “Not yet. First I’m going to talk to the kid, but his location is out of our patrol area.”

  “Shit. You need to call Sarge.”

  “I will when I know more.”

  “Sean—”

  “Stay frosty. I’ll be in touch when I know where Burnett is.”

  Lana nodded. “Watch your six.”

  Sean hurried to his cruiser. Yeah, he was going rogue, but he didn’t want to wait for Sarge. He needed to get to Aleta. She was in trouble. She was hurt. He didn’t care what happened to him or his career.

  All that mattered was Aleta.

  With lights strobing and sirens blaring, Sean drove as fast as he dared while trying to organize his thoughts. How was he going to find her? How the hell had Burnett managed to get to her? Where would Burnett take her?

  By the time he got close to the kid’s location, Sean realized he needed to use all the resources of his department. He needed manpower to rescue the woman he loved.

  And, yeah, he was in love with Aleta—whether he wanted to be or not.

  He inhaled deeply and slowed down. He needed to check in with Sarge and make a report. McFadden would hand him his ass. His career might be over for acting without permission, but he’d made his decision.

  Hell, there’d been no decision to make here.

  Although first he needed to gather intel. He needed to know what had happened or he’d sound like a damn fool when he reported in and asked for help.

  He spotted Hot Shot crouching behind a huge rusted-out ice locker and stopped as close to him as he could. The youth stood and limped out to the marked cruiser. Blood smeared the kid’s right cheek and the sleeve of his Sunshine Center T-shirt where he’d tried to wipe the blood away. Road rash covered his arms and legs beneath his baggy shorts. Looked painful.

  When he climbed into the front seat, the kid’s breathing was labored. He stared at the laptop and other bells and whistles of his cruiser.

  “You okay?” Sean demanded.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re limping.”

  “I twisted my ankle jumping out of the car.”

  “How bad?”

  “Not too bad,” the kid said, rotating his shoulder. “My arm hurts worse.”

  “Start from the beginning and tell me what happened,” Sean said. “How did the man grab Aleta when she was inside a gymnasium full of people?”

  Hot Shot shifted in the seat to face him. “We left because we had to go save Cyrus.”

  “Whoa. Hold up. What happened to Cyrus?”

  “He came to the game bragging how he was going to be initiated into the Devil’s Posse today.”

  Oh, shit. Sean shook his head as he listened to Hot Shot relate how he and Aleta had left the game.

  “So you and Aleta planned on stopping the initiation?”

  “I guess, yeah.”

  Sean scrubbed a hand over his face. “Just the two of you?”

  Hot Shot looked stricken. “It’s my fault. I begged her to save Cyrus and we ran to her car. When we got there, this big guy jumped out—we didn’t see him—and slammed Aleta against the car. Then he slugged me and threw me in the back seat.”

  The kid was hyperventilating again.

  “Okay, Hot Shot. Calm down.”

  Hot Suck sucked in a deep breath.

  “Are you sure you’re all right? Do you want me to call a paramedic?”

  “I’ll live, but maybe not Aleta or Cyrus. We’ve got to do something.”

  “We will,” Sean said, thinking hard. Would Sarge send units to the scene of the gang initiation? Maybe.

  “We’ve got to save them,” Hot Shot begged.

  Why would Aleta do something so foolish? It wasn’t like her. Maybe Father Mac hadn’t managed to get her the information that Burnett had been confirmed alive.

  “Did you hear either Aleta or the man say anything about where they were going?” Sean asked Hot Shot.

  “The man said he wanted to go to Aleta’s place.”

  Sean nodded. That made sense. Where else would he go?

  “Give me the location where the Posse initiation is going down.”

  “It’s in the old Fennell tomato-packing house a few miles from here.”

  “Do you know the address?”

  Hot Shot shrugged. “It’s right on the railroad tracks at 167th Street and US One.”

  “You’re certain it’s going down right now?”

  Hot Shot nodded. “Cyrus worried he’d be late ’cause he stopped by the game.”

  “Buckle up,” Sean said.

  Hot Shot reached back for his seat belt and snapped it into place. Sean floored the cruiser. When he turned on the lights and sirens again, the kid’s eyes got huge.

  Sean called Sarge’s cell number. With Burnett now confirmed to be alive, maybe Sarge would listen. He had a plan, but the explanation would take too long to go over the radio.

  The question was whether his boss would agree.

  “Where the hell are you, O’Malley?” Sarge answered, his voice scratchy over the phone’s speaker.

  “We’ve got a situation, sir.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ALETA KEPT DRIVING, wanting distance between the car and Hot Shot, while Bubba pounded on the dashboard with both fists, screaming obscenities.

  She’d often wondered about Bubba’s sanity, and she no longer had any doubts. Something was seriously off-kilter in his brain, which explained a lot.

  Except why she’d ever been attracted to him.

  She’d wanted to turn to see if Hot Shot had been injured during his escape, but couldn’t force herself to do it. As long as she didn’t move, her ribs didn’t hurt too much. Even inhaling too deeply caused a sharp pain to rocket across her side.

  She hoped the kid hadn’t been hurt badly when he hit the pavement, but no matter what, he’d made the right choice. Hot Shot had street smarts and understood a trip with Bubba was one-way. The monster would never let him go. Like he’d never let her go, and eventually he’d turn those hammer-like hands on her.

  Without moving her torso, she shot a glance to her captor. His face was twisted in rage as he railed against the universe.

  Finally he stopped shouting. He punched the dash one last time and turned to her.

  “Why did you unlock the doors?”

  She had a lot of answers on the tip of her tongue—namely that he’d told her to unlock them—but she bit the words back. No sense antagonizing him further. />
  “I’m sorry.”

  Bubba giggled. Actually giggled, a sound more unnerving than his obscene cursing. “He moved like a wounded giraffe when he got up.”

  Thank God. Aleta breathed a sigh of relief, sending a prayer of thanks of heavenward that Bubba hadn’t instructed her to chase Hot Shot down. Because she wouldn’t have done it, and her refusal would have caused her a lot of pain.

  “Stupid kid will call the cops,” Bubba muttered.

  “Maybe not,” Aleta said. “He’s in a gang and doesn’t much like the police.”

  “That skinny punk’s in a gang? What gang?”

  “The Devil’s Posse,” she lied. How would Bubba know differently?

  “Yeah, I heard they’re still around.”

  “They run this hood now,” Aleta told him.

  Bubba grunted. “Shit.”

  “Who told you where I was?”

  “Marco.”

  Who? The name rang a distant bell, but mention of the Posse made her remember Cyrus and the trouble he was in. Tears blurred her vision. She couldn’t save Cyrus. She couldn’t even save herself. She blinked and pushed back at resurging panic, taking a deep breath to calm herself. A sudden sharp stab of pain made her wince.

  She exhaled slowly and oh so carefully. She should take comfort that Hot Shot was safe. He’d been smart, and she needed to be smart, too. As long as she placated Bubba, went along with whatever he said, maybe she could find an opportunity to make her own escape.

  Turning into the parking lot of her apartment building, she thought about how much pepper spray she had upstairs. She needed to distract Bubba, get her hands on a canister and hit his face with a good long spray. She’d be doing that now if he hadn’t kicked her purse away.

  She wouldn’t be able to run fast, but he would be blinded. A wounded animal. If she remained smart and got lucky, she just might get away.

  “We’re here,” she said, waiting for Bubba to give her instructions. She needed him to believe that he was in complete control. Not that he wasn’t.

  He surveyed the building with a disbelieving sneer. “You live in this dump?”

  Answers again begged to trip off her tongue about the charming state prison where he’d been living until quite recently. She swallowed them all and said, “Yes.”

  “Damn, girl.”

  “It’s all I can afford.”

  “Give me a break.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  “What about your rich-ass parents?”

  She stiffened. “What about them?”

  “Did you forget I’ve seen where you used to live?”

  “No, I didn’t forget.”

  “Why don’t you ask them for money so you don’t have to live in a slum?”

  “I don’t speak to my parents.”

  “That’s pretty stupid. Why not?”

  Aleta closed her eyes. Was she really having a conversation about parental disapproval with the sociopath who had caused her mother and father to disown her?

  “Have you called your mother since you’ve been out?” she asked sweetly, shooting him a sideways glance.

  A dark look passed through Bubba’s eyes. He jabbed her right side with his metal club, a vicious warning not to go there. His mother had always been off-limits.

  Lesson remembered.

  “Sorry,” she gritted out through the pain.

  She needed to keep her big mouth shut and only respond to his instructions. How long are we going to sit in the car? But the longer they sat here, the more likely it was someone would notice them—and maybe remember them and possibly tell the police when they started asking questions.

  “I guess you got stupid while I was away,” Bubba said.

  Aleta raised her chin. No, I got smart. I got out of the life you dragged me into.

  “I expected something one hell of a lot better.” He shook his head and glared at the structure before them.

  “Sorry,” she said again, mentally reviewing where she stashed her pepper sprays, which canister would be the easiest to grab, how to flip open the safety. She had to be quick.

  “You got any blow up there?” he asked hopefully.

  “I don’t do drugs anymore.” She could hear Mrs. Wasserman’s poodle yapping from inside their first-floor apartment.

  “Shit, girl. What about booze?”

  “No.”

  “Not even a beer?”

  “I don’t drink much anymore.”

  Bubba stared at her in obvious disbelief. “Everyone has opioids these days. You got any good painkillers?”

  She shrugged. “Ibuprofen.”

  Bubba slammed his fist into the dash again. Aleta flinched, causing her rib to stab into what surely had to be some vital organ.

  “This ain’t the way I planned our reunion to go down,” he said.

  She swallowed, her fingers itching to curl around a canister of pepper spray, rehearsing in her head how to make her move once upstairs. She had to take him by surprise. She’d wait until he got cocky and use his lack of situational awareness against him.

  “You really don’t think that punk will call the cops?” Bubba asked.

  Thrown off by the change in subject, Aleta shook her head and repeated her lie. “No way. He hates the cops.”

  Bubba’s grunt again grated on her nerves. She gripped the steering wheel, wanting desperately to move.

  “I went by your old crib last night,” Bubba said, jumping to yet another subject.

  “Where I lived with the Street Sisters?”

  “Shit, no. Your parents’ mansion, where you took me that time.”

  “You went by my old house?” she asked, staring straight ahead, now afraid to even look at Bubba.

  “Yeah, and I remember all the wine you used to bring to our private parties. Your parents have lots of booze.”

  Aleta’s mouth went dry.

  “I couldn’t break in, though,” Bubba complained. “They’ve got a lot of new security.”

  She fought to catch a breath.

  “But I bet your parents would let their long lost sweet baby girl inside if she asked real nice.”

  Ignoring the pain, Aleta turned to look at the monster beside her.

  “So let’s go visit dear old mom and dad,” the monster said, reaching over to turn the ignition.

  * * *

  “I HAVE A possible location for escaped convict Robert Burnett,” Sean told his sergeant over the phone connection.

  “Explain,” McFadden demanded.

  “Burnett abducted a female employee of St. Theresa’s and is reported to be heading to her apartment.” Sean rattled off Aleta’s home address. “I’m en route there now and request backup.”

  “That’s out of our district.”

  “I understand that, sir.”

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, O’Malley?”

  “Trying to save lives, sir. By any definition, Burnett is a serial killer.”

  “How do you know Burnett is en route to that address?”

  “A young man who was also abducted but managed to escape is in my unit with me. He heard Burnett direct the victim to drive to her home.”

  Sarge was silent for a moment. “SWAT needs to be involved if there’s a hostage situation.”

  Sean breathed a sigh of relief. Sarge had analyzed the situation and realized he had to act.

  “Whatever is needed, sir, but it has to be quick. Every minute we delay is critical for the victim.”

  “Roger that.”

  “That’s not all, sir.”

  “What else?”

  Sean took a deep breath and braced himself for Sergeant McFadden’s reaction. “I need multiple units to converge immediately on the Fennell packing plant at US One and 167th Street. Dangerous gang
activity is taking place at that location.”

  “And how do you know about this gang activity?” Sarge demanded. “You’re supposed to be on patrol with your squad.”

  “The same informant has firsthand knowledge that a violent gang initiation is going down right now,” Sean said. “A young boy is at serious risk.”

  Sarge cursed, using language he seldom did while on duty. Sean held his breath, waiting for McFadden’s response. This was a tough call for his sergeant. His boss was operating in the dark with only a patrol officer’s word and no real proof. Would he send the units as requested?

  “How the hell did you get yourself in the middle of this jackpot?” McFadden demanded.

  “My undercover assignment had unexpected repercussions,” Sean said. What else could he say?

  “Okay,” McFadden said after a long pause. “I’ll scramble the units.”

  The tightness in Sean’s gut relaxed a little. He’d done what he could for Cyrus. At least the kid had a chance now.

  “But,” his boss continued, “you wait for special teams when you get to the female vic’s location.”

  Sean didn’t respond.

  “That’s a direct order, O’Malley.”

  Sean glanced at Hot Shot. The kid raised his eyebrows, obviously listening to every word of the conversation.

  “Did you hear me, O’Malley?” McFadden shouted. “Respond.”

  Sean disconnected. He wasn’t going to make a promise he might not keep. He’d analyze the situation when he got to Aleta’s apartment. If he needed to make a move to save her life, he’d make that move.

  * * *

  ALETA DROVE AS slowly as she dared, trying to think, to come up with a plan. She’d thought her situation couldn’t get any worse, but she’d been so very, very wrong. Now her stupidity had put her parents at risk.

  No. Only her mother. How twisted was it that she now sent a prayer of thanks heavenward that her father had moved out?

  And how ironic that she desperately wanted to save the mother she’d convinced herself she hated. Why couldn’t she organize her thoughts, come up with a solution? If only she could fill her lungs with air. She felt dizzy because deep inhalations caused too much pain.