A Cop's Second Chance

by Sharon Hartley

  “Why are you driving like an old lady?” Bubba demanded, jerking her from her misery. “The speed limit is more than twenty miles an hour.”

  “Because it hurts for me to move,” Aleta told him. “Just pressing on the accelerator causes agony in my side.”

  “Agony? You want to feel agony? I’ll show you agony.” Bubba poked her with his club again.

  She couldn’t stop herself from sucking in a quick breath, intensifying the pain.

  “Stop it,” she said, shifting away from his attack.

  “Don’t tell me what to do, bitch.” He jabbed her again, harder this time.

  “Do you want me to wreck the car?”

  Which she realized was precisely what she had to do. She needed to drive this car into an immovable object.

  Could she do it?

  “Speed the fuck up,” he said. “You’re driving so slow any passing cop will pull you over and ask what’s wrong.”

  Aleta mashed the accelerator. The speedometer needle moved to thirty miles an hour.

  “Is that what you’re hoping for, bitch?” he asked. “You trying to get the cops to stop us?”

  “Do you want to drive?” she asked, increasing to forty miles an hour. She’d always wondered how fast this old car would go. She was about to find out.

  “Shit, no, I don’t want to drive,” Bubba said. “You’d jump out like that punk kid did.”

  She rolled her eyes. What good would that do? I’m already hurt too bad to run away.

  “And for sure that punk called the cops,” Bubba said. “Pigs are probably racing to your apartment right now to try to save you.”

  She didn’t answer, but suspected he was correct. Hot Shot would have called 911 immediately. Would Sean have recognized the address that went out over the police radio? Would he be among those responding?

  “Too bad that ain’t going to happen,” Bubba taunted. “Get over it. No one will rescue your lying ass.”

  Or my mom’s. Aleta nodded, thinking hard about what she could do. Bubba the Beast had it right for a change. She was on her own. It was up to her to save her mother. I’m already dead, and if Bubba gets inside our home, Mom is, too. I can’t let that happen.

  She pressed the accelerator even harder, edging up to fifty. She had to be smart about this, not accelerate too quickly. She needed enough speed to ensure the success of her plan, but she had to keep Bubba in the dark.

  She watched the roadside as it flew by, looking for a good target, one where no one else would be harmed by the violence of the collision. Car parts might go flying everywhere. There might even be fire. She swallowed hard.

  Can I do it? Do I have the guts?

  She glanced at the speedometer. Fifty-five miles an hour.

  The world would be a far better place without Bubba in it. How many people had he killed? She’d seen two firsthand, an event that had altered her life course forever, had put her on this path to destruction. No telling how many more he’d murdered since his escape.

  But his carnage would end today. She would be his last victim.

  Tears filled her eyes. She didn’t want to die. She had her whole life in front of her, a glorious life, one that could be filled with love and faith and even a chance for children of her own to nurture.

  Yes, she wanted children. That was why she loved working with the kids at St. Theresa’s. Why hadn’t she understood that before? A mental image of a little boy running around with a baseball in his hand popped into her head. The child had bright blue eyes, the color of Sean’s. The man she was in love with.

  The man she would never see again, never get to tell goodbye.

  She had a lot to live for, but because of Bubba she’d always been too afraid to take a chance on love. Too hurt and angry to forgive her parents.

  It might be too late for her, but no one else would die.

  She blinked away her tears and spotted a six-foot concrete wall surrounding a structure ahead on the right. She knew that location. The headquarters of a huge insurance company sat behind that wall.

  She changed to the outside lane and gave the engine more gas. Sixty miles an hour.

  “What are you doing now, bitch?” Bubba demanded.

  “Going fast like you told me.” So he’d finally noticed.

  “Slow down, Delilah. I mean it.”

  Aleta floored the accelerator. Too late, sucker. Sixty-five, seventy.

  “Hit the brakes,” he yelled.

  She pegged the accelerator to the floorboard and aimed for the wall, offering a prayer that God would welcome her home.

  Blinding pain rocketed through her ribs and the left side of her head, not how she’d expected the end to come.

  And then everything went dark.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SEAN KILLED THE SIREN a mile from Aleta’s apartment. He didn’t want to alert Burnett that law enforcement was anywhere near the area.

  How quickly could the SWAT team mobilize? Aleta might not have that much time.

  When her apartment building came into view, Sean slowed down his cruiser.

  “While you were in the car,” Sean asked Hot Shot, “did you hear the man say anything about what he planned to do?”

  “I was scared,” Hot Shot said. “All I could think about was getting away.”

  “Think hard,” Sean instructed. “Anything you remember might be helpful.”

  “Who is he?” Hot Shot asked. He’d been quiet during the ride, but naturally he had questions.

  “An escaped convict,” Sean replied.

  “Does she know him?”

  Sean nodded. No sense lying to the kid. “A long time ago, when she was about your age. She was brave and testified against him in court and sent him to prison.”

  Hot Shot remained quiet for a minute and then asked, “What’d he do?”

  “Killed two people.”

  Hot Shot’s eyes went huge. “So he’s a murderer?”

  Sean nodded.

  “He’s gonna kill Aleta, ain’t he?”

  “No,” Sean said. “We won’t allow that to happen.”

  Hot Shot gazed at him uncertainly.

  Sean drove into Aleta’s parking lot, noting her assigned space remained vacant. Why hadn’t she parked in her spot? He cruised around the lot, searching for her vehicle.

  “I remember the man told Aleta he wanted to have a party,” Hot Shot said.

  “A party?”

  “Right. He said something like, ‘Don’t you remember I promised I’d come for you, and now we’re going to party.’ He kept calling her ‘bitch.’”

  And probably a lot worse. “Good work, kid,” Sean said. “Thanks.”

  The kid’s words confirmed what Sean suspected. Burnett planned to play with Aleta for a while, torture or rape her before he killed her. The thought sickened him, but also gave him hope. Burnett could have offed Aleta the moment he found her, be done with his revenge and gone on the run. Instead, he wanted to draw out his vengeance, make her suffer and have a little twisted sicko fun. Burnett wanted to enjoy himself while he committed murder.

  Which might be his downfall.

  The need to party was why Burnett had directed Aleta to drive to her home. He probably wanted drugs and alcohol. If so, he’d be disappointed. Aleta was clean.

  So why wasn’t her vehicle in the parking lot? They should have arrived by now.

  Had Burnett instructed her to venture into his old stomping grounds to obtain party favors? Unlikely any of his old contacts were still in operation, but he could always find new ones. There was never any shortage of dealers.

  Sean parked in an empty spot. He didn’t want to wait for SWAT to arrive. He needed to determine if her apartment was occupied. If Burnett hadn’t come here, if there’d been a change in plans for some reason, Sean didn’t want to was
te precious time that Aleta didn’t have.

  Considering his ass was already fried with the department, what harm could disobeying one more order do? He wouldn’t breach, but he’d confirm if anyone was home.

  “Wait here,” he instructed Hot Shot.

  “What are you going to do?” the kid asked.

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “I want to help.”

  Sean looked at Hot Shot. He’d been wrong about this kid. Not many young men would be willing to put their own lives at risk for others.

  “I know you do,” Sean said, “and you’ll be helping me by remaining in the car. Promise me you’ll duck if you hear gunshots.”

  Eyes wide, Hot Shot nodded.

  Sean exited his cruiser and approached Aleta’s building, remembering how cautious she’d been when he’d walked her to her door that night they’d gone to dinner at Sea Salt. What had happened to make her drop her guard?

  He knocked on the door of the closest apartment to her parking space, one adjacent to the elevator. It was Saturday afternoon. He hoped someone would be home, but no answer. No response next door either.

  At the third unit, someone peered out the peephole. An elderly woman holding a white scruffy-looking dog opened the door.

  “Can I help you, Officer?” she asked in a high-pitched voice.

  “Yes, ma’am. Do you know the woman who parks in that space?” he asked, indicating Aleta’s assigned spot.

  “Oh, yes. Aleta Porter. A lovely young lady. Why?” The old lady’s voice sharpened. “Is she in trouble?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you’re wearing a police uniform, and she was acting a little squirrelly about twenty minutes ago.”

  Squirrelly. Twenty minutes ago. Sean stepped closer. “What do you mean?”

  “She pulled into her spot but never got out of the car.”

  “Why did you notice?”

  “I was going out to walk Max here. I got him all hooked up to his leash, but when I opened the door I noticed them sitting right there in her car.”

  “Them?” Sean prompted.

  “A man was in the car with her, one I’d never seen before. It seemed—I don’t know—strange how she was acting. Unlike her. Not that I’m nosy or anything, you understand, but I notice people. And I like Aleta.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sean agreed, to keep her talking. “Everybody does.”

  “She’s such a dear,” the woman gushed. “She walked Max for me last month when I had a bad cold.”

  “Could you hear their conversation?” Sean asked. Nosy old ladies sometimes made good witnesses.

  “No, they were too far away and the windows were up.”

  Sean suspected she’d tried hard to listen in.

  “But something about how she was sitting with her hands on the wheel and staring straight ahead not moving spooked me for some reason. I decided to wait to take Max out.”

  Sean nodded. Good instincts. “So did Max ever get his walk?”

  “I waited until they drove away.”

  “So they never exited the vehicle?”

  “No, sir. They sat there a few minutes and then drove away. Strange, huh?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thanks for your help.”

  “Anytime, Officer.”

  “Now will you do me a favor?”

  “What?”

  “Please remain inside with Max for a while. More police officers will be arriving soon, and you’ll know when it’s safe to come out.”

  The woman’s eyes widened. She slammed her door, and Sean heard a dead bolt click into place.

  He turned to the elevator. Could Burnett have grown a brain and decided to hide Aleta’s car, knowing a BOLO had been issued?

  Sean released a frustrated breath. Time was ticking away. Aleta could be upstairs right now at the mercy of a serial killer. Before he looked elsewhere, he needed confirmation that she wasn’t in her home.

  He thought about the layout of her apartment. He remembered sliding glass doors opened onto a balcony that had a good view of a courtyard behind the building. Except for a small kitchen window and the front door peephole, no openings looked out onto the hallway or parking area.

  No way could he see inside, which meant no one could see him outside either.

  Where the hell was SWAT?

  He couldn’t wait any longer.

  Not wanting to wait for the car or be trapped on an elevator, he jogged to the staircase. He withdrew his weapon and entered fast, ready to fire. All clear. He took the steps two at a time, checking each landing, until he got to the fourth floor.

  With his weapon aimed at the ground in a two-handed grip, he stepped onto the open concrete walkway and held, his back against the wall.

  He looked toward her apartment. An object sat on the mat in front of the door. No. Two objects piled on top of each other.

  He edged closer, spine glued to the wall, and identified the objects as packages.

  As he approached, he realized the boxes were from a bakery. Greta’s Goodies was printed on the side. He gazed down. Through the cellophane top he saw frosting on cupcakes decorated to look like basketballs.

  The treats Aleta had ordered for the postgame party.

  But why had they been delivered to her home? Wasn’t the plan for her to pick them up?

  He holstered his weapon and ripped off the envelope taped to the package on top. Inside was a note that read, “Had to go. Couldn’t wait for you any longer. Sorry. Hope this was okay.” The note was signed by Greta, Aleta’s friend at the bakery, and dated 10:10 this morning.

  These cupcakes had been sitting here all day.

  No one had opened this door in all that time. Aleta hadn’t been home, so she obviously wasn’t inside.

  Or was she? He had to be certain.

  Sean toed the boxes aside. Withdrawing his weapon again, he kicked the front door with his boot. As expected, the lock gave easily. He jumped out of the doorway, slamming his back against the wall to avoid gunshots from inside.

  None came.

  “Police,” he yelled, and entered her apartment in a defensive posture.

  He cleared every room quickly. He spotted her cell-phone charger beside her bed, so she’d planned on returning home last night. Had her battery died? Was that why she hadn’t returned any calls?

  From the state of her bedroom and kitchen, he deduced she hadn’t been home since leaving yesterday morning. So where had she spent last night?

  Where the hell was she?

  If he didn’t find her, he’d never be able to tell her he loved her. She needed to know that she was loved. If Father Mac was correct—and when was the priest ever not?—Aleta had lived most of her life believing no one truly loved her. No one should die believing they weren’t loved.

  She couldn’t die, period.

  He needed to figure out where Burnett would take her to have his party.

  Sean’s cell phone buzzed.

  “O’Malley,” he barked.

  “It’s Hot Shot. I thought you should know a bunch of cops just got here.”

  SWAT had arrived.

  * * *

  ALETA FOUGHT CONSCIOUSNESS. Oblivion was far, far better. She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to block out the throbbing pain in her head and her side as she gradually became aware of her surroundings.

  No one dead should feel this awful.

  She felt motion beneath her and realized she lay on her side. She opened her eyes. In the back seat of her car.

  Bubba sat behind the wheel.

  Okay. So she obviously wasn’t dead. The creep had somehow stopped her from driving into the wall. It felt like he’d slammed his club onto the side of her skull.

  So she’d failed.

  But she couldn’t stop trying. She had to prevent Bu
bba from going to her mom’s home.

  She attempted to sit up, but a cascade of nausea forced her back down.

  She must have made a noise, because he turned to glance at her.

  “You awake, bitch?”

  She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The thought of speaking made her stomach roil.

  “Thought you were real smart, didn’t you?” he taunted. “Thought you’d wreck the car and kill me.”

  Aleta forced herself to sit up. If she moved slowly, the nausea wasn’t as bad. She blinked and recognized the surroundings. They were maybe a mile from her old home.

  She took a breath. She had to keep trying. “Don’t do this, Bubba.”

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Involve my parents. They have nothing to do with us.”

  “Us?”

  “If you want to party, let’s go to a motel. I’ll cooperate with whatever you want to do.”

  He met her gaze in the rearview mirror. Her hopes soared when he seemed to consider the idea.

  “You got cash, a credit card?” he asked.

  “No. You made me leave my purse behind, remember?”

  “Then we can’t go to a motel, can we?”

  “Don’t you have anything?”

  “Shit, girl. I been in jail, right where you put me, remember?”

  Same old Bubba. Always mocking her.

  “How have you been buying gas and eating?” she asked. “You had to steal something.”

  “I got plastic, but it’s been canceled.” He shrugged. “Cash is all gone.”

  She wasn’t surprised. The idiot had always spent every dollar the minute he got it in his greedy paws.

  Aleta raised her hand to check for what was surely a lump on her skull and found her hair wet and sticky. She lowered her arm, and her fingers were covered with bright red blood.

  “What did you do to me?” she asked, staring at the blood.

  “A little love tap,” he said.

  “I need a doctor,” she said. “I probably have a concussion.”

  “Nah. You’re fine. Couldn’t hurt you too bad or you wouldn’t be able to sweet-talk your momma.”

  My mother. I need to save my mother. Aleta jerked on the door handle, but Bubba had locked her in. She slapped her hand against the window. Maybe someone in a passing car would notice her if she screamed for help.