A Cop's Second Chance

by Sharon Hartley

  He laughed. “Sorry, bitch. No way are you getting away from me.”

  She closed her eyes. Her whole body ached. She couldn’t imagine hurting worse, but no doubt Bubba would find a way.

  “I won’t do it,” she said.

  “You think you’re that tough, Delilah?”

  “Stronger than you know. I got off the meth you hooked me on.”

  “Yeah? Well, we’ll see about that.”

  Before she could reply, they’d arrived at her childhood home. She’d sworn to never stick a toe inside of this house ever again. The place looked the same except for the huge front gate and wrought-iron fence.

  She offered a prayer to the heavens that her dad had gotten word to her mother about the threat. Don’t open the gate, Mom. Whatever he says, don’t open the gate.

  Bubba braked in front of the barrier, rolled down his window and hit the button for the intercom.

  After a minute or so a man answered. “Yes?”

  Aleta closed her eyes. She didn’t recognize the voice, but the speaker quality wasn’t great. Or did her mom already have a new man in her life?

  “I need to speak to Delilah’s mother,” Bubba said into the small metal speaker. “Mrs. Porter.”

  “Delilah?” the man asked. “Who is this?”

  “Never mind,” Bubba said. “Tell Mrs. Porter to get to the phone if she ever wants to see her daughter alive again.”

  After a few moments of silence, the speaker clicked on again. “Hello? Who is this?”

  Aleta sat forward when she recognized her mother’s voice. A wave of dizziness washed over her.

  Ignoring her pain and nausea, she leaned over Bubba’s huge shoulder and shouted into the speaker. “Don’t let him in, Mom. He’ll kill you.”

  “Shut up, bitch.” Bubba slammed his elbow into her forehead. That violent contact immediately caused her stomach to rebel.

  She vomited onto his left shoulder and neck.

  “You bitch!” Bubba yelled.

  “Aleta?” her mother screamed.

  Unable to respond to her mother’s panicked voice, Aleta collapsed into the back seat. Please, please don’t open the gate.

  “Open the damn gate,” Bubba shouted into the speaker. “Or I’ll kill your daughter right now.”

  The speaker remained active for a second or two while her mom argued with someone, probably the man who had answered the intercom. He begged her not to do it. Who was he?

  The speaker clicked off and remained silent.

  Still dizzy, Aleta pushed herself upright. Praying hard, she stared at the gate and willed it not to open. The putrid odor of her vomit made her gag again.

  And then she heard the rumbling of a motor. No, no, no.

  “All righty now,” Bubba murmured.

  The iron gate slowly slid to the right.

  Bubba giggled, that gleeful, demented sound that terrified her.

  She choked back a sob. Oh, Mom. What have you done?

  Bubba hit the gas.

  * * *

  “I’M TELLING YOU she’s not up there, man,” Sean said to the commander in charge of the SWAT unit. Lieutenant Briggs was a cop with a reputation for getting results by following every rule. An army of cops surrounded them, itchy for action and decked out with enough firepower to mount a military assault. “We need to look elsewhere.”

  “How do you know?” Briggs demanded.

  “I cleared the unit.”

  Briggs gave him a steely stare. “You went inside?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why the hell did you go up, O’Malley?”

  “The victim’s vehicle wasn’t in the parking lot. I interviewed a neighbor who reported the victim arrived but never exited her vehicle,” Sean said. “The witness watched them drive away.”

  “You took a hell of a chance,” Briggs said.

  “Plus, there’s a delivery in front of the victim’s door that was never brought inside.”

  Briggs still didn’t look happy. “You need to stand down now, Officer O’Malley.”

  “Sir, we’re wasting time. The victim is not here. We need to—”

  “Stand down, Officer. That’s an order.”

  Sean nodded and took a step backward, wanting to disappear into the growing number of lookie-loos who had gathered to witness the excitement of a police action.

  Briggs turned to one of his men and barked an order. “Alvarez, take Snyder and Clark and check it out.”

  Three helmeted men dressed for combat duty jogged toward the staircase and disappeared inside. Sean admired the SWAT team, had even thought about applying. They were well-trained and had saved countless lives, but they had a protocol to follow today. One that would only waste more time. At least Briggs hadn’t tried to initiate phone contact before going up, which could only end in frustration.

  Sean hurried to his own vehicle. Briggs wanted him to stand down? Not happening.

  “What’s going on?” Hot Shot demanded.

  “Aleta wasn’t in her apartment,” Sean replied, relieved the kid had followed his instructions to remain in the car.

  Hot Shot looked like he could cry. “Oh, my God. Where is she? That man is going to kill her.”

  “Calm down. Let me think.”

  Sean considered Burnett’s options. Where would a man who’d been in prison for eight years go when he returned to his old hood? Law enforcement hadn’t connected any thefts besides the Lexus and the truck to the escapee, so he had no access to cash or credit. Few to none of his old contacts were likely to be around or even alive. His mother was a junkie, in and out of jail for prostitution, his father unknown. He’d already abducted his old girlfriend and tried to break into her parents’ home.

  The Porter family home. That was where Bubba the Beast would take Aleta. He was likely pissed because he hadn’t been able to get inside yesterday. He would try again, believing Aleta was his magic key for entrance into the castle.

  Certain he was correct, Sean placed a call to Mrs. Porter. She needed to be warned.

  But his call went to voice mail, which left him uneasy. Was he too late? Had Burnett gotten inside?

  Should he inform Briggs? No. He needed to confirm his suspicions were right on first. No sense in misdirecting SWAT’s efforts if his assumptions were wrong. Maybe SWAT would develop its own lead, a better one.

  If he confirmed Burnett had gone to the Porters’, he’d summon the cavalry.

  Sean turned to Hot Shot. “This is where we part company.”

  “Have you figured out where that man took Aleta?” he asked.

  “Maybe, and you can’t go.”

  “Why not? I want to help.”

  “The best way you can help me right now is by staying safe. Go to a hospital and get checked out.”

  Sean watched warring expressions play out on Hot Shot’s face, but finally the kid nodded and reached for the door. At the last minute he turned back. “Find her, Father Sean. Please.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  When the kid exited, Sean drove out of the parking lot. Briggs watched him leave with narrowed eyes and jerked a cell phone off his hip.

  Sean suspected Briggs was communicating with Sergeant McFadden. If so, Sarge would know he’d disobeyed a direct order.

  But if his actions today saved Aleta’s life, getting suspended or even fired would be a cheap price to pay.

  * * *

  “DO YOUR PARENTS have any guns?” Bubba demanded as he drove toward the house.

  Aleta didn’t reply immediately. She honestly wasn’t sure. They used to hate guns as much as she did, but after her fall from grace, who knew? Maybe they’d obtained a firearm to protect themselves from her unsavory friends. If so, she couldn’t tell Bubba. She shivered at the thought of him with a gun.

  “No,” Aleta s
aid as he braked to a stop. “They believe in gun control.”

  “You’re such a liar,” he said.

  But he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the front door. Aleta followed his gaze. The door was closed. Was it locked? Please, please be locked.

  Bubba exited the vehicle and yanked on the back seat door handle. But it didn’t open. She scooted across the seat away from him, toward the door on the opposite side of the car.

  He released the locks and successfully opened the door. He leaned in to glare at her across the back seat.

  “Get out,” he ordered.

  Aleta stared straight ahead, refusing to obey. She gripped the door handle, knowing this door was now unlocked, too. Could she outrun him? No way. Not with a concussion and a broken rib.

  But she needed to delay as long as she could. Surely her mom had called the cops. Oh, Mom, please. You have to have called the cops.

  Aleta expected to hear a siren at any moment. She needed to give her mother time to hide or run. Yes, Mom. Run. Get in the car and drive away as fast as you can. You don’t want to meet Bubba.

  He reached inside and grabbed for her arm. She opened the door and jumped out, her injured ribs screaming in protest. With her head pounding and nausea threatening, she ran for the street. She had to lure Bubba away from her mom.

  Before she made it far, he gripped her shoulders. She wrenched away, but he slammed her to the driveway. She threw out an arm to prevent her head from colliding with the colorful paving stones beneath her.

  Moaning, she rolled onto her left side and threw up again.

  “You’re disgusting,” Bubba said, sneering.

  She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. Where was that police siren?

  “Get up, Delilah,” he demanded.

  She ignored him. She couldn’t move right now if she wanted to.

  He kicked her. Thankfully on the left side. She gazed up at him, hating him with every fiber of her being.

  His huge hulking body loomed over her, reminding her of an angry demon. The only thing missing was horns. But this was a stupid demon. One who’d left his weapon in the car.

  “I think I broke my arm,” she lied.

  “I don’t care. Get up.”

  She ignored him. She wanted him to reach for her and pull her up.

  He leaned over and grabbed her arm. She kicked him in the balls with every ounce of strength she had left.

  He howled and released her. Falling to his knees, he cupped his privates.

  Aleta crawled away and then scrambled to her feet. She limped toward the street again. Focusing on the still-open gate, she cursed her slowness. If she could reach the gate, she could activate the sensor to close it and dart to the other side, trapping Bubba in the yard safely outside the house.

  Surely her mom was watching through a window. Her mom wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t let the demon in. If I can get away, don’t let him in.

  She heard a roar behind her. Oh, God. She didn’t look, but she knew.

  The beast had recovered. He was coming for her again.

  She tried to run faster, but he scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. When she managed to suck in a breath, a shooting pain in her right side stopped further movement. After the pain subsided, she struggled against his iron grip. She kicked his leg, but the contact didn’t faze him.

  When he reached the car, Bubba grabbed his club with his right hand.

  On the front porch, he tossed her to the bricks. At his feet, unable to move, she watched him grip his weapon in both hands and swing at the front door. It didn’t give. He tried again but the door stood solid.

  “Open up,” he yelled, “or she gets whacked in the brain.”

  Aleta sucked in a breath and shouted, “Don’t do it, Mom. He’ll kill us both.”

  “Shut up,” Bubba roared.

  The front door opened.

  Bubba grabbed Aleta’s arm and dragged her over the threshold. Once inside he slammed the door. Aleta crawled to a wall and leveraged herself to a sitting position.

  Where was her mother?

  Bubba turned around in a circle.

  “Where are you, bitch?” he shouted.

  “I’m right here.”

  Aleta swiveled her head. No, Mom, no!

  Her mom—pale faced and looking much older than Aleta remembered—stood in the living room by the old brown brocade sofa. She held a pistol in her trembling hand.

  “Leave my daughter alone,” her mother said.

  With a roar of rage, Bubba raised his club and lunged.

  The world exploded with noise.

  Aleta screamed and placed her hands over her ears.

  Her mom had pulled the trigger.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SEAN CURSED AS he approached the Porter residence. The front gate stood wide open—not a good sign.

  He glanced toward the house, but the driveway curved and large oak trees obscured the facade. He had to get closer.

  He exited his vehicle, jogged to one of the columns supporting the gate and plastered his back against the brick. When his movement sparked no reaction from the house, he darted a look inside. Still no response.

  In a defensive crouch, he jogged into the yard. When he rounded the first curve in the driveway, he spotted Aleta’s car parked close to the front door.

  Bingo. He’d found Burnett.

  The driver’s side and both rear doors stood open. He moved closer and looked inside. Blood and vomit stained the seats. What the hell had happened? A terrible rage consumed him. Was that Aleta’s blood?

  Was she still alive? Was Mrs. Porter?

  He refocused his thoughts. Time to report in. He needed backup.

  He activated the radio on his uniform collar and alerted dispatch to the situation.

  “Inform SWAT. They’re mobilized and looking for Burnett,” he said, and signed off.

  Sean stared at the tile roof on the distant house. No way was he waiting. Not while Aleta and her mother were at the mercy of a sociopath.

  Needing silence for what he was about to do, he turned off his radio.

  He withdrew his weapon, held it in a two-handed grip and jogged back into the yard. Barrel aimed down, he darted from oak tree to oak tree, using the trunks as cover. As he approached the sliding glass doors at the rear of the Porter residence, the distinctive sound of a gunshot exploded from inside.

  * * *

  THE BULLET CAUGHT Bubba in the left shoulder, spun him around and knocked him off his feet. Howling, he curled into a fetal position. Aleta’s ears rang, but she could hear his anguished noises, like a wounded animal.

  He placed his meaty hand over the wound. Bright red blood stained the filthy T-shirt beneath his fingers.

  As if in slow motion, Aleta swiveled her head to look at her mom. She stood frozen, eyes wide, both arms outstretched holding the gun. She stared back at Aleta, her expression shocked, as if she couldn’t believe what had happened. She lowered her shaking arms.

  “He’s not dead?” she demanded. “Why isn’t he dead?”

  Aleta shook her head. She’d always known a single bullet couldn’t take down Bubba the Beast. The monster was down, but no way was he out.

  Her mother sagged onto the sofa and hugged herself.

  Bubba rolled onto his back and bellowed, a horrifying, feral sound.

  Oh, God. The terrible sound forced Aleta to her feet. They didn’t have much time. They had to move, to get away from the beast before he recovered. He’d regain his strength and be crazy with anger. His injury would only make things worse. Wounded animals were even more dangerous.

  He would show them no mercy.

  With a wary eye on the snarling Bubba, Aleta limped toward her mom. She took the gun from her and grabbed her hand.
<
br />   “Come on. We’ve got to move.”

  Her mother stared at her as if dazed. “Get up, Mom.”

  Her mother stood.

  So did Bubba. Or he tried to anyway. Cursing, he sagged down to his knees and struggled to catch a breath.

  Aleta looked down at the gun in her hand. She’d never fired a weapon in her life. Could she do it? If—no, when—he came after them, could she shoot him?

  Bubba placed both hands on his head and pounded. “Stop it,” he shouted.

  “My God,” her mom said, staring at Bubba. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s a lunatic. Where are your car keys? We need to get out of here.”

  Her mother’s eyes cleared, as if she’d come back to herself. “In my purse.”

  “Where’s your purse?”

  “In my office.”

  Holding each other for support, Aleta and her mother moved awkwardly from the living room into the dining room. The door to her mother’s office was down the looming hallway.

  Behind them, the monster screamed. Aleta turned to look as they entered the hall, but he wasn’t there. Not yet. From the sounds of it, her personal demon now tossed furniture across the living room. She heard another sound, one she couldn’t identify.

  “I’m going to kill you, Delilah,” he screamed.

  When glass shattered, her mother shivered.

  Aleta suspected he’d probably used his club on a window or the coffee table.

  “Hurry,” her mother urged.

  “Go on without me,” Aleta said. “I can’t move fast. I think I have a broken rib.”

  “I won’t leave you,” her mother said.

  “Go on,” Aleta said. “I’ve got the gun. I’ll use it if I have to.”

  But would another bullet stop him? How many would it take? How many bullets did she have?

  “No,” her mother said, pulling Aleta forward with her. “I am not leaving you to face him alone.”

  Emotions swirled feverishly inside Aleta’s brain at her mother’s words, but this wasn’t the time for analysis or a tearful reunion. Not when their lives were at stake.