“Yes, sir,” she grumbled. Clutching the sheet to her chest, she followed him into the living room. He waited by the front door, grinning, watching her awkward progress.
When she got close, he grabbed her around the waist, pulled her against him and kissed her thoroughly this time, leaving her breathless.
“Don’t go anywhere until you hear from me,” he commanded, pressing his strong arm against her lower back, holding her against him, his breath hot against her chin.
She wanted to tell him he wasn’t in charge of her life, but the kiss had left her too dreamy. Besides, why start an argument?
“Promise me,” he said. Then a little more nicely, “Please.”
“Okay, I promise.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “Thank you.”
“Can you come back later?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, eyeing her thoughtfully. “I can. But I also need to go by St. Theresa’s and review the surveillance loop, so it would be late.”
“You could stay the night. My car is at the center, so I’ll need a ride to work tomorrow.”
Sean grinned down at her. “I can hear the shocked gossip now.”
She raised on her toes and nuzzled the side of his neck with her lips. God, but he smelled good. “You can drop me off a block away so no one sees me driving in with the new priest.”
“You are a Delilah, aren’t you?”
Holding the sheet with one hand, she raised the other to thread her fingers through his short hair.
“You’re safe,” she murmured. “No long hair to chop off.”
He grabbed her hand. “Who knew you were such a temptress.”
She stepped away. “Come back later.”
He nodded once and stepped outside.
Aleta turned the dead bolt with a satisfying click and leaned against her front door, smiling to herself. Well, now she’d done it. What had come over her? And she had to work with Sean every day. Would the entire staff, the clients even, notice how matters had changed between them? Would she be able to keep her hands off him in the office?
Oh, my God. She closed her eyes. What would Father Mac say?
Too bad. She felt great. Beyond great. Better than she had in years. What had started as a crappy day had morphed into something that had changed her outlook on life.
In addition to the pleasure of his fabulous lovemaking, she’d enjoyed herself this afternoon. Playing with Sean was fun, and when was the last time she’d had any fun? Certainly before Bubba had turned her on to meth and she’d stopped caring about anything but getting high.
Those self-destructive days were long gone, and she’d learned a thing or two along the way. She understood whatever was going on with Sean wouldn’t last forever, that he’d probably disappear from her life when his assignment to Sunshine Center ended.
She’d be careful with her feelings, not allow herself to fall for the guy. She wasn’t ready for anything serious, and he wasn’t her type anyway. Sean was way too judgmental, too unforgiving. But it was time for her to start living again. Past time.
If doing the tango with Sean meant she’d get burned, so be it. To have a good time, sometimes you had to dance near the fire.
In the meantime, she was going to take a cold shower.
* * *
SEAN CURSED AS he read the report on the monitor. Robert Burnett was a beast all right, a sadistic monster, an inmate so violent that he spent most of his time at Raiford in solitary confinement. The warden had requested three times that he be permanently sequestered from the rest of the prison population.
Aleta had sugarcoated Burnett in her description, but the files told the truth. He was the worst of the worst.
Sean stared at an image of a skinhead behemoth with a snake tattoo circling his neck.
How the hell had a sweet kid like Aleta ever hooked up with a freak like Burnett?
But he knew how. It was the meth. Once he’d hooked her, she’d do anything to keep getting high. Still, he hated the idea that Aleta had spent any time with this animal.
How had she ever found the courage to testify against him? Sean’s admiration for her grew. Facing him in court had taken guts.
The prison board should have listened to the warden. This walking nightmare was back on the streets, stealing his way toward Aleta to exact his revenge.
And she knew it. She’d been living in fear for two days.
As he read, Sean made notes on everything he could dredge up from the archives on Burnett. And then he read it all again. Tapping his pen on the desk, he sat back to consider his next move.
Aleta was right. This guy was no rocket scientist. But he was lucky, and luck could make up for brains at least in the short run. He’d managed to evade capture by stealing a string of vehicles and abandoning them, apparently staying away from the interstates, working his way south in a far from direct route.
There’d been no credible sighting for twenty-four hours. The trail had gone cold in a town called Frostproof.
Where was he?
Sean rose, dumped his cold coffee and stared out the window over the sink. He was restless. He wanted to join the search for Burnett, do something. Anything. But what? How the hell could he protect Aleta from this monster?
To her credit, she was being careful, but it wasn’t enough. She needed to relocate. Alter her habits. Quit going to work. Damn, she needed a bodyguard, but he couldn’t stay by her side 24/7.
His level of agitation surprised him. Sure, he’d want to safeguard any citizen from this animal, but the fact that he knew Aleta—and now knew her intimately—intensified his need to keep her safe. The sex had been amazing, but beyond it, Aleta had gotten under his skin in a way that no woman ever had. In a way that he’d promised himself to never allow.
And the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to stay with her. To be with her.
God. His first thought had been to have her move in with him so he could protect her. Bad idea. His focus needed to remain on his career, and that dangled assignment to the Gang Suppression Unit. That was why he’d gone undercover at St. Theresa’s.
He needed to put the brakes on his infatuation—for her sake as well as his own.
Hard to do when he thought about her constantly. And now her life was in danger. The thought of Burnett harming her sparked a hot burn in his belly. Sean shook his head. He couldn’t let anything happen to Aleta. Maybe he could talk her into moving into her parents’ home temporarily. He needed to run a background check on them. Hadn’t she said they were lawyers?
He moved back to the computer, initiated a search and sat back to read the results.
“What are you doing here, O’Malley?”
Sean turned. Sergeant McFadden stood at the door of the media room giving him one of the steely looks he was famous for. Sarge hadn’t been happy about a three-year man receiving a plum undercover gig.
“You’re assigned to St. Theresa’s,” McFadden said. “Why aren’t you in church?”
“A new threat to the parish has come up, and I’m running the background.”
“What threat?” McFadden glanced at monitor.
“An escaped con.”
“Robert Burnett?”
“Yes, sir.” Naturally Sarge would know about the manhunt. Every law-enforcement agency in the state was on alert. He should have been paying more attention, too.
“Is Burnett associated with a gang at St. Theresa’s?”
“No, but he was part of the Warriors for Self Rule at one time.”
McFadden nodded. “They’re defunct. How is this escapee affecting St. Theresa’s?”
“I believe he’s on his way to Miami to kill one of the employees, a woman who testified against him. He swore revenge.”
Sarge crossed his arms and glared at Sean. Sean stared back. McFadden was a hard-as
s, a cop who claimed to operate strictly by the book, but Sean had never quite believed it.
“Remind me, O’Malley,” Sarge said. “What is your mandate?”
Sean shrugged. “I swore to serve and protect this community, Sarge.”
“You also need to follow orders. You have an assignment. Stick to it.”
Sarge turned on his heel and left the room.
Sean released a breath. What the hell was that about? Was he in trouble for following up on Burnett?
But Sarge was right. He needed to get to St. Theresa’s before today’s surveillance loop disappeared. Glancing at his watch, he cursed. Burnett’s criminal history both in and out of prison had been so lengthy it had taken hours to get through everything.
Time to go. He still had a job to do, a job the good people of Miami-Dade County paid him for. And he had an appointment with Aleta later. He intended to have a serious discussion with her about security, and he didn’t care if she liked it or not.
* * *
WHEN SEAN ARRIVED at the gymnasium, Deacon Alsobrook was clapping his hands and racing around the floor trying to chase the kids outside, never an easy task. Sean grinned at Alsobrook’s sad efforts. Aleta’s clients didn’t respect the tight-ass deacon—Sean had never seen the man so much as smile—and the kids never wanted to stop practicing. The gym was their safe space away from drugs and dangerous streets.
Red in the face, Alsobrook blew shrilly on a whistle. “Stop dribbling,” he commanded. “Get out now. The gym is closing.”
No one paid any attention. Hot Shot evaded his defender and quickly sank a layup.
Alsobrook sounded his whistle again while another player grabbed the rebound and raced down the court with the ball.
Sean approached Alsobrook. “I’ve got this, Deacon. You can go on home.”
Breathing hard, Alsobrook mopped his brow. “But Ms. Porter requested that I lock up at six.”
“I’ve got some work to do in the office,” Sean said. “I’ll close up when I’m done.”
“You’re going to let them continue to play?”
“Why not? I’ll be here.”
Casting a doubtful eye at the proceedings on the court, the deacon shrugged. “Very well, Father. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Please inform Ms. Porter I was here as she requested.”
“I’ll let her know you came to do your duty.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Uncomfortable with Alsobrook’s repeated use of the title, Sean bit his lip. Was he supposed to do something, perform some ritual? Should he bless the man? Offer to pray with him?
It was easier to deal with the kids. They didn’t expect him to behave like a holy man.
“Have a good evening, my son,” Sean said, feeling like an idiot as he bowed. My son? Deacon Alsobrook was at least twenty years his senior.
Alsobrook bowed back and left the gym. Sean entered his office, grabbed the whistle he kept at his desk and walked out on the gym floor.
He issued three sharp whistles. Recognizing his signal, the players froze and glanced in his direction.
“You guys have thirty minutes,” Sean yelled. “And then you’re out of here.”
Sean returned to the office and accessed the surveillance feed. He started with the room where the offerings from each daily Mass were counted and placed in the parish safe until delivery to the bank. Deposits were not made on a regular schedule, which meant sometimes a lot of money remained in the safe. He sped up the video, wanting to skip through long, boring stretches of nothing but an empty room.
He glanced to the court where games were still in progress. Funny thing. He didn’t want to believe these kids were stealing from the church. Damn. When had he started looking at the world through rose-colored glasses? Since he’d started working with Aleta, that’s when. He needed to get over this sunshine and lollipops nonsense. He knew better.
Shaking his head, Sean refocused on the video. When a figure entered the view, he slowed down the feed. Deacon Alsobrook hurried toward the safe. What was he doing in the counting room? Alsobrook was a permanent deacon tasked with numerous clerical duties, so he was at St. Theresa’s at some point almost every day. But the deacon also held down a secular job to support his family. Sean frowned. Hadn’t Aleta told him that Alsobrook’s wife was terminal? Some sort of cancer.
Checking the time on the recording, Sean sat back to watch what happened. The deacon’s visit to the counting room took place two hours after this morning’s Mass. Maybe today was Alsobrook’s turn to make a bank deposit.
The deacon unlocked the safe and withdrew a fat envelope. He thumbed through the contents of the envelope and withdrew at least half of the cash, leaving the checks and a few bills. He stashed it in his pocket, stuffed the envelope back inside the safe, locked up and walked out of the camera’s view.
Sean sighed. Pretty clear what had gone down.
The most surprising fact wasn’t that a respected deacon was the thief, but the fact that Alsobrook behaved as if he didn’t know about the cameras. Even Aleta knew about the new surveillance. Alsobrook had to be aware. Had he wanted to get caught?
Knowing Father Mac would still be in his office, Sean copied the surveillance to a thumb drive, noting the time of the relevant section, and pushed himself out of his chair. God, he dreaded the conversation he was about to have. But the priest had to know the truth.
Sean had found the parish thief, and he had nothing to do with the gangs. Too bad the thief was one of Father Mac’s most trusted assistants.
He also needed to call Aleta. He would be too late to make it back to her place tonight.
* * *
AT 9:00 P.M. BUBBA got tired of waiting for an awesome set of wheels, so he settled for a compact Japanese piece of shit when its driver left the engine running at a gas pump and hurried inside the convenience store.
Bubba got in and floored it. Laughing, he turned left onto Main Street before the clueless owner had emerged from inside the building and found his ride had vanished.
No need to take the back roads anymore. When the cops found what was left of the bum beneath the piles of charred debris, they would assume it was their dangerous escaped prisoner. After they ran the plates on the truck he’d left behind, any pig who had doubts would be convinced.
Stopped at a red light, he frowned. This corner looked familiar. And then he realized he’d been at this intersection yesterday. If he hung a right, the road would lead him back to the neighborhood where he’d killed the homeless dude. As he’d walked away from the fire toward town, sirens wailed from emergency vehicles flooding the area. That sound had always made him twitchy.
Why not go back and check out what the house looked like? He hesitated, suddenly desperate to see it. He’d never set a fire before, and it’d been kinda fun. The roar of the flames had made him feel powerful.
He’d have liked to watch the beautiful flames destroy the roof but didn’t dare hang around. He glanced to the burn on his left arm, which had blistered and hurt like hell.
He wanted Delilah to experience that kind of pain before he offed her. Maybe he’d burn her some first and let her know what agony felt like. It was what the bitch deserved.
A cop car pulled up beside him at the light. Before the pig could eyeball him, Bubba leaned over to search the glove compartment to hide his face. Shit. He needed a weapon. He’d secure one when he got to Miami.
Bubba stayed low until the vehicle behind him honked. When he sat up, the cop car had moved on.
He drove through the intersection, turning left at an arrow pointing toward the Florida Turnpike. Much as he wanted to see the remains of his fire, it was better not to take the chance. Most likely cops or the fire department would still be at the scene. Maybe the coroner. Someone might notice him doing a drive-by.
Miami wa
s maybe a four-hour drive. His destiny awaited him, and he couldn’t wait to play with Delilah again.
* * *
“DEACON ALSOBROOK?” Shocked, Aleta plopped onto her sofa clutching her phone. “No way would Deacon Alsobrook steal from his church.”
“Sorry,” Sean said. “I’ve got hard proof. The camera doesn’t lie.”
“So what happens now?”
“I have to arrest him.”
She sucked in a breath. “Does Father Mac know?”
“He had a hard time believing it and insists on going with me when I make the arrest.”
She could tell by his tone that Sean wasn’t happy about that. “Aren’t you even going to question the deacon first?”
“We’ll confront him with the video. What can he say?”
She tried to put the pieces together, but they didn’t fit. Dour Deacon Alsobrook couldn’t be the thief. He might not be her favorite person, but he was as straight arrow as they came.
“What if Father Mac refuses to prosecute?”
“Apparently, the bishop is not in a forgiving mood. He wants Alsobrook arrested.”
“But the deacon’s wife is ill,” Aleta said. “She needs him.”
“He should have thought about that before he took money from the church safe.”
“Maybe he planned on using the money for the parish, pay a bill.”
“Cash?”
“I don’t know.” She struggled through her disbelief to think of some church purpose for which the deacon would require cash, but couldn’t come up with a thing. Any gifts or charity had to be approved by Father Mac.
“Perhaps he needed the money for his wife’s care.”
“Then why not ask for help? Father Mac would give whatever he could.”
“It makes no sense. Especially since I’m certain he knew about the cameras.”
“I suspected as much,” Sean said. “Who told him?”
“Pom overheard you and Father Mac arguing. She pretty much told everyone.”
After a pause Sean said, “Well, that’s great.”
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