A Cop's Second Chance

by Sharon Hartley

  “That’s protocol after a shooting,” Linda said.

  Another paramedic appeared in the doorway. “Can she ambulate?” he asked. “There’s not enough room to roll the gurney down the hallway because of the body.”

  And they couldn’t move the body yet. They had to wait for forensics and a medical examiner.

  “Can you walk, ma’am?” Linda said.

  “Sure,” Aleta murmured.

  Her mother helped Aleta to her feet.

  “Is there a back way out?” the new guy asked. “Cops don’t want us disturbing the scene.”

  “Through the garage,” Aleta’s mom said.

  With Linda following, they walked into the hallway where Bubba’s giant body still lay uncovered.

  Her mother gasped and squeezed her hand. “Don’t look at him.”

  But Aleta couldn’t look away. Yes, the beast was dead. She should be elated. The threat looming over her life for so long was finally over.

  And, strangely, she’d somehow reconciled with her mother because of it. This should be a good day. Why did it feel like a total disaster?

  Because Sean loved his job. He lived to be a cop. Because of her, he could lose what he loved so much. What he was so good at. She choked back a sob.

  Once outside the garage, Mom helped her onto the gurney. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Everything will be okay.”

  “Will it?” Aleta said, blinking back tears.

  How could Sean ever forgive her?

  How could she ever forgive herself?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “I’M HERE TO spring Cyrus Alonso,” Sean told the balding, serious-faced desk officer at Miami-Dade County jail. The uniformed clerk’s tag read K. Stamps.

  Officer Stamps swiveled to his computer and opened a file. “Cyrus Alonso,” he muttered as he searched the monitor. “Cyrus Alonso. Got him.”

  Stamps frowned and glanced up. “He’s a juvie.”

  “Right,” Sean said.

  “He’s scheduled to be transported to the juvenile detention center.”

  “I was told he was still here,” Sean said.

  “Yeah, he is, but in a separate area from the other bangers.”

  Sean nodded, and his anxiety tamped down a notch. For once the system had worked. Cyrus hadn’t been placed in a cell with the rest of the Posse. He’d come here to make sure of that before finding Aleta in Jackson Memorial Hospital. God knew what would happen to the kid in a cell with gang members.

  “You got his ticket?” Stamps asked.

  Sean slid a paper under the slot in the glass partition that separated him from Stamps.

  The officer eyeballed it and nodded. “Looks good.” He pushed back and stood. “Wait here.”

  Sean stepped away from the desk and checked the clock on the wall. Five p.m. What a day. Not the worst twenty-four hours in his life, but close. And it was far from over.

  Uncomfortable-looking metal seats sat around the perimeter of the waiting room, but he was too restless, too agitated to sit. Too worried about Cyrus and Aleta.

  He’d briefly spoken to one of the responding officers who had interrupted the gang initiation at the abandoned warehouse. No one had been critically injured or transported to Jackson, so Cyrus should be okay.

  The Posse had scattered like roaches, but the police had collared everyone they could and arrested them for trespass. None of them would do any serious jail time. They’d all be released at their first appearance before a judge tomorrow morning.

  Was the operation a waste of police resources? Sean collapsed into a cold seat and immediately stood again. Not in his opinion. A young boy’s life had been saved. At least for the time being. Cyrus still had a chance to live a normal life.

  Of course his sergeant didn’t see it that way. The big question was what his lieutenant thought. Sean paced the room, replaying his interview with stone-faced Lieutenant Marshall where he’d laid out the complicated chain of events that led to his shooting of Burnett. LT had suspended him for disobeying orders, but Sean had expected that. Marshall had no choice considering how livid Sergeant McFadden had been. And the SWAT commander hadn’t been happy either.

  There’d be an investigation. A union rep would help plead his case, but there was a chance he could lose his job.

  That seriously sucked. He loved his job, had never wanted to be anything but a cop, had no clue what he’d do if he got fired.

  Still—he wouldn’t have done anything differently. How could he? He couldn’t have waited safely outside the house while Burnett was in there with Aleta and her mom.

  Maybe Aleta would have been able to stop the monster. Maybe not.

  She’d never have to know the answer to that question. No matter what happened between them going forward, in his opinion that was a good thing.

  He’d learned what was important in life, and it wasn’t his job. He used to be consumed by the idea of avenging Patrick, but people still breathing were who mattered most.

  He’d never forget the look on her pale face when he’d finally seen her through the hole in the door. Sheer terror gradually changing to relief. Realization that the beast would never come after her again.

  He’d wanted to crawl over that desk and hold her, but the SWAT team and his sergeant had arrived before he could get the door open. Damn, but McFadden had been pissed.

  Sean shook his head, remembering the turmoil at the scene. He knew the drill, and he needed to write down everything so he’d remember the details for his hearing. He also needed to get in touch with Hot Shot and let him know what went down. He needed to contact his own parents and let them know about the suspension. And about Aleta. That should be an interesting conversation. Father Mac was likely a basket case. He needed to—At the sound of the door opening, Sean stopped pacing and turned around.

  Looking impossibly small, and more than a little frightened, Cyrus appeared in the doorway accompanied by a guard.

  When Cyrus spotted Sean, he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. The kid obviously hadn’t expected a uniformed cop to be waiting for him. Who did he expect? Surely not his druggie mother.

  Then recognition clicked in, and the kid’s eyes went huge.

  The guard released Cyrus’s cuffs. “Good luck with this one.”

  “Thanks,” Sean said.

  Rubbing his wrists, Cyrus stared at him. “You’re a cop? No way.”

  “The cop who saved your ass,” Sean said.

  “So you ain’t really a priest?”

  “No.”

  Cyrus looked uncertain. “And you paid my bail?”

  “I took care of it.”

  “Why?”

  “To get you out of hock.”

  He looked around. “Where is Aleta? I thought she was who—”

  “Aleta isn’t available,” Sean said.

  “Why? Where is she?”

  Sean released a sigh. “She’s in the hospital.”

  Forgetting to act like a fearless badass gang member, Cyrus stepped forward. “What happened to her?”

  “Somebody beat her up pretty bad.”

  “A member of the Posse?” he asked.

  “No. Somebody else.”

  The kid sagged in relief. “Who?”

  “I’ll let her tell you about it. All you need to know is he was a very bad man.”

  Cyrus nodded.

  “Did the Posse hurt you?” Sean asked.

  The remaining bravado evaporated out of the kid, and he shook his head. “No, but they sure as shit wanted to.”

  “Nice group you hang out with.”

  Cyrus dropped his head. “I’m done with them.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Sean said. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m good.”

  “You need a ride somewhere?”

  Cyru
s looked at the closed door he’d emerged from, then back at Sean. “I can really go?”

  “Yeah. I’ll take you wherever you want.”

  “Will I have to go to court and talk to a judge?”

  “No.”

  Cyrus grinned, now definitely looking happy. “Good deal. I guess Sunshine Center is closed.”

  “Do you want to go home?”

  “Nah.” The kid thought for a minute. “Will you take me to see Aleta?”

  Sean sucked in a breath, surprised at the request. “I told you she’s in the hospital.”

  “Yeah, I know. But can’t she have visitors?”

  He thought for a second. “I don’t see why not.” And it would do her good to see firsthand that Cyrus was all right. He’d intended to go to the hospital next anyway. They couldn’t have the conversation he wanted to have with the kid around, but maybe that was a good thing. He wasn’t sure what her mood would be.

  “I need to talk to her,” Cyrus said. “Tell her I’m sorry.”

  Me, too. Sean placed an arm on Cyrus’s thin back. “You got it, kid. Let’s go.”

  “Hey,” Cyrus asked as Sean pushed through the door. “Who won the game?”

  Sean laughed and shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  “Aleta will know,” Cyrus said with all the confidence of a ten-year old.

  * * *

  ALETA PUSHED THE button on the hospital bed to raise her legs, but the change didn’t help. In fact, now her side hurt worse. She lowered the foot of the bed.

  No matter what position she tried, she couldn’t get comfortable. She’d refused any pain meds other than ibuprofen. I mean, really. Just what I needed—get hooked on some new wonder drug.

  Her mom jumped from the chair at her bedside. “You’re restless.”

  Aleta nodded. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  “The doctor should be in soon,” Mom said. “And your father is on his way.”

  “I know,” Aleta said, rearranging the sheets.

  The constant presence of her mother was beyond weird. She’d been on her own for so long, she didn’t know how to react to her mom’s hovering concern. And if she found it hard to deal with Mom, how would she feel when Dad arrived? For eight years she’d told herself her parents didn’t love her, didn’t care about her.

  The fact that her mom hadn’t left her side suggested she’d been very wrong. Or maybe her mom had changed.

  Mom insisted her father would have been here sooner, but she hadn’t been able to reach him because he’d been in court all day. Well, that sounded like business as usual. From what took place during their phone call, they seemed to be getting on awfully well for a couple who had separated.

  She shot a glance to her mom, still not quite believing she truly was here.

  Ever alert, Mom stepped forward. “Do you need something?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Aleta closed her eyes and tried to relax. She should be grateful for her parents’ renewed interest, but the person she wanted doting on her was Sean. Yeah, she might need to have a conversation with her mom and dad about the past and the future, but the conversation she wanted to have was with Sean.

  Did the fact that he wasn’t here mean he hated her for getting him tangled up in her messy life and getting him in trouble with his job? Or was he still involved with his police bosses and couldn’t get away?

  She needed to get out of this hospital bed and find him. They had so much to talk about. She wanted to hear his strong, confident voice. She knew it would make her feel better.

  She glanced to the table beside the bed where a phone lay out of her reach. But she didn’t know his number offhand, and had no idea where her cell phone or purse was. Had someone found her purse where Bubba had kicked it in the parking lot?

  “Are you sure you don’t need something?” Mom asked.

  “I don’t know why they moved me into a private room,” Aleta grumbled.

  “Because they want to keep you overnight,” Mom said.

  “I don’t want to stay overnight.”

  “Yes, you do,” a man announced.

  Aleta glanced to the door. Dr. Pelayo, the young, dark-haired physician who had examined her in the emergency room, entered the room.

  “Hello, Doctor,” Mom said, stepping forward to shake his hand.

  “Your self-diagnosis was right on,” Dr. Pelayo told Aleta. “You have a fractured rib and a concussion. No other internal injuries, though. If no new problems develop, you can go home in the morning.”

  “Why not tonight?” Aleta asked.

  “Aren’t you comfortable here?” the doctor asked in a joking tone.

  “No,” Aleta said.

  He frowned. “Considering that lump on your head, I’d feel better observing you overnight.”

  “So what’s the treatment?” her mother asked.

  “There’s not much we can do for a broken rib,” Dr. Pelayo said. “Ice the affected area and rest. You’re young, Aleta, and should heal in four to six weeks.”

  She stared at him. “I can’t work for four to six weeks?”

  “You can work as tolerated. But no physical activity.”

  “Great. Part of my job is to coach basketball,” Aleta said.

  “Well, definitely no running,” Dr. Pelayo instructed. “You won’t want to anyway because of the discomfort.”

  “There’s nothing you can do to help with her pain?” Mom asked.

  “Certainly.” The doctor nodded. “I’ll send you home with a prescription for pain meds.”

  “I won’t fill it,” Aleta said.

  Her mom patted her shoulder, and Aleta grasped her fingers, thankful that her mom understood why she wouldn’t take narcotics.

  Dr. Pelayo shrugged. “Then ice. And over-the-counter analgesics.”

  “Can’t you wrap her chest?” Mom asked.

  “That interferes with breathing.” The doctor focused on Aleta. “I want you to take a deep breath or cough at least once an hour even though it hurts. Otherwise, pneumonia is a risk.” He scribbled something on the chart. “Call my office for an appointment in two weeks or follow-up with your own doctor. Any questions?”

  Aleta looked at her mom, who shrugged.

  “I guess not,” Aleta said. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “Call me or your own physician sooner if you have problems.”

  On his way out, the doctor collided with Cyrus, who barreled into the room.

  “Aleta,” he cried.

  “Whoa,” the doctor said. “Better slow down there, partner.”

  Aleta grinned, her spirits soaring at the sight of her young client. As he hurried toward her, she searched him for any sign of injury, but he appeared to be unharmed. Sean or his police buddies must have gotten to the gang initiation in time.

  And there stood Sean, his incredible blue eyes focused on her. Her heart pounding against her ribs, she sucked in a quick breath, causing pain to shoot through her side. But then his beautiful, sexy mouth curved into a smile, and everything seemed okay again.

  “And who is this?” her mother asked stiffly, staring at Cyrus.

  Aleta tore her gaze from Sean and reassessed her young client. She had to admit Cyrus looked a bit like a ragamuffin. Well, wasn’t that too bad. She didn’t know the details yet, but the kid had been through a lot, including some time in a Miami-Dade County jail.

  But Cyrus was alive, and that’s all that mattered.

  If good old Mom wants back in my life, she has to accept me—and my friends—for who we are. No one was changing to suit Mom’s fancy-pants lifestyle.

  “Mom, I’d like you to meet Mr. Cyrus Alonso,” Aleta said. “Cyrus, this is my mother, Mrs. Porter.”

  Exactly as she’d taught him, Cyrus approached her mother and stuck out his arm. “Pleased to meet you,
ma’am.”

  Mom shook his hand. “Hello.”

  Aleta half expected her mom to duck into the bathroom and sterilize her fingers, but she only continued to examine Cyrus intently, as if he were a bug under a microscope.

  Aleta hid a smile. “And I think you know Sean.”

  Her mom raised her brows, and Aleta suspected she’d given away a lot by the intimate way she’d said his name. Funny how saying Sean’s name could create a warm glow in her belly.

  Her gaze locked with his across the room, and then she was the one under a microscope. But she didn’t mind. He could look at her like that whenever he wanted. Like for the rest of her life.

  Never taking his focus from Aleta, Sean said, “Mrs. Porter.”

  “Officer O’Malley,” Mom said. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for what you did.”

  Cyrus plopped on the bed beside her. “What’d you do, Father Sean?”

  “Father Sean?” Mom asked, darting a horrified look between Sean and Aleta.

  “Officer O’Malley,” Sean corrected, still hanging back by the door.

  She wanted him to come closer. She wanted to touch him, to hug him. To do far more than that.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Cyrus said. “How could I forget when you’re wearing that badass uniform?”

  Sean laughed. “Maybe ‘Sean’ will do.”

  “I’m confused,” Mom said.

  “I met Sean while he was working undercover at St. Theresa’s. As a priest.”

  “I see,” Mom said. But Aleta could tell from her tone Mom didn’t understand at all. How could anyone understand what had so unexpectedly developed between her and Sean? I don’t even understand it.

  All she knew was that her feelings were real, and they would never go away. For the first time in her life she understood what it was like to love and be loved. Too bad that once again her foolish past might not allow that love to take root and grow.

  Would the awful mistakes she’d made as a young woman prevent Sean from feeling the same way about her?

  At least he was here. He’d come to see her. That was something. If nothing else, she could finally thank him.