WEARING HIS TOO-TIGHT clerical collar, Sean unlocked the gym door. He hated doing anything before his morning coffee, but the surveillance cameras were finally operating as designed, and he needed to review the previous day’s loop before the images were recorded over.
He’d check the feed again tonight and reset the system so he didn’t have to do this shit first thing in the morning. Sooner or later something would show up and he’d nab the thief, although that wouldn’t solve the parish’s more pressing gang problem. Father Mac refused to face facts, but he had something a lot more serious going on at Sunshine Center than petty theft.
And if the thefts ended because the thief knew he or she was being watched, that would be proof it was an inside job as Aleta alleged, unrelated to the gangbangers.
He smiled at the thought of Sunshine Center’s resident do-gooder, hoping he didn’t miss her in the cafeteria for breakfast. Their heated discussions about how her methods saved young people from a life of crime were entertaining, the best part of this undercover assignment.
He’d become convinced she was hiding something, something that made her nervous. He wasn’t sure what, but that was another reason to keep their conversations going.
As he stepped into the gym, he saw the overhead light in the office flick off. Sean froze. No one should be in here this early.
A noise echoed through the huge dark space.
He crouched and reached for his service weapon.
Shit. He wasn’t in uniform, didn’t have his service belt. Didn’t have the radio link on his collar to summon backup.
Another noise sounded from the office. Then a curse. In a youthful voice. Whoever was in there had tripped in the dark and fallen. Obviously an amateur.
Sean reached out and flicked on the overheard lights.
A tall figure darted out of the office and ran for the exit. Sean gave chase, recognizing him instantly.
He tackled Hot Shot before the kid made his escape.
“Get off me, man.”
“I don’t think so.”
Sean jerked Hot Shot to his feet and twisted his arm behind him in a hold so the punk couldn’t move without pain.
“What are you doing in the gym this early?”
“Nothing.”
“Yeah, right.”
Again wishing he had on his belt with all his police tools handy, Sean forced Hot Shot back into the office and shoved him into a chair.
The kid immediately leaped to his feet and tried to run.
Sean pushed him back. “Don’t move.”
“You can’t hold me here.” Hot Shot tried to act the macho fool, but his voice wavered, giving him away.
“You want to bet?”
Sean pulled a set of handcuffs out of his top desk drawer, snapped one end around the kid’s wrist and attached the other to Aleta’s desk.
“Hey,” Hot Shot objected, his eyes now wide and frightened.
Deciding against reciting the Miranda rights—Hot Shot was a juvie anyway and likely Father Mac wouldn’t prosecute—Sean sat in a chair, placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, getting in the kid’s space. Hot Shot was so tall he seemed too large for the chair.
“Let’s start over,” Sean said. “What were you doing in Aleta’s office?”
Hot Shot jerked at the restraint. “Nothing.”
“Try again.”
“I came to practice, Father. You know I need to practice for the tournament.”
“Funny how there are no hoops in here.” Sean glanced at Aleta’s desk. The drawers were all open. The kid had obviously gone through them.
Hot Shot followed his gaze, then refused to look at Sean. “I needed to find a ball.”
“Inside a drawer?”
“Aleta gave me permission.”
“She gave you permission to go through her desk?”
“Yeah, she did.”
“You’re not lying to me, are you, Hot Shot?”
The kid looked away.
“Let’s see about that.” Sean removed his cell phone and punched in Aleta’s number.
“Where are you?” he demanded when she answered.
“Good morning to you, too, Father O’Malley.” Sounded like she was on speaker in her car.
“We have a situation. Meet me in the office.”
He disconnected and leveled a stare at Hot Shot. “What’s your real name?”
“Washington,” the kid mumbled.
“Washington? Like George?”
“Like Booker T.”
Sean nodded and settled back in his chair. He waited several long minutes before speaking again, allowing the kid to think about the situation he’d put himself in.
“How did you get inside?” Sean asked.
“The door was open.”
“No, it wasn’t. I unlocked it.”
“So I locked it behind me.”
“You need a key for that. Did you have a key, Washington?”
“Yeah.” Appearing deflated, the kid ducked his head.
“Give it to me.”
Hot Shot dug in his pocket with his free hand and handed over a key.
“You ever been arrested, Washington?”
“No, sir,” the kid said, his bravado diminishing by the second.
“How old are you?”
“Fourteen, sir.”
“Have you been stealing money from St. Theresa’s, Washington?”
The kid’s eyes went wide again. “No, sir. Never. I wouldn’t do that.”
“What were you searching for? Cash?”
Looking miserable, the kid shook his head.
“Do you need money?”
Washington shrugged.
“What do you need money for?”
“Let me go, Father. Please. I promise I won’t do nothing like this ever again.”
“Can’t do that, kid.”
The door to the gym burst open. Sean turned his head to see Aleta hurrying across the court floor toward the office. Breathing hard, she arrived at the threshold and focused on the handcuff attached to Hot Shot’s wrist.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
Sean held up the key given to him by the kid. “Did you give your star player a key to the gymnasium?”
“Of course not,” Aleta said, her gaze going to her desk and the rifled drawers. She brought a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God.”
“I caught him searching your desk,” Sean said.
Aleta entered the office and dropped her purse on the desk with a heavy thud.
“I’m sorry, Miss Porter.”
“Why would you do this, Hot Shot?”
“I need a new pair of shoes,” the kid said. “For the tournament. My momma ain’t got no money for shoes.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Aleta asked. “You know I have petty cash I could use.”
“I think that’s what he was looking for,” Sean said.
The kid shrugged, but Sean knew why he hadn’t gone to Aleta. Young men like Hot Shot were full of pride and hated to admit they needed help. Far easier to steal what they wanted than to work for it.
Aleta sat. “Where did you get the key?”
The kid looked down. “While you were at a meeting with Father Mac, I took your keys and had an extra made.”
“Oh, Hot Shot.”
Sean shook his head. Not good. The kid’s crimes were mounting up.
“I did it months ago,” Hot Shot said. “Not to steal anything. So I could get in the gym and practice by myself after hours.”
Sean sighed. “And then you got the bright idea of using the key for an even better purpose, right, kid?”
“Yeah, I guess,” he muttered.
“Not so smart,” Sean said.
“What are you going to do to me?” Hot Shot asked.
“I’m taking you to the police station to be booked.”
Aleta sucked in a breath, and then silence descended over the room.
Sean glanced at Aleta. Her face was pale, her eyes worried. Too bad she had to learn the truth about Hot Shot like this, but it couldn’t be helped. Sean shook his head. Just as he’d suspected all along, her star player was a common thief. This might even be a good thing for this kid; stop his downward spiral.
But likely not. The punk who murdered his brother had started with petty theft, had been in and out of juvie for years and should have been locked up the night he shot Patrick.
“Oh, man,” Hot Shot moaned, shaking his head in denial. “Oh, man.”
“Washington here is now my prime suspect in the rash of thefts at St. Theresa’s.”
Aleta narrowed her eyes. “Your prime suspect?”
“I swear I never stole nothing from the church, Father O’Malley,” Hot Shot protested. “I would never steal from God.”
“No, just from your coach,” Sean said.
Hot Shot ducked his head again. “Miss Porter got plenty of money.”
“Maybe so, but it’s not your money, is it? That’s the definition of stealing.”
“So you are arresting him?” Aleta demanded.
“I already did,” Sean said, shooting her another look. She stared at him, her luscious mouth open.
And then he got it. Her shock wasn’t because Hot Shot had committed a crime.
She’d just figured out he was a police officer.
ALETA’S HANDS WERE fisted so hard that fingernails dug into her palms.
O’Malley was a cop?
Of course he was. A lot of things made sense now, like why she hadn’t found anything on the internet about him. For safety reasons, most cops kept their lives private.
She didn’t know what to react to first. Fury that he had lied, hurt that Father Mac would hide the truth from her or disappointment that Hot Shot could do something so very, very stupid.
It all sucked.
She glared at O’Malley, but he didn’t look the least ashamed. She bit her lip, wanting to curse at him. She’d known he wasn’t a priest. But a cop? Oh, my God. She used to have such good radar for cops.
Unfortunately, ripping O’Malley a new one would have to wait. Father Mac must have had a good reason to hide the truth, and apparently Hot Shot hadn’t figured out that the bogus priest was a police officer. Likely because he was wearing the clerical collar. That tended to confuse people.
O’Malley released the cuff from her desk, and recuffed Hot Shot’s wrists behind his back.
Hot Shot fixed pleading eyes to hers.
She took a deep breath, hating the sight of one of her kids in restraints. No matter how pissed she was, Hot Shot had to be her priority.
It was up to her to figure out a way to save him.
“Wait,” she said. “You can’t do this.”
“Yes, I can.”
“If you process him, you’ll ruin any chance he has for an athletic scholarship.”
“He should have thought about that before he ransacked your desk.”
“I would have paid it back,” Hot Shot said. “I swear.”
O’Malley raised his brows. “How? Do you have a job, kid?”
“He sometimes does odd jobs around the parish to earn money,” Aleta said.
“So why didn’t he come to you and ask for some extra work before he broke into the gym?”
“Technically he didn’t break in if he had a key,” Aleta said.
“He stole the key.”
“Please, Father,” Hot Shot said. “I ain’t never done nothing like this before. Ask anyone.”
“That’s true,” Aleta said. “He’s never been in any trouble before now.”
“So why this time?”
“I really wanted new shoes,” Hot Shot muttered.
“Listen to me, O’Malley. Hot Shot is a good student, makes good grades. He helps me out around Sunshine Center all the time, helps his momma at home. He’s a good kid. He just made a mistake, that’s all.”
“A bad mistake,” O’Malley said, shoving Hot Shot toward the door.
“Oh, man,” Hot Shot moaned again.
“Can’t you give him a break?” Aleta asked.
“Why should I?”
“It was me he was stealing from, and he didn’t get anything.”
“What if he’s been stealing the parish’s cash?”
“I can promise you he didn’t steal from the collection plate or the safe,” Aleta said. “He has no access to that part of the church.”
“He could have stolen a key to the counting room.”
“No way,” Hot Shot insisted.
“Everyone deserves a second chance,” Aleta said. She placed her hand on O’Malley’s shoulder, feeling the strength in the hard muscle beneath her palm. “Please, Sean. This one mistake could destroy a promising young man’s life.”
O’Malley finally met her gaze. Cold, vivid blue eyes stared into hers.
He flicked his gaze to Hot Shot. The boy who wanted to be a man was trying hard not to cry.
“Give him another chance,” Aleta said quietly. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
Sean looked at her again, the ghost of a smile curving his lips. She held her breath. Was he wavering?
“So he’ll receive no punishment at all?” Sean demanded.
“He’ll be punished,” Aleta said, thinking fast. “He’ll have to set up and take down the bleachers for each game in the tournament. That’s hard work that you and I won’t have to do.”
“And what if he decides to never come back here?”
“He’ll be back,” Aleta said. “He lives to play b-ball in this gym. Right, Hot Shot?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, “I’ll help do whatever.”
After another long hesitation, Sean nodded once and unlocked the cuffs from Hot Shot’s hands.
“Thanks,” the kid said, rubbing the skin on his wrist.
“Don’t thank me,” Sean said. “Thank Aleta.”
“You won’t regret this, Father,” Hot Shot said. “I promise.”
“Just know I’ll be watching you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And believe me, I’m going to come up with more punishment than the bleachers.”
“Yes, sir.” Hot Shot extended his arm to shake Sean’s hand.
Sean grasped his hand and the two shook.
“Now get out of here, kid,” he said. “I’ve got work to do.”
When Hot Shot had fled the gym, Aleta whirled on Sean. “So you’re a cop?”
He crossed his arms, staring after Hot Shot. “Yes.”
Wishing she were tall enough to get right in his face, she asked, “Why are you pretending to be a priest?”
“I’ve been sent undercover as part of a task force to curtail the gang activity in this area.”
“Undercover?”
“We’ve identified Sunshine Center as a prime recruiting location and hope to put a stop to it. That’s why I confronted Ice Pick so harshly the day I met you.”
She threw her arms into the air. “And Father Mac knows?”
“He requested me for the assignment. Father Mac was my priest when I was a boy.”
“Here?”
“No, a parish in North Dade.”
“Well, you pretending to be a priest is a horrible idea.”
“Maybe, but please keep the truth to yourself. The only way I can be effective is if the faithful believe I’m a priest and someone lets their guard down, gives me good information about how the gangs are approaching your kids.”
“The faithful? You’re taking advantage of a sacred trust.”
“Whoever is recruiting your clients is doing far worse.”
Aleta narrowed her eyes, but she had to give him that.
“Father Mac would never allow you to take confession.”
“Of course not.”
“At least that’s something.” She sucked in a breath in an attempt to calm herself. She’d known O’Malley couldn’t be a priest, but a cop? Working an undercover assignment in a church?
“Does your priest know about this sham?” she demanded.
O’Malley’s mouth tightened and he looked away from her. “That’s not important.”
“He would probably think so.”
He turned his piercing blue gaze on her again. “We’re getting off subject.”
“How so?”
“We were talking about Hot Shot, who, trust me, will end up in jail.”
“Not if I can help it.”
O’Malley suddenly grinned. How could he smile at her like that at a time like this? And how could that smile make her all gooey inside? She was pathetic.
“But right now I’m more interested in how you’re going to repay me.”
She blinked. “How I’m going to—what are you talking about?”
“You owe me. Hot Shot should be in jail right now, but against all my instincts you convinced me to let him go.”
“Oh.”
“You said you’d make it up to me. That’s a quote.”
Oh, God. Had she said that? Yes, she had, to save Hot Shot’s future. What was I thinking?
This guy was some piece of work. Hands on her hips, she said, “So I suppose you want me to do all your paperwork.”
“You know, that’s not a bad suggestion.”
“Fine.”
“But no,” he said. “I need to understand why you’re so insistent that every brainless punk in the world deserves a second chance.”
“That’s all?” she asked suspiciously.
“Not exactly. I want you to have dinner with me tomorrow night. You can tell me all about your theories over wine.”
HIDDEN BEHIND A DUMPSTER, Bubba watched patrons come and go at the fuel pumps. He needed a new vehicle. He’d ditched the refrigerated truck, which had been too easy to recognize, and had hiked for thirty long minutes to this multi-pump gas station.
Eventually some sucker would make a mistake and leave their keys in the ignition when they went inside the convenience store. He just needed to be patient. He hoped that someone had a cherry set of wheels.
An hour later, he watched a slim woman in her thirties dressed in a dark blue business suit speak on her phone while she fueled a silver Lexus. She kept yakking, balancing the phone between her cheek and her shoulder, as she replaced the hose. Checking her watch, she hurried inside the store.
And left the driver’s door open.
Bubba caught his breath and walked rapidly toward the vehicle. The bitch hadn’t locked her purse in the trunk, so odds were it was sitting in the front seat. He hadn’t seen a wallet in her hand as she’d entered the store either, so maybe he was about to get his hands on some cash. He could sure as shit use a cold beer. Or even better, a shot of fireball whiskey.
When he neared the Lexus, he could see keys dangling from the ignition. A lot of damn keys. Most likely he’d find her address somewhere in the huge leather bag sitting in the passenger seat.
Man, this was too easy. Or he was too good.
Bubba slid into the bucket seat, shut the door and shoved the Lexus into Drive. He didn’t look back as he turned south onto Highway 301 and floored his new vehicle. At the first stoplight, he braked and checked the rearview. Nothing yet.
He reached into the bag and withdrew a brown leather wallet. Inside he found $94.00 in cash, two Visas, two MasterCards and a gold American Express. He’d need to use the cards quickly before they got canceled. He’d find a liquor store first thing where you didn’t have to flash ID. He had no connections, so no way to score any blow in this dump of a town.
He could feel another damn headache coming on. Yeah, he’d like to go check out the home of the Lexus owner. Her address was on the driver’s license, and he deserved to have a little fun, but he had an appointment to keep in Miami, and something might go wrong. He couldn’t let anything go wrong.
So, okay, he’d better stay off the main roads. The Lexus bitch had no doubt called the cops by now, and there’d be an APB out on her license tag soon. He’d have to travel back roads even though the trip would take longer. He’d also switch vehicles a couple more times to make sure he made it to South Florida.
He couldn’t wait to see the expression on Delilah’s traitorous face when he placed his hands around her long neck and strangled the life out of her. He’d been waiting for that moment for eight long years.
And now he was on his way.
Maybe he’d look for a truck next. He always liked sitting higher than everyone else on the road.