A Cop's Second Chance Page 2

“Don’t you need to be somewhere, Cyrus,” she told the kid.

  “No,” he replied.

  “Well, excuse us anyway, please. I need to have a private conversation with Father O’Malley.”

  “But I want to—”

  “Take off, kid,” Sean ordered.

  The kid saluted and hauled ass toward the gymnasium. After fifty feet he stopped and yelled back, “See you around, Father.”

  Sean nodded, and the kid took off again. He’d seen kids like that punk before. Their first crime was usually small, but the spiral down went fast and frequently ended with someone bleeding in the street. He knew that scene all too well. Maybe the show of force would slow the process down, but not for long.

  The woman beside him took a deep breath. “I’m Aleta Porter,” she said, holding out her hand. “One of the counselors in the Youth Services Department.”

  “Ah, a counselor,” Sean said as he took her warm hand in both of his. That explained a lot. “I’m pleased to meet you, Ms. Porter.”

  “And who are you, really?”

  Sean clasped his hands in front of his body in what he considered a humble priest-like fashion. “As I said, Father Sean O’Malley.” He bowed. “At your service.”

  She shook her head, and her long dark hair swung with the motion. “I don’t think so.”

  “No?”

  “You don’t look like any priest I’ve ever met.”

  Sean shrugged, secretly pleased she didn’t think he looked like a priest.

  “Haven’t you learned not to judge people by appearances, Counselor Aleta?” he asked.

  She looked outraged. “You don’t talk like a priest either,” she said.

  “The times, they are a-changing,” Sean said.

  “And you definitely do not behave like a priest.”

  Sean lost his smile. Her observations were a problem. He’d acted on instinct when he saw the gangbanger threatening a woman, and he didn’t regret his actions. Thugs needed to be taught a lesson. Plus, a suspicious lump in the left pocket of the punk’s jeans suggested a weapon, and he’d been sent here to shut down gang activity in the area by the Gang Suppression Unit. The GSU believed gangs were using Sunshine Center to recruit new members. Church authorities even blamed the gangs for a series of thefts, though Sean doubted that. He’d studied gangs for years—ending their reign of terror was the prime reason he’d joined law enforcement—and petty theft wasn’t their style.

  Unless that theft was part of an initiation. He’d have to consider that aspect.

  He hadn’t expected his work to start before he met with Father Mac, a man who had been his boyhood priest in another parish, but this Aleta woman was right about one thing. To maintain his cover, he needed to act more priest-like.

  Whatever that meant.

  He should avoid Ms. Porter. Her suspicions could cause him big-time trouble.

  If he hadn’t already blown it. He needed to be more careful.

  “So who are you?” she demanded, eyes narrowed.

  “Father Sean O’Malley,” he repeated.

  “Where was your last parish?”

  “I’m newly ordained,” he said.

  “Where did you go to seminary school?”

  “Is this an interrogation?”

  “Yeah, I guess it is because I don’t believe for one second you’re a priest. No priest would slam that young man’s face into the hood of his vehicle,” she continued.

  “This one did.”

  “And now you’ve made an enemy.”

  “He was being disrespectful. He needed to be taught a lesson.”

  “You’re the one who needs to learn a lesson,” Aleta said. “That’s not how we deal with our clients here.”

  “That gangbanger is one of your clients?”

  Aleta stood straighter. “He could be some day.”

  Sean shook his head. “No way will that thug ever seek out services at Sunshine Center.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yeah,” Sean said, “I do.”

  “What do you think we do here?” Aleta asked.

  Sean decided he’d better not answer that.

  “We’re trying to change the way young people behave, show them alternatives to crime,” she said. “When you manhandle them like that, it ruins any chance we have to show them a better way to live.”

  Sean nodded as if he agreed. But shit. That street-savvy hoodlum was hardly “young people.” He looked to be in his late twenties, and was a walking advertisement for a tattoo parlor. The bullet hole in his left arm suggested he was a survivor who’d been around the hood a long time.

  She didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. Hardened gang members like that one laughed at social worker methods.

  But he’d run into citizens like her before. Cue the violins. He’d get nowhere by arguing.

  “I wish you much luck with your efforts.” Sean bowed in a serene manner that even the Buddha would envy. “Have a blessed day, my child.”

  Her mouth dropped open in obvious shock, and Sean couldn’t help but grin. Perhaps this assignment would prove less grim than he’d anticipated. Still, he’d better steer clear of the lovely counselor.

  Certain that she bored holes into his back with that fiery gaze, Sean moved toward the parish office and the appointment with his contact. He took the stairs two at a time, his focus shifting back to his new assignment.

  Father Brian MacKenzie, now bald but still wiry, sat behind his desk working on a laptop. Sean knocked on the open door, and the priest glanced up at the interruption. His familiar, welcoming smile acted like a punch to Sean’s gut, bringing back a sharp memory of getting caught while playing hide-and-seek with his brother in the sanctuary.

  “Come on in, Sean.” Father Mac pushed the computer to one side and stood. “Lock the door behind you. We don’t want to be interrupted.”

  After securing the door, Sean reached out to shake hands. The priest grasped the proffered hand in both of his.

  “It’s good to see you, Sean.”

  “You, too, Father.”

  They sat, and the older man folded his hands on the desk.

  “I must admit it’s a shock to see you wearing the collar.”

  Sean ran a finger beneath it, allowing some air in. “Is that why you requested me for this assignment? You finally got to see an O’Malley tricked out as a man of the cloth?”

  “You wear the habit well.”

  “Yeah, it was surreal to look at myself in the mirror. I’m used to a police uniform these days.”

  “Any problems moving into your room?”

  “No. But good thing I didn’t bring much,” Sean said. “My quarters aren’t exactly roomy.”

  Father Mac sat back with a smile. “Priests in my order don’t require worldly possessions.”

  “One reason I never considered taking up the vocation.” Unlike Patrick. The words hung in the room between them unspoken. Sean’s brother had been Father Mac’s favorite. A future priest in the making.

  The priest shook his head. “You haven’t changed much, Sean.”

  “I think you’ll discover I’m not the kid you remember.”

  A shadow crossed the priest’s face. Had he thought of some prank when Patrick and Sean had been altar boys together? Like the time they’d hidden the collection plates? Sean shifted in his seat. He hadn’t thought about his younger brother this much in years, hadn’t considered painful memories as a downside to this assignment.

  “Maybe,” Father Mac said. “Again let me tell you how pleased I am that you agreed to my plan. We need your help.”

  Sean hesitated as he considered his next words. Truth was, his agreement had been motivated mostly by how much this assignment would fast-track his career. Third-year cops were seldom offered undercover gigs in th
e Miami-Dade PD, especially one as touchy as this. If successful at St. Theresa’s, he’d been promised a transfer to the GSU, his goal since the academy.

  “I understand you have concerns,” Father Mac continued.

  “A lot of them,” Sean said. “And you should know I’ve already encountered a problem.”

  Father Mac frowned. “So quickly?”

  “On the way from my quarters, I ran into one of your do-gooders in the parking lot.”

  As Sean explained his interaction with Aleta and the gangbanger, Father Mac’s frown deepened.

  “Aleta is one of our most dedicated workers. She’s been gifted with a special vocation.”

  Sean grinned. “Yeah, she’s a spitfire all right. You might want to explain the situation to her.”

  “I’ll speak to her, although I intend to keep your true purpose here a secret. The fewer people who know, the better.”

  “Agreed,” Sean said. “My grandfather used to say loose lips sink ships.”

  Father Mac’s smile returned. “I remember your grandfather fondly.”

  Hoping for a name, Sean described the gangbanger he’d temporarily gotten rid of.

  “Do you know him?”

  “No,” Father Mac said, “and that’s a part of the problem. My duties allow me no time to work with our clients.”

  “Believe me, this dude isn’t one of your so-called clients. I recognized his colors. He’s a member of the Devil’s Posse.”

  The priest recoiled. “That’s possible. Such a horrible name for a gang.”

  “Think organized crime rather than gang. They’re on the vice squad’s radar as a huge player in drug trafficking.”

  “Dear God,” Father Mac said. “Was this man selling drugs to the child on church property?”

  “It didn’t appear that way to me. I suspect he was hanging out in an attempt to recruit for the Posse.”

  Father Mac crossed himself quickly and said, “This is exactly why I need an undercover police presence here to watch what goes on. I require assistance to organize a response to this threat.”

  “Does your boss know that you’ve brought a cop into your parish undercover?”

  Father Mac’s face settled into a benign expression. “Bishop Murphy is far too busy to bother with my problems.”

  Sean eyed him. Besides the normal duties associated with running St. Theresa’s, Father Mac ran a shelter for abused women, a youth services department to keep kids off the street, and a drug rehabilitation center for those who were too far gone.

  He’d tried but could never understand people who wanted to save the world. People like Father Mac and Aleta Porter. And his brother.

  But apparently Father Mac was not above a little political subterfuge.

  “So you’ve gone rogue, Father.”

  The priest’s lips twitched. “Perhaps. In my defense, the brass at your department did approve the idea. They considered my plan a sound approach.”

  “Oh, yeah. No question they jumped at the chance to get an inside track on the Devil’s Posse. We’ve been after them for years. You positively snowed my captain and my lieutenant.”

  “So it’s only you who has reservations?”

  “To do this job, I need a quick lesson on how a priest is supposed to behave. Or how you expect me to behave anyway.” Sean took a deep breath and steeled himself for Father’s Mac’s reaction. “You should know I haven’t been inside a church since Patrick’s funeral Mass.”

  Father Mac closed his eyes, suddenly showing every one of his seventy-plus years.

  This was the reason Sean had been tempted to refuse such a plum undercover assignment. It would be impossible to lie to his former priest, a man he’d made confession to hundreds of times as a boy, a man he’d once blamed for the murder of his brother.

  Now this good man believed he’d failed one of his flock, the brother of Father Mac’s former protégé.

  But the priest said, “I am aware of that unfortunate fact.”

  Sean stared at the older man who now gazed at him with a grim determination.

  “The Lord does indeed move in mysterious ways,” Father Mac murmured.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That God has a purpose we don’t always see.”

  “You cannot believe the gang activity at St. Theresa’s is the work of a higher power,” Sean said.

  As if revived by a second wind, Father Mac sat up. “What I know is that you are long overdue for confession, my son.”

  Before Sean could respond, a knock sounded on the door.

  Father Mac sighed. “I’m surprised we got this much time without an interruption. Better let whoever it is in.”

  The doorknob turned and the door rattled. “Are you all right, Father?” a woman’s voice shouted.

  “Can’t you ask her to come back later?” Sean asked. “We have a lot still to discuss.”

  “I have an open-door policy. If I alter my usual habits, it will raise a red flag.”

  With a shrug, Sean rose and opened the door.

  Aleta Porter stood on the other side, wide-eyed and clutching a cell phone in her graceful fingers.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ALETA GLARED AT the new priest. If he truly was a priest. What a waste that a man who looked like this could be a man of the cloth. And what was he doing in Father Mac’s office with the door locked?

  “You,” she said. “I should have known.”

  Father O’Malley bowed. “Ms. Porter. What a pleasure to see you again.”

  “Is everything okay, Father?” Aleta peered around O’Malley, who took up the whole entrance. Father Mac sat behind his desk and appeared unharmed. “Your door was locked.”

  “Everything is fine, Aleta. Please, come in,” Father Mac said.

  O’Malley stepped out of the doorway, and Aleta entered the room with a wary eye on him. How tall was this guy? At least six-two.

  “What can we do for you?” Father Mac asked.

  Having planned to warn him about a violent man prowling the campus pretending to be a priest, Aleta bit her bottom lip, then said, “Maybe I should come back later.”

  “Please wait, my child. I understand that you and Father O’Malley have already met,” Father Mac said with a smooth sweep of his arm toward the troublemaker.

  “Yes,” Aleta said, glancing between the two men. So O’Malley had already told Father Mac about the confrontation with Ice Pick.

  “Father O’Malley and I have been discussing his new duties here at St. Theresa’s.”

  Aleta collapsed into the empty chair. His duties? No way.

  “So this...guy really is coming to work here?” She’d almost said “this jerk,” but thought better of it at the last second.

  “Temporarily. You’re aware of our problem with theft.”

  Aleta sat forward. “Theft is the least of our problems.”

  “Unfortunately, you and I disagree about many things. Theft is emblematic of our deeper ails.”

  “Yeah, the fact that our kids are being lured into criminal activity.”

  Father Mac nodded in his usual calm manner. “I know you are concerned about gang activity on church grounds, which is exactly why I’ve brought in Father O’Malley. He has expertise in these matters.”

  “Expertise?” Aleta swallowed, hating how her voice had gone shrill with disbelief. “This guy’s answer to problems is violence. I don’t consider that expertise.”

  “You have no knowledge of my experience,” O’Malley said.

  Father Mac narrowed his gaze on the new priest. Finally. Sometimes she worried Father Mac didn’t exist in the real world. Aleta raised her chin and glanced to the imposter. Darn if he wasn’t smiling at her with piercing blue eyes.

  “Sean, did you lay hands on someone?” Father Mac asked.

 
“When I met Ms. Porter, she was being assaulted by a gangbanger who needed to be set straight.”

  “Ice Pick never touched me,” Aleta said.

  “That was his name?” O’Malley demanded. “Ice Pick?”

  “Yes. Or at least I think so.” She glanced to Father Mac. “Pom knows him.”

  “And who is Pom?” O’Malley asked.

  “She’s a worker in our domestic violence shelter,” Father Mac said. “In addition to our juvenile services, Sunshine Center provides a refuge for battered women.”

  “What do you know about this Ice Pick?” O’Malley asked, leaning toward her, making her aware of his body, a body way too intimidating for a man of God.

  “His sister was a client in the shelter,” Aleta said. “He’s reputed to be an enforcer for a gang.”

  “The Devil’s Posse,” O’Malley said with a nod. “He was wearing their colors.”

  “Right,” Aleta said. So maybe this guy did know what he was doing if he recognized the gang’s colors. That certainly didn’t mean he was a priest.

  “What is an enforcer?” Father Mac asked with a frown. “I don’t like the sounds of that.”

  Aleta met Father O’Malley’s gaze, and she read his desire to hide the harsh realities of gang life from Father Mac. A tingle of something—she wasn’t sure what—traced her spine. Were they conspiring to protect the elderly priest?

  “Let’s just say he makes people toe the line,” Sean said, still holding her gaze.

  “Exactly,” Aleta said.

  “Well, I believe this has worked out quite well,” Father Mac said.

  “What has?” O’Malley asked.

  “Aleta, I want you to work with Father O’Malley. Show him the ropes, as they say.”

  Aleta swung her gaze back to Father Mac. Reluctantly. She rather liked looking at Father O’Malley. Should she mention that in confession? How could she confess she liked the way a man of God looked?

  “What did you say, Father?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow I’d like you to introduce Father O’Malley to everyone he needs to know, orient him to the parish. Make him welcome.”

  “Me?” she squeaked. “Father, I’m not the right person for that task.”

  “Why not?”