Once a Cop Page 2

  He lifted Holly in his arms. She was small for nine, with a delicate build—like her mother had had. She looked so much like Lorielle, in fact, that he felt a twinge of pain in his chest.

  The twinge moved to his cheek as Holly pressed her fingertips to it and gasped. “Uncle Holden! You’re hurt.”

  “I’m fine,” he assured her.

  Her eyes widened with fear. “What happened?”

  The child had spent too much of her young life worrying about the only parent she’d known—and for good reason. Since he’d become her guardian, Holden had wanted to offer her nothing but security and stability.

  “You know how clumsy I am.” He laughed. “I just tripped and fell, honey. That’s all that happened.”

  “You’re really okay?” she asked, a catch in her voice.

  “Really,” he vowed, gently tweaking her nose. “And you were fantastic. You sounded wonderful up there.”

  “Did you hear me?” she asked hopefully. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Loud and clear.” For a small girl, she had a surprisingly big voice and an even bigger presence. “Now show me around your new school.”

  She wriggled down from his arms, clasping his hand and tugging him through the crowd. “You have to meet my new best friend.”

  He smiled, silently dismissing the fears and doubts he’d had about Holly’s switching schools when they’d moved into the house he’d inherited from his grandfather. He’d worried that she would have trouble making new friends, but he should have known better; should have known Holly better.

  He had promised himself he wouldn’t make the same mistakes with her that he had with Lorielle. Once their dad had divorced her mother, Holden hadn’t had enough contact with his younger half sister. He hadn’t really known her at all.

  Holly stopped moving abruptly. “I found him,” she said to a child as petite as she was. “This is my uncle Holden. Uncle Holden, this is my best friend, Kayla.”

  He leaned down to meet the dark-haired child’s gaze. “I’ve heard so much about you, Kayla. Holly talks about you all the time.”

  The little girl nodded. “She’s my best friend. We’re going to be like my mom and Aunt JoJo. We’ll be friends even when we’re old, too.”

  He glanced up, looking for the woman whose daughter had just called her old. The auditorium was still crowded, but no one stood near them. “I’d love to meet your parents, Kayla.”

  “I don’t have a dad,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s always been just me and my mom.”

  He wondered if Kayla had lost a parent like Holly had, to death, or to divorce when she’d been too young to remember her father. But he wouldn’t ask such personal questions of a child.

  “Well, I’d love to meet your mom.” He had a lot of respect for anyone who could raise a child alone. He still struggled with his own doubts and inadequacies in the parenting department, even though Holly had been living with him on and off since she was a baby, and for the past few years permanently.

  “Aunt JoJo brought me, but she stepped outside to take a call on her cell. My mom’s not here. She had to work.” Kayla’s lips formed a slight pout.

  “That’s too bad she didn’t get off work for the open house,” he said, “but I’m sure she tried.”

  Kayla shrugged thin shoulders. “I dunno. But it’s okay. My mom’s job is real important.”

  “What does she do?” he found himself asking, despite his reluctance to pry.

  “She’s a cop.”

  He studied the child more closely. She had long, black curls. But Officer Meyers’s hair had probably been a wig, part of her disguise. Were Kayla’s eyes the same shade of pale blue? Could she be…?

  He shook his head in an effort to banish the image of the sexy vice cop. She was older than the teenager she had tried to pass for, but not by much. Not old enough to have a nine-year-old daughter, he would bet. And really, he should take that bet, because what were the odds of his niece’s new best friend being her daughter?

  Not great. About as great as him ever seeing Officer Meyers again. She hadn’t offered to take his statement; instead, she’d told him to give it to the sergeant or watch commander. So he doubted he’d see her when he dropped by the station.

  It wasn’t likely she’d stop by the shelter, either. The only representatives of the Lakewood Police Department to ever stop by the shelter had been the chief, at the opening, and the public-information officer, who’d been there a few times over the past six months. Holden would have liked them to be more involved, but after tonight and the raid, he wasn’t certain if their presence at the shelter would help or hurt his ability to reach skittish runaways.

  He had a feeling any further contact with Officer Meyers would hurt him more than a scraped cheek and bruised shins. She’d be a distraction from what was most important to him. His niece. And the shelter.

  No. What was he thinking? He wasn’t attracted to Officer Meyers. She was not his type at all. He was already dating someone who was his type—exactly his type. Someone as busy as he was, with little time to devote to a relationship.

  He sucked in a breath; maybe he needed to make time. Maybe he needed to give Holly the family he had promised his sister he would provide for her daughter.

  Chapter Two

  Robbie flipped a pancake onto a plate, taking care not to fold the ears. “And voilà—a breakfast fit for my singing diva!” she exclaimed as she placed the plate on the small bistro table, which was all that would fit in the tiny kitchen of their apartment.

  “Mouse cakes!” Kayla exclaimed as she squirted syrup over the chocolate-chip pancake. “Thanks, Mom.”

  Regret tugged at the smile Robbie forced. “Aunt JoJo sent me the video she took with her phone last night. I couldn’t wait to watch it.” While they’d been writing up the reports for the raid, she’d slipped away to the women’s room to view the footage of the performance. She’d been razzed enough over almost arresting Holden Thomas; she hadn’t wanted to give them another reason to tease her by tearing up because she’d missed hearing her baby sing.

  Kayla glanced up from her plate. “You saw it? What did you think?”

  “You were fabulous,” Robbie praised her daughter as she settled into her chair, grasping the handle of her coffee mug. She’d nearly drained the pot trying to wake up—it had been a long night. “I would’ve been there if I could.” She already felt guilty about not working the extra shifts everyone else at Lakewood PD worked. To beg off her regular shift would have been not just irresponsible but dangerous to her fellow officers.

  “I know, Mom. It’s okay,” Kayla assured her. “Holly’s uncle was there.”

  Guilt caused Robbie’s stomach to churn. Holly’s uncle had made it and Kayla’s mother, her only parent, hadn’t. “That’s great,” she murmured through clenched teeth.

  “He’s really nice,” her daughter said, her blue eyes bright with awe.

  Maybe lack of sleep had Robbie jumping to conclusions, but she detected something more than awe, as well. Wistfulness, as if her daughter wished she had an uncle. Or a father?

  “That’s great…” Kayla had never seemed to mind that it was just the two of them. Had she actually been longing for more? A dad?

  Kayla gave an eager nod, tousling her unruly curls even more. “He said that I can come over to their house sometime.”

  “He did?” From her years on the street, as a runaway and a cop, Robbie had learned to suspect everyone’s motives. “Does Holly live with him?”

  Her mouth full of pancake, Kayla nodded.

  “What about her parents?”

  The little girl swallowed hard. “She’s like me and doesn’t have a dad.” Robbie was filled with regret, thinking that Kayla had to live with the consequences of her mother’s mistakes.

  “And her mom is dead,” Kayla continued.

  “Oh, that’s terrible,” Robbie said with a flash of sympathy. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “It happened a long ti
me ago,” Kayla said with a slight shrug. “She’s been living with her uncle for a while. So can I go over to their house sometime?”

  “Well, how about we have Holly here first?” Robbie asked. Then she would have a chance to meet the uncle when he dropped off his niece. She’d probably even run a background check on the guy before she let her daughter spend any time at his house.

  She had seen too many things, before and since she’d become a cop, to risk her daughter’s safety. She told herself—and her friend Joelly, when she bugged Robbie to get out more—that Kayla’s safety was also why she didn’t date much. Or at all, lately.

  But was she really not dating in order to protect her daughter…or herself?

  HOLDEN STEPPED into the glass vestibule and pressed the intercom next to the interior doors.

  “Your business?” a disembodied voice asked.

  “I’m Holden Thomas,” he replied, “and I’m coming in to give my statement about the—”

  The intercom buzzed as the locks clicked. He opened the door and stepped into the station of the Lakewood Police Department. Sunlight poured through transom windows, sparkling off the polished terrazzo flooring and tiled walls. A bronze bust of an officer’s capped head and shoulders in the middle of the lobby drew his attention to the marble wall behind the bust. Pictures of officers in uniforms from different eras had been lined up at eye level. Plaques beneath the pictures identified the men and one woman who had fallen in the line of duty.

  “Reverend Thomas,” a man greeted him, drawing his attention away from the memorial. “I’m Lieutenant Patrick O’Donnell.” The officer, clad in the department’s black uniform, held out his hand.

  Holden shook it. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “It’s great to meet you,” the lieutenant said. His eyes, nearly the same reddish brown as his hair, warmed with sincerity. “I’ve heard wonderful things about the shelter you started.”

  “You should come by and check it out,” Holden urged. “It’d be great to have officers stop in on a regular basis.” For him. He wasn’t as certain the kids would agree.

  “None of Lakewood’s finest have stopped by?” the lieutenant asked as he gestured for Holden to follow him behind the memorial.

  “The chief came to the opening,” Holden admitted, “and Sergeant Terlecki has stopped in a few times.” But the kids still referred to the department’s public-information officer as “the TV cop.”

  O’Donnell sighed and pushed a hand through his short hair. “Sorry about that. We’ve been pretty understaffed lately, everyone having to pull extra shifts.” He pointed to the pictures that lined the walls leading back to the reception desk. These officers wore military uniforms. “A lot of our officers have been called back to active duty.”

  One of the photos caught Holden’s attention. “Sean O’Donnell? Is he a relative?”

  “My younger brother,” the lieutenant replied with pride. “He’s been back a few years, but he did a couple tours. Special Ops. Now he’s a member of the Special Response Team. He was at the raid last night.”

  Holden studied the picture of the red-haired soldier but didn’t recognize him. The only one he remembered was Officer Meyers. Unfortunately he remembered her too well.

  “Thanks for coming down to give your statement,” O’Donnell said, “since Officer Meyers didn’t take it at the scene.”

  “That’s my fault.” Holden defended her although he doubted she needed anyone protecting her, given the ease with which she’d taken him down. “I was late for something important.”

  “You’re lucky you made it at all,” O’Donnell remarked as he led the way around the reception desk to a glass-walled office behind it.

  Holden followed him and settled into the chair O’Donnell indicated. “What do you mean? Are you talking about Officer Meyers nearly arresting me?”

  O’Donnell chuckled. “I’m talking about her saving your life.”

  “Saving my life?”

  “You heard the shots, right?”

  Holden nodded as he remembered the explosion of noise. “Yeah, it all happened so quickly.”

  “The Special Response Team sergeant said that if Roberta hadn’t knocked you down, you’d probably have worse than a few scrapes and bruises.”

  Holden sucked in a breath of surprise. “Really?”

  “The SRT sergeant wrestled the gun from the kid who pulled it, but not before the kid got off some wild shots.”

  The shelter wasn’t far from the warehouse; Holden had founded it in the neighborhood that needed it most. So he was used to hearing gunfire. “I hadn’t realized how close it was.”

  “It’s a dangerous area, Reverend.”

  “That’s what Officer Meyers said.”

  “She’d know.” Something about the lieutenant’s tone suggested that he was referring to more than her knowledge as a police officer. “So what is your recollection of last night?”

  “It’s very limited,” he admitted. “I came to the warehouse to stop a girl from getting into trouble. But I couldn’t find her.” He’d found Officer Meyers, instead.

  “She wasn’t there?” O’Donnell asked, his fingers on the keyboard of the laptop open on his desk. “Did you recognize anyone else?”

  Holden shrugged, not wanting to get anyone in trouble. The kids trusted him. And thankfully the ones he’d recognized had left right before the raid. “I’m not sure. Some faces looked familiar, but I don’t know any of their names.”

  “Did you think you recognized Officer Meyers?” O’Donnell prodded. “Is that why you approached her?”

  “I thought she was a kid,” Holden admitted. “I thought she needed help.” Instead, she’d been the one to help him, and he hadn’t even realized it.

  “She did. We are short-staffed,” O’Donnell reminded him with a quick grin. “Do you remember what happened after that?”

  “The SWAT team rushed in—”

  “SRT,” O’Donnell corrected him.

  “The music was cut off. Men were shouting. Then the shots were fired,” he said. “I didn’t really see anything. Will I need to testify?”

  “That would be up to the assistant district attorney,” O’Donnell said. “But I doubt it.”

  Holden sighed. “I guess I wouldn’t be much help. I didn’t even realize what was going on.”

  “It would help you, at the shelter, if you understood more about police procedure,” O’Donnell suggested. “You’d be able to explain exactly what’s going to happen to those kids if they get into trouble.”

  “Yeah,” Holden agreed. “That’s why it would be great to have more officers stop by.”

  “I’d like to promise you some Lakewood PD volunteers,” O’Donnell said, “but we have to worry about covering shifts and still having enough time for sleep and to check in with our families.”

  “Now that I do understand.” Time management was something Holden had yet to master himself.

  “Yeah, you’re busy.” O’Donnell shook his head and chuckled. “It was a crazy idea.”

  “What was a crazy idea?”

  “The CPA—Citizens’ Police Academy,” the lieutenant replied. “Well, that’s not the crazy idea. It’s a great program that gives citizens an inside look at the police department. It’s been great for promoting community involvement. Your joining it was the crazy idea.”

  “Why?” The idea actually intrigued Holden.

  “You have no time.”

  He expelled a ragged sigh. “You’re right. I don’t have the time.”

  “But, you know, it only meets one night a week,” O’Donnell said. “Wednesday nights from six-thirty to ten.”

  “For how many weeks?”

  “Fifteen.”

  Fifteen weeks. Holly had grown used to the crazy hours he kept, leaving at all hours of the night to drop in at the shelter. The nanny, Mrs. Crayden, was always there for her, so his niece was never alone or neglected. Still, Holden felt as if he was letting her down, as if he was never there
for her—as he hadn’t been there for her mother when she had needed him.

  “That many weeks?” He shook his head. “I don’t think I can make that kind of commitment.” No matter how much he wanted to.

  “You understand commitment,” the lieutenant said. “You left St. Mike’s Youth Center and opened up the shelter on your own. That was quite a commitment.”

  Holden nodded, his temples throbbing with his old worry that he’d taken on too much. Not financially; he had barely touched the inheritance from his grandfather that he’d used to found and run the shelter. It was time he was lacking.

  “If you can’t complete the course, that’s fine,” O’Donnell assured him. “You can drop out. Some people have had to drop out of every session. Life sometimes gets in the way.”

  Life and death. He’d had to drop out of the seminary, in order to take care of Holly. But because he’d completed his masters in psychology and theology, St. Michael’s had hired him as a youth minister. He wasn’t really the reverend that everyone called him, though.

  “So when does the academy start?” he asked. “Wednesday,” O’Donnell reminded him with a laugh. “Tonight.”

  “WHAT ARE YOU doing here?” Billy Halliday asked as Robbie slid into the seat next to him at the table at the front of the third-floor conference room. “It’s your day off.”

  “He’s no saint,” Robbie whispered.

  “Who? Paddy’s never claimed sainthood.”

  Watch Commander Lieutenant Patrick “Paddy” O’Donnell had just briefed them and the several other officers gathered at that table for the first class, or intro session, of the Citizens’ Police Academy.

  “I wasn’t talking about Paddy,” she said. Then the man about whom she’d spoken walked into the room. “I was talking about the man you call the patron saint of runaways.”

  “Reverend Thomas,” Billy said with a wave at the youth minister.

  “He’s not even a real reverend,” she went on. “He dropped out of seminary college. All he has is a master’s degree in adolescent psychology.”

  “You ran a background check on him?”

  “Of course.” She’d wanted to make sure the teenagers were safe around him. She knew from personal experience that those kids were prey for dangerous people such as drug dealers and sexual predators.