Suspect Passions

by V. K. Powell

  “I’m sure you’ll be doing your best,” she said as sincerely as she could. With a nod of deference, she rose and walked toward the exit.

  As she reached for the door handle, Terry Blair added, “And by the way, you’re back on administrative leave for the next two weeks. Your assignment will be to this office. It won’t be necessary to report here every day. Just call in with Regan and be available.”

  Syd tightened her grip on the doorknob. Her shoulders tensed and drew forward as the weight of inactivity settled upon her again. Fighting an urge to throw up, she jerked the door open and replied through clenched teeth, “Yes, sir.”

  *

  Regan dropped back into her seat as soon as Terry left the conference room. Thankful to be alone, she reflected on the meeting that had just taken place and the unforeseen complications that could arise in such a short period of time.

  Sydney Cabot had instantly seemed familiar in some intangible way. Maybe it was the uniform that made all officers appear the same. But that wasn’t right. This woman appeared at odds with the costume of her trade, too feminine in body, too quiet in temperament. Perhaps the sultry voice reminded Regan of someone from the past. But that didn’t fit either. She couldn’t remember ever really noticing another woman’s voice as an element of attraction. And Syd’s intoxicatingly earthy fragrance struck a chord of familiarity too specific to dismiss, drifting through the room and settling on her like a caress. It was possible that those gem-colored eyes were simply too distracting for her to think properly. The most likely scenario was that she had been alone too long and the attributes of a gorgeous woman simply registered more acutely than normal.

  A few minutes into the meeting Regan had discovered just how wrong she was. When the reason for their briefing became clear, Syd had transformed from the seemingly quiet femme into a raging specimen of unleashed passion. Perspiration glistened on her forehead and dampened the straight hair feathered around her face. As her agitation increased and her emotions seemed to peak, the tone of her voice crested into an almost agonizing plea. She swept wet strands back from her forehead and the green of her eyes deepened to shimmering moss. The emotion emanating from those eyes was what registered with Regan, that look of vulnerability, confusion, and deep loss. She’d seen it before and it touched her heart once again.

  Suddenly everything and nothing made sense. This was the woman from the club on Friday night and the elevator yesterday. The room felt like it was spinning as Regan lost concentration and the thing she feared losing most—her control. This was the third time she’d seen Sydney Cabot, and on each occasion she’d come away from the encounter feeling unsettled and inexplicably aroused.

  It was worse this time. She’d allowed herself to become emotionally attached to the officer in this case before ever meeting her. After reviewing the file, she’d made a commitment that Officer Cabot would be completely vindicated. She had vowed that her personal drama would not affect her work the way it had last time. She’d given her word to this woman, and once Regan made a commitment she kept it. But there had to be a universal opt-out clause that covered such quirky twists of fate. How could she possibly represent her?

  She’d seen this officer naked at the most intimate of moments and been disgusted by her lack of dignity. At the same time she’d been so mesmerized by her vulnerability that she’d been unable to turn away. She certainly couldn’t be expected to work with her now. The rapport and trust that needed to exist had been destroyed before it had a chance to develop. Syd deserved someone who was totally committed to her case. According to her file, she had suffered serious trauma that required therapy after the shooting. Anything less than a one hundred percent effort would be unconscionable. But how could Regan explain her withdrawal from the case to Terry? Their brief tête-à-tête in the hallway had proved less than satisfactory.

  “You want to what?” he’d asked.

  “I need you to reassign this case, Terry.”

  “We’ve already covered this ground, and you agreed.”

  “The situation has changed. Something has happened that makes my position as first chair unwise.”

  “You’re just getting cold feet. You’ll have to do better than that.”

  “I can’t. It’s personal.” Regan made eye contact, hoping he would see the gravity of the situation in her expression.

  “Did you sleep with her?”

  “No!” The idea had sent shivers through Regan’s system.

  “Then we don’t have a problem. And even if you did sleep with her, it’s not like a normal attorney-client situation. Your primary defendant is the City of High Point, then the police department, and Sydney Cabot last. You’re on the case, so get back in there and act like it.”

  As she’d settled back at the conference table, Regan had admonished herself for even bringing the withdrawal up in the first place. It made her look unprofessional to her boss. That’s what losing control did to her. It attacked her confidence and made her question tried-and-true methods of coping. Not again. She would remain on task and disregard any interactions with Syd, past or future, that didn’t directly pertain to the civil suit.

  But every time she looked at that woman she saw her naked and vulnerable, with another woman’s fist inside her. The last thought ignited a burning ache in her chest that she’d never felt before. A deep need tugged at Regan and threatened to pull her in. How could she possibly remain unbiased and logical, when Syd elicited a savior complex that could easily cloud her judgment? The most disturbing aspect of today’s meeting was the realization that Sydney Cabot didn’t exactly fit into the box Regan had put her in after their anonymous encounters. The woman she’d seen today was obviously sensitive and deeply affected by the shooting. She tried to mask her vulnerability with the cloak and attitude of her profession, but remained partially exposed. Regan couldn’t understand why Syd engaged in sexually inappropriate behavior like hooking up in a ladies’ room or overtly flirting in an elevator. Maybe her acting out was part of an elaborate coping device to disguise deeper feelings. If nothing else, the woman was a walking, frustrating contradiction.

  Regan couldn’t believe her bad luck. Finally, she had an opportunity to redeem herself, at least in her own eyes, with this case. She couldn’t allow herself to be steered off course. She had to win, and once fully centered on her mission, she felt confident that she’d be able to handle her annoying distraction with the officer.

  Chapter Five

  Syd stalked out of the municipal building mumbling under her breath, “…and by the way, you’re back on administrative leave. Call in with Regan and be available.”

  That was just freaking great. The woman hated her guts at first sight, and now Syd had to report to her daily. To make matters worse, Regan Desanto was in charge of representing her in the most important case of her life. The meeting hadn’t gone at all like she’d imagined. What else could go wrong?

  “Hey, Syd, wait up.” Gil’s deep Southern voice echoed from across the street.

  If she just kept walking maybe he’d go away. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to stories about his day. It was bad enough that she’d been sidelined again, but hearing about somebody else’s hot calls would be rubbing her face in it.

  “Syd,” he caught up to her at the corner as she turned toward home, “didn’t you hear me?” He was the epitome of a soldier: tall, athletic, and good-looking even with a shaved head. In his blue jeans, T-shirt, and deep tan, he seemed too young to be a police officer. Meeting her eyes, he backed away. “What happened to you?”

  “Nothing.” Syd wanted to rip something apart with her bare hands. All the frustration of the past eight months surged through her anew like a vile, flesh-eating disease.

  “You’ve got that I-want-to-hurt-somebody look.”

  “I’m back on desk duty.” Syd wrapped her arms around her waist and rocked back and forth on her heels.

  “Why? I thought you’d already been cleared.”

  “Civil suit
.”

  “Holy shit, I’m sorry, Syd. This calls for a drink. Want to meet me at the Cop Out?”

  “Gil, I’m not sure—”

  “Don’t even think about trying to blow me off. Go home and get changed since you’re off the clock. I’ll go ahead and grab us a table. If you’re not there in twenty minutes, I’ll be forced to initiate an extraction.”

  She really didn’t want to spend time alone stewing over how Regan Desanto was going to make her life hell for the next two weeks. What she needed was to find an attractive, available, out-of-town visitor, bury herself between her legs, and forget this day ever happened. But Gil was trying to help. She could vent with him for a few minutes and check out the possible candidates while enjoying a much-needed drink.

  “All right, I’ll see you there shortly. Order me a dirty goose.”

  Syd made it home in record time and changed into a pair of black jeans and a crisply ironed cotton blouse in teal that highlighted her eyes and usually made women claim they were drowning in her stare. When she walked into the club, Gil was waiting and Jesse was just bringing their drinks to the table.

  Syd scooped the martini up and downed a sip before taking a seat. “Thanks, girl, I needed that.” She introduced Gil, adding, “Jesse is the proprietor of this fine establishment and my best friend.”

  The two shook hands and Jesse said, “I’ll talk to you later, Syd. The furniture market has got us hopping.”

  As she walked away, Gil entwined his fingers around the frosty Miller bottle. His manner was relaxed, but Syd was uncomfortable. She stabbed at the olives in her glass with a red plastic toothpick. She wanted to be angry with somebody, to shout and proclaim the injustice of it all. But Gil’s patience touched her with its unassuming sincerity. This mess wasn’t his fault and lashing out at him wouldn’t be fair.

  “What?” she finally muttered.

  “I’m just waiting for you to settle down. If you want to talk, I’ll listen. If you don’t, it’s fine by me. I’m just happy to be in a safe place and have somebody to share a drink with.”

  She punctured one of the jalapeno-filled olives in her drink, popped it into her mouth, and sucked out the liquor. “I thought it was over. I’m not sure I can take another round of this.”

  “I really hate that. I know how it feels to be on that skewer again.”

  “It was like being in a tear-gas chamber when they told me. Everything got foggy, my eyes burned, and I couldn’t catch a breath. And then to have this condescending woman tell me the plaintiff’s attorney could be rifling through my Internal Affairs files. That was the kicker.” Syd’s tone had risen steadily and was starting to draw attention from nearby tables. “And I’m back riding a desk and have to report to her every day.”

  “What woman? I thought the city attorney was a guy.”

  “It is but he’s handed my case off to an assistant. An uptight prude.”

  Gil stretched his lanky legs out in front of him and took another long pull from his beer. “Yeah, she got to you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m talking about being sued here and your mind is in your pants. Typical.”

  But the truth was Regan Desanto had irritated and intrigued her, and she didn’t like either feeling. One minute this woman was a brick wall of unreadable calm and control and the next she was blushing because she’d gotten caught cruising Syd.

  “I’m just saying the civil case is a pretty routine thing,” Gil said. “After all, you’ve been cleared by everybody but the pope. Give the woman a chance. She might actually be good at her job, like you. And if you don’t trust her, check her out. You’re a cop.”

  She felt like Gil had just handed her the winning lottery ticket. That’s exactly what she’d do. She had friends in the Nashville Police Department. They’d know the scoop and wouldn’t be shy about sharing it. “You’re a genius. I could just kiss you.”

  Gil held up his hands in mock surprise. “Oh, no. I’m a married man, remember?” The laughter in his blue-gray eyes vanished almost immediately. “At least I took the vows.”

  The pained expression that invaded Gil’s face was sobering. “How are things going at home?”

  “Your advice helped. I haven’t been pressuring her and we’re talking more. But we’re still not sleeping together. She said she’s having trouble adjusting to married life and coming back home from Iraq.”

  Syd watched the gray in Gil’s eyes turn dark as his facial features changed from relaxed and happy to tense and uncertain. There was probably big trouble ahead in their marriage but she couldn’t bring herself to say so. It would break this gentle soul’s heart. He was such a Southern gentleman he couldn’t even talk about sex. He referred to it as sleeping together.

  She made eye contact with a tall, dark-haired butch ordering a drink at the bar, licked her lips seductively, and filed her as a possible hookup later. The woman didn’t look familiar, which was a good thing. Maybe she was a furniture marketer out for a walk on the wild side. Well, Syd would be glad to help her with that little experiment and afterward wish her a safe trip home. Yeah, all her useful advice about relationships could fill a thimble.

  “How did the two of you get along while you were in Iraq?”

  “It’s different when you’re in country. You live each day like it’s your last. When you get a chance to relax, have a drink, or make love, you take it. And whenever you do, it’s great. Knowing you literally might not live to do it again puts you right on the edge.” Gil stopped and took the final sip of his beer. “Sorry, I sound like a recruiting commercial. Guess I better get going. Priscilla is due home in a few minutes and I want to cook dinner for her.”

  Syd smiled at him. “You’re a good husband and a good friend. Thanks for listening.”

  “Don’t sweat it. Check out your lawyer lady, keep your head in the game, and it’ll be fine.” He strode toward the exit, then called one last cliché over his shoulder. “And keep it in your pants.”

  Syd waved him off and scanned the club for the butch she’d eyed earlier. One quick trip to the restroom and she’d be ready to play.

  *

  Regan was driving home after another ten-hour day when the flashing red-and-blue neon sign caught her attention. Cop Out glowed in alternating colors and caused a slight quickening of her pulse when she remembered her first visit. She slowed and surveyed the parking lot, which was overflowing, no doubt a hot spot with the market crowd. An irritated driver honked his horn from behind, and she realized she had stopped in the street. Waving and mouthing her apology in the rearview mirror, she turned into the parking lot and cut the engine.

  “Mr. Impatience, I hope you’re happy.” As she said the words aloud, Regan laughed at their absurdity. She could hardly blame some nameless driver for her impulsive detour. But what was she doing here? She blushed and reached for the open Diet Coke in the Acura’s console cup holder. Her last visit should’ve cured her of this place forever.

  She turned the ignition key and the car roared to life. Just as quickly, she shut off the motor again. This time it’s business, she told herself. Regan needed to get a better sense of what Sydney Cabot was really like. She wasn’t sure how Syd had coped after the shooting, other than having sex in public bathrooms—if that wasn’t the norm for her. But if the case in Nashville was any indication, her reactions probably ran the gamut. If she was as reckless and unpredictable as Regan thought, she might be prone to drinking and acting out when stressed, and today would’ve been a perfect trigger to tip her over the edge. If this place was one of her usual haunts, Regan should take a quick look in the door and make sure she wasn’t providing extra ammunition for a character assassination. It would be a nightmare for the city and for Syd. She wouldn’t let that happen. It was her job to see that it didn’t.

  Regan took the final sip of her lukewarm Diet Coke, as if it could miraculously infuse her with the courage she wasn’t feeling at the moment, and headed toward the club. She told herself, not for the first time, that
her desire to check up on Syd was driven by the case and had nothing to do with the attraction she felt in her presence.

  She shook off the little warning voice in the back of her head and entered the club. As she approached the bar, a dark-haired woman with a welcoming smile and Northern accent greeted her.

  “Welcome back. Diet Coke, not much ice, right?”

  Regan looked behind her to see if anyone had followed her in.

  “Sorry, too many years on the job. I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself when you were in on Friday. I’m Jesse.”

  Regan wasn’t sure how she felt about being recognized by the bartender, but she nodded and tried to sound cordial. “Regan. Nice to meet you. Put my Coke on hold, will you? I’ll be back in a second.”

  She weaved through the sea of bodies that mingled in the small space. Their heat closed in on her like a wave of tropical air. She felt vulnerable and slightly aroused as she made her way through the wall of strangers to the restroom.

  When she opened the door, she came face-to-face with Sydney Cabot and stopped abruptly. Tight jeans and a teal blouse clung to Syd’s body and highlighted the curves of her tempting frame and the sparkle of her green eyes. Her skin shimmered with a light sheen of perspiration and her cheeks glowed with color. The scene from Friday night flashed through Regan’s mind.

  “Counselor, back for a repeat performance?” Syd’s tone was seductively mocking. “You strike me as more of the hands-on type.”

  How could she do this again? Didn’t she understand the possible ramifications of her actions or didn’t she care? “We have to talk about this.” Regan took hold of Syd’s arm and guided her from the restroom, past the inquisitive-looking bartender, and out the front door.

  “See, I knew you’d need a more active role,” Syd taunted. “Lead on.”

  Regan pulled Syd into an alley between the club and a closed bakery. The smells of beer and roasted peanuts were replaced by a combination of fresh-ground coffee and baker’s yeast. “What are you thinking? Or do I really want to know?”