Suspect Passions

by V. K. Powell

  “I’d think it was obvious.”

  It certainly was to Regan. Syd had loved and left, as usual, and this woman was angry.

  “Isn’t it against the law to use those, those weapons on a person without arresting them, or something?”

  “Does this cop have a name?” Boudy asked blandly.

  “She never told me, but I saw her in that club again a few weeks later so I asked. It was Sydney Cabot. She acted like nothing had happened, and she wouldn’t see me again. That sounds criminal to me.”

  There was a sound on the tape that resembled a muffled laugh before the detective spoke again. “We’ll look into your complaint, Ms. Lorrey, and give it the attention it deserves.”

  Now Regan understood why this particular grievance had ended up in the secret file. There was nothing to investigate. A horny woman looking for a fuck was routine in the police world and was hardly grounds for discipline, unless, of course, the cop failed to uphold the brotherhood’s reputation for exceptional performance. And from what Regan had heard, Syd represented the team quite well.

  A feeling crept over her, an odd mix of anger, nausea, and insecurity. She struggled to identify the emotion. Jealousy?

  “Ridiculous,” she mumbled. “I’ve never been jealous in my life.”

  But the image of Syd pleasuring another woman on the hood of a car summoned the alien feeling with full force. Regan’s hands shook as she turned the recorder off and shuffled through the index cards one more time. If this was the ammunition Dean Bell planned to use to discredit Syd, it was her job to render the tactic ineffective. She grabbed the phone and stared down at the contact information on the first card. Steeling herself, she dialed.

  Chapter Ten

  Dean Bell’s puffy red face looked as if it was ready to explode when he hurried into Regan’s office on Monday morning. His costly Italian suit strained at the seams and buttonholes meant for a leaner specimen as he wedged himself into a chair across from her desk. “How long have you been practicing law, Ms. Desanto?”

  Regan stifled an equally demeaning comment, pleased that her latest move had unsettled her opponent. She took a Diet Coke from her mini-fridge and asked, “Would you care for a Coke or a cup of coffee?”

  “No, I would not care for a Coke or a cup of coffee.” Bell studied Regan with the disdain he probably reserved for the very poor or the very ignorant. “What is the meaning of this motion for a bench trial? This just isn’t done in wrongful-death cases. We always have a jury trial.”

  “Actually, one of the first things I learned in law school is that we don’t always do anything. The law is very fluid, with lots of room to negotiate. As attorneys, we see to that, since we write the statutes in the first place.”

  Bell squirmed uncomfortably in his ill-fitting suit, and the red of his cheeks deepened. “I didn’t come here for a damn lecture on the law, Ms. Desanto. I want to know what you hope to gain by this stall tactic. No judge will agree to hear this case without a jury. It’s too potentially volatile, and he wouldn’t want his ass on the line when it hits the media. Judges defer that pleasure to twelve less politically aspiring citizens.”

  Regan liked the fact that she’d caught Bell off guard. He was obviously unsettled and already playing the political card. This usually meant that opposing counsel was not as confident in his case. She chose to believe it also meant he considered her a worthy opponent. Good thing too, because she aimed to win this case, whatever it took.

  “You might be surprised,” she said. “I’m sure there’s a judge with enough integrity to take on public opinion in the name of justice. But I was actually trying to save us both a bit of embarrassment and to settle this quickly and amicably.”

  “You just don’t want a jury to see the seedy side of your officer and how she gunned down my client’s teenaged son without provocation.”

  “Is this the same teenager with a criminal record dating back to age twelve and covering charges from shoplifting to assault and two counts of robbery? That teenager?” Regan hated to speak ill of the dead, but it was obvious that Bell intended to vilify Syd and downplay the youngster’s criminal past. If a judge or jury was going to reach an informed verdict, they’d have to know all the facts.

  Bell straightened in the chair and flashed his perfectly capped teeth at Regan. “You must be pretty desperate if you’re already trying to malign the character of the victim.”

  “Isn’t that exactly what you’re trying to do to Sydney Cabot? Her personal life has no relevance to this incident, yet you’re planning to parade it out in the open.”

  Bell stood and leaned over Regan’s desk, his coffee breath heavily laced with last night’s garlic. “That’s where you’re wrong. Her personal life is exactly the reason she overreacted and shot that young man. She’s been on a downward spiral of sex and booze for months. Read her files. There’s one complaint in particular that you might find stimulating.”

  Regan wanted to reach across her desk and strangle Dean Bell until his bulging eyes popped out of his fleshy face. Remembering Gina Lorrey’s explicit complaint, she was nauseous to think Bell might have been titillated by it. Listening to Syd satisfy another woman was bad enough, but to imagine this pompous blowhole getting off on the recap was too much.

  “Judge Marie Chamberlinck has agreed to hear both sides of the motion this morning. I assume that’s why you’re here.” Regan rounded her desk, moving as far away from Bell as possible. “I suggest we not keep her honor waiting.”

  “It’s a waste of time,” Bell mumbled as he collected his briefcase and followed her.

  They crossed the concrete-and-stone courtyard that separated the municipal building from the courthouse in silence. The door to Judge Chamberlinck’s office was open and she motioned them in.

  “Thank you for seeing us this morning, Your Honor.” Regan had researched the judge as soon as she’d been awarded the hearing. She was a respected member of the bench, with a reputation for fairness and no nonsense.

  “Mr. Bell, I assume you’re here to oppose Ms. Desanto’s motion for a bench trial in this matter.” Judge Chamberlinck directed them to a conference table in the corner of her modestly decorated office. Her totally white hair and crystal blue eyes projected an image of keen intelligence.

  “Yes, Your Honor. This case cries out for justice,” Bell declared. “Not that an impartial judge couldn’t render such justice, but I believe the facts deserve the due diligence of a jury.”

  Regan half listened as he prattled on with his benign excuses for a jury trial. She looked around the deep cherrywood walls of the judge’s office. There were no grandly matted and framed diplomas as homage to her college or law school. The only photos were of two thoroughbred horses in varying stages of competition ridden by an exquisite-looking redhead.

  “In other words, you think a jury would award more money in a wrongful-death suit,” Judge Chamberlinck translated, nailing Bell’s intentions perfectly.

  It was all about the money for this guy, and Regan was gratified that the judge wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.

  Bell recovered nicely. “Not at all, Judge. I simply believe the facts of this case will take time and a lot of consideration. The officer involved has a complicated history that needs to be taken under advisement.”

  “I’ve read Ms. Desanto’s motion regarding her client’s so-called history. I’ve also seen the background of the victim. If we get into character assassination, I’d have to side with Officer Cabot. At least her indiscretions were consensual.”

  Regan liked Judge Chamberlinck more with each passing minute. She had a good feeling about this case and this judge and decided to press her luck. “Judge, I’d like to go ahead with a bench trial as soon as possible. I see no need to cause the family or the officer further anguish by prolonging these proceedings. My witnesses are on standby. I’m ready to move forward.”

  The judge smiled at Regan and turned her attention to Bell. “Is the plaintiff ready, sir?”


  “Yes, Your Honor, but we still object to a bench trial.”

  “Are your witnesses available?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Judge Chamberlinck rose from the table. “Then the motion for a bench trial is granted. The issue for trial is whether or not this shooting was in fact wrongful by statute, not the questionable histories of the parties involved. I caution both of you to stick to the facts of the case. Do not wander off into personal quagmires that have no relevance. It’s I who will hear your case tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you, Judge.” Regan glanced at Bell as she left the room. He was looking back and forth from her to the judge like a bobblehead. His mouth opened and closed but nothing came out. She smiled. “See you tomorrow, Counselor.”

  *

  On her way back to the office, Regan stopped by Terry’s office to tell him the news and talk over her strategy. He seemed pleased and optimistic about the outcome, picking up the phone to update the city manager as she left.

  She dropped the list of witnesses on her assistant’s desk, asked her to notify them of the hearing, and gave special instructions for their arrival at the court building. Her next task was to call Syd with the news. As she stood by her desk and dialed the number her heart rate quickened. The granting of her motion was cause for optimism but not reason enough for such an excited physical response. Had she become so enamored with Syd that just the thought of talking with her raised her pulse? She momentarily searched for a profound answer, then settled for the obvious one: Duh.

  When Syd answered, Regan realized she was in even more trouble than she imagined. Her mind stalled in pause mode while her body replayed their kiss once again. The texture of Syd’s lips, the radiant heat, the weight of her breasts as she palmed them, and her craving to devour Syd overcame Regan and she collapsed into her chair.

  “Hello. Is anybody there?” Syd’s voice penetrated her daze.

  Regan took a deep breath. “Syd, we need to talk. Our case is being called tomorrow. Come by my office as soon as you can.”

  She was not looking forward to telling Syd that she’d subpoenaed some of her past lovers as witnesses. It was a given that Syd would consider her action intrusive and a borderline betrayal. After all, Regan was supposed to represent her, not air all her dirty little secrets. Regan sighed at the thought of comparing herself to a parade of exes. She was certain she had nothing to offer a woman of Syd’s diverse and expansive tastes.

  “How’s two o’clock?” Syd asked.

  “Fine. See you then.” Regan hung up realizing that she’d responded in one long frustrated breath.

  Could she be in the same room with Syd and not think about kissing her? Her very presence sparked feelings and bodily responses Regan couldn’t control. Her desire to make love to Syd verged on obsession. Regan wanted the surrender that only comes with trust and true intimacy. The thought brought her up short. She’d only kissed Syd once, and already she was fantasizing about making love with her. What was next, the moving van? It was probably best not to think about the kiss again and definitely best not to discuss it with Syd. Their parting that night had been awkward. The hearing was only a day away and they both needed to focus on it.

  As Regan reviewed her notes for court, mindlessly picked at a salad for lunch, and waited for time to pass, she wondered what would happen between her and Syd when the case was over. They would probably never see each other again. The case was really the only thing keeping them in contact. Beyond that, they had nothing in common. Their lives were simply too different. Syd was a reckless cop who bedded women as a second career and had no plans to change. Regan considered herself a settled, no-frills person who simply wanted a satisfying job and eventually a compatible but definitely hot lover. An affair didn’t have to last forever, not much did anymore.

  The thing that had suffered most in her relationship with Martha was her libido. Martha’s appetites had been sated elsewhere, leaving Regan to fend for herself. Maybe she could be happy with semi-permanence and consistently hot sex, such as Syd could provide. The thought dispatched a tingle of excitement down Regan’s spine that ended between her legs with a flush of heat and a shudder of desire. She slid her hand toward the chronic ache that had become a constant companion the past week.

  She had Sydney Cabot to thank and to curse for her renewed passion, damn her.

  *

  Syd stumbled into the Cop Out soon after the phone call from Regan. Her eyes felt like they were filled with sawdust. Sleep had been impossible since seeing Lacy morph into Gil’s wife, Priscilla. Syd maintained clear boundaries about sex partners, and cops’ wives were always at the top of the do-not-touch list. She’d unknowingly betrayed Gil and then lied by withholding the truth. She knew she needed to clear her mind for her afternoon appointment and tomorrow’s hearing, but she was filled with regret and shame. If Gil found out, their growing friendship would end.

  “What’s up with you?” Jesse slid a tall latte in front of Syd at the bar. “Anybody you want to talk about? I could use a little vicarious pleasure.”

  Syd took a sip of the coffee and prayed the heat and caffeine would magically awaken her from this nightmare of a situation. “No, but I found out about Lacy. Or should I say Priscilla? I guess that was what you were trying to tell me.”

  “I told you months ago that she was a cop’s wife. I just didn’t know which one till they came in together one day. Was he pissed when he found out?”

  “I didn’t tell him.” Syd rolled the coffee mug in her hands and waited for Jesse’s inevitable admonishment, which Syd was sure she deserved, and much more. She’d apparently been too traumatized by the shooting, too lust-crazed by Lacy, or too drunk most nights to hear Jesse’s earlier warning. Either way, she’d landed neck-deep in an untenable position. She couldn’t see how she could reach an uncomplicated, friendly resolution.

  “You didn’t tell him?” Jesse looked appalled.

  “I know. I know. We staked her out Saturday night and saw her pawing some blonde on the street. He was pretty devastated. I couldn’t tell him after that. He loves her so much.”

  Jesse stepped back from the bar and wiped her hands on the front of her apron. “Jesus, Syd. You helped him spy on his wife? And when he caught her playing grab-ass with another woman, you said nothing?”

  Syd couldn’t meet her disapproving stare. “Yeah, I was a total coward. I just couldn’t dump one more thing on him. But I’m going to make it right.”

  “And how do you plan to do that? It’s not exactly an easy fix. You didn’t take his parking place, you know. You took his fucking place, and men don’t forget that quickly.”

  “I haven’t figured that part out yet, but I’ve got to do something.”

  “Get your shit together, will you, before you go up in a puff of smoke.” Jesse shook her head and walked to the opposite end of the bar to take an order.

  Syd knew Jesse only had her best interests at heart. When she needed an honest answer about anything or a swift kick in the pants, Jesse was always the right choice. When she needed nurturing and comfort, Jesse steered her toward other friends. This time she’d gotten exactly what she needed, a cold, hard look at her behavior and where it had landed her.

  As she sipped her latte and wondered about her next move, the front door opened and her problem strolled in. Gil’s wife scanned the room and chose a booth near the back door. When she passed Syd, she just smiled and kept walking. To anyone watching, the gesture would have seemed like innocent acknowledgement from a stranger, but Syd knew it was a signal.

  She considered her options and decided it was time to confront her demons. What better place to start? She ordered two more lattes and, ignoring a warning look from Jesse, crossed the room to Priscilla’s booth.

  “Mind if I join you?” she asked.

  “I’d love it.” The low, sexy voice summoned memories of promises whispered and pleasures delivered.

  Syd’s skin tingled. She shook off the sensation and reminded he
rself why she was here. She had to correct this errant course she’d embarked on before she took others down with her. The truth was always a good choice. “Gil and I saw you with the blonde in front of the club Saturday night, Priscilla.”

  Priscilla’s skin seemed to blanch a lighter shade of mocha. Her cocoa brown eyes glistened with moisture. “Oh, shit.” She lifted a trembling hand to cover an exclamation that had already escaped. Her confident military posture slipped into the defeated and frightened carriage of a trapped animal. She searched Syd’s face for the answer to an unasked question that seemed to claw its way up her throat and die before she had the courage to utter it out loud.

  Syd gave the answer. “I didn’t tell him about us.”

  Priscilla released a heavy sigh and slumped back against the bench.

  “I couldn’t. He was too upset.” Syd waited for her words to sink in and for the other woman to regain her composure. “I had no idea you were married—to a cop—and a friend of mine. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Syd considered her accusatory tone. What gave her the right to sound so self-righteous and scorned? All she’d wanted was sex and Priscilla had provided it, no questions asked. Hell, Syd didn’t care enough to get her real name, to ask about her life, or follow up with an actual date. She’d been perfectly content to fuck her in the restroom and leave.

  “I’m sorry, Priscilla. I have no right to accuse you of anything. I’d just like to understand and try to make this right, if we can.”

  Priscilla’s cheeks were wet from tears she seemed unwilling or unable to control. Syd handed her a napkin, amazed at how easily she expressed her feelings. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed this woman’s sensitivity before.

  “What do you want to know?” Priscilla asked shakily.

  “Do you love Gil? Are you a lesbian? Do you want out of your marriage?” Syd stopped firing questions to allow her an opportunity to answer. “Sorry.”