Suspect Passions (10 page)

Regan exited the conference room without acknowledging the stack of phone messages the secretary waved in her direction. She darted into the ladies’ room and locked the door. Her skin burned where Syd had touched her, and the ache between her legs would not stop. She turned on the faucet and repeatedly splashed handfuls of cold water on her face.

What in God’s name was wrong with her? She’d almost kissed Syd during an interview about an ongoing case. It was obvious she hadn’t been thinking, at least not with any part of the body capable of intelligent cerebral function. Syd’s recounting of the shooting had been intense, and she’d gotten caught up in the progression of feelings. She translated Syd’s words and reactions about that night into emotions and internalized them. Her empathy for Syd was profound and she’d allowed the feeling to overwhelm her. Instinctively, she’d reached out to offer comfort. And that’s when her reality clashed with Syd’s.

Regan told herself she meant only to show compassion. Syd had interpreted her physical touch as sexually motivated, because that’s how Syd related. Regan had never met a woman who wore her sexuality so blatantly, like a badge of honor. Where Syd was concerned, most encounters with women seemed to be filtered through a sexually enhanced prism. But in this case, Syd had read the signals all wrong. Hadn’t she?

Splashing another round of cold water on her face, Regan replayed the scene in her mind. Had she somehow encouraged Syd to come on to her? The flush in her body remained as she tried to convince herself that Syd’s advances were unprovoked and unwelcome. She was not the kind of woman Regan would be interested in. Syd was gorgeous enough, that part appealed to her, but she was obviously irresponsible, irrepressible, and incapable of loyalty to one woman.

And, Regan acknowledged, Syd had avoided mentioning her feelings about the shooting. Her body language and expressions relayed an emotional component, but she never articulated what she felt. In fact, she’d deflected the question by overt physicality and inappropriate touching.

A conversation about the young officer in Nashville came to mind. Friends of his had told Regan of the changes the officer suffered after the shooting incident, about too much alcohol and drugs, withdrawal from friends and family, and sexual promiscuity. A wave of sadness and loss washed over her. Perhaps the same thing had happened to Syd. Maybe she was trying to compensate for the emotional numbness with physical contact. Or maybe sexual excitement substituted for the feelings she no longer experienced. Either way, Regan’s initial impression of Syd remained unchanged. She needed to keep the officer on a short professional leash for the sake of the case and a very long personal leash for her own sanity. In the meantime, more information about Sydney Cabot, her past, and her work would be an easy distraction.

*

“Line me up a flock of dirty geese, Jesse,” Syd called as she perched on her favorite stool at the end of the bar.

“Looks like desk duty isn’t any easier the second time around.”

“Oh, it’s great if you like waiting at home for the phone to ring. It’s worse than the first time. At least I was at the station and could see the guys and talk to people. I’m stuck in nowheresville now. And this, this
woman
is driving me nuts.”

Syd suddenly had Jesse’s total attention. She slid the first Grey Goose martini in front of Syd and propped herself across the counter on her elbows. “There’s a woman involved? Do tell. I want details.” Her thick New York accent brimmed with teasing.

“It’s nothing like
that.
She’s the assistant city attorney who’s handling my case. And, God, is she a pain in the ass.”

Jesse grinned devilishly at her and waited.

“Get that stupid look off your face,” Syd said. “I told you, it’s not like that.”

“But you have to admit, she’s the first woman to get a rise out of you in years, without getting in your pants.”

“She’s snooping around in my life like it’s really her business, asking questions about the shooting, my past—”

“But that’s not really the problem, is it? You’ve answered those questions at least a dozen times now.”

“Yes, and I just don’t like going over everything again.” Syd took a sip of her martini and looked around the bar, wishing more people were there so she’d have a legitimate distraction. Guzzling martinis and avoiding eye contact would only last so long with Jesse.

“Syd, look at me.”

As if on cue, the front door opened and Lacy sauntered in, scanning the room as she walked. She caught sight of Syd at the counter, nodded in recognition, and took a table near the back of the room.

“Look at
me,
” Jesse repeated. “She’s not the answer to your problem, darling. None of them are.”

Syd shifted uncomfortably and did what Jesse asked. “What?”

“You know what I mean. You’re running from your life. It’s time to figure out what you really want. Bedding women like a mating rabbit isn’t going to give you the answer.”

“You sound like that departmental shrink they sent me to.”

“Yeah, and you didn’t listen to her either. Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter. I was a cop once, too. I know how we operate. Have you been honest with anyone about how this has affected you?”

Syd couldn’t lie to her best friend so she said nothing.

“I didn’t think so.” Jesse reached across the counter and squeezed Syd’s hand briefly. “I gotta go see what your latest paramour wants to drink. This isn’t a lecture, Syd. I just want you to be happy. And if this attorney has you at least thinking about your feelings, I say that’s a good thing.”

Regan Desanto had Syd doing more than just thinking about feelings. The soft tone of her voice, her compassion, and the tenderness of her touch had brought Syd to the edge of her closely guarded emotions. Her assumptions about Regan’s controlled demeanor suddenly seemed hypocritical and cruel. She had no right to criticize anyone for something she so blatantly practiced herself. But they had different motivations. Regan’s control was about bridling life and all its possibilities. Her own inhibitions were about self-survival and sanity—not at all the same thing. She fully explored all her possibilities, didn’t she? Her mind and gaze wandered to Lacy. Was Jesse right? Were these women just an attempt to salve a wound too deep to heal by itself?

She recalled the feel of Regan’s fingers wrapped around her hands, the emotional warmth, and the singularly directed focus of Regan’s attention. Her body responded again to the current that had swept through her at the time. It was sexual, no doubt, but it was also foreign and frightening. She’d wanted more, and for the first time in years, she wasn’t sure if her desires were purely physical.

One thing was certain, she wanted to know more about Regan and her Nashville police contacts could make that happen. She downed the rest of her martini, waved to Jesse, and exited the club. As she reached the sidewalk, a deep throaty voice sounded from behind.

“Leaving so soon?” Lacy came alongside and finessed an arm around her waist. She edged Syd back against the building. “I was hoping for a replay of Friday night. Any chance?”

Hot breath swished past her full lips when she spoke and tickled Syd’s ear like the feather touch of a lover. Syd tilted her head to accommodate the kiss she knew was seconds away. As if summoned by the spirit of a cruel April fool’s joke, a gray Acura cruised by the front of the club occupied by one very gorgeous assistant city attorney.

Syd jerked away from Lacy. “Sorry, I can’t. I’ve got something to take care of.”

*

Regan cursed when she saw Syd pinned against the building by her tall companion from the restroom. Hadn’t she learned that driving by this place was a bad idea? But it was the fastest and shortest distance between the office and home, and she shouldn’t have to alter her routine because of Syd’s indiscretions. The woman was incorrigible. Obviously Regan’s mini-sermon about appropriate behavior had had little impact. Syd had simply moved her rendezvous from the semi-privacy of a bar restroom to the full view of a public street.

She slowed her car and watched the strong woman’s hands slide up Syd’s thighs and pause at her waist. She leaned closer to Syd’s ear as though whispering some enticing endearment designed to lure her into her bed or the nearest bathroom stall. Regan tightened her grip on the steering wheel as the heat of her temper crawled up the back of her neck. How could Syd allow herself to be mauled in public like a common streetwalker?

The memory of Syd’s hands on her face and lips returned anew and with it a fresh flare of Irish ire. Less than an hour before, she and Syd had been on the verge of kissing. Evidently the out-of-control cop couldn’t even make it home without a sexual outlet. Regan wondered why it bothered her at all. Syd’s personal life was not her concern. Her only interest was how this woman’s behavior might affect the suit against the city. She glanced back at the intimate scene one more time before turning the corner toward home.

Regan jerked her car to a halt and grabbed her briefcase. Fighting the temptation to go back to the club, she stalked to her front door, shouldered it open, and stepped inside. Grimly, she looked around her small home. A transient seemed to live here among the sparse furnishings and stacks of business files piled on top of her dining-room table. She’d only bought the place to reinvest some money, and it had never felt like a real home.

To her, home was where the heart and soul received nourishment, and she hadn’t had such a place since Martha left. This house was merely a stopping-off station for rest and food between long stretches of work. If possible, she’d live at work and never face the emptiness of another dwelling again. But tonight the solitude seemed more dense and unbearable.

She dropped her briefcase on the dining table on her way to the bedroom. How had she allowed the interview to get so out of hand? She was usually excellent at controlling situations, especially ones that involved her feelings. But something about Syd took her on a different path, a dangerously sinuous path mined with deeply gouged potholes and cleverly disguised quagmires. The threat of emotional disaster felt imminent with each step she took. Everything about Syd spelled trouble, yet Regan thought about her constantly.

She peeled off the business attire redolent with the scent of Syd’s earthy perfume. The fragrance still intoxicated her and was entirely too distracting for an evening of productive work. As she changed into a pair of worn sweats, her thoughts returned to Syd and again she chastised herself for the near kiss in the conference room. Her body definitely wanted that kiss. Hell, her body wanted more than a kiss, and the memory of that physical hunger still throbbed like a deep bruise on her flesh.

Shaking off the image of Syd in the arms of another woman, she grabbed a Diet Coke from the fridge and pulled Syd’s personnel file from her briefcase. The High Point Police Department hadn’t provided the full complement of information she’d requested. They were doling it out piecemeal as if they were reviewing the contents before surrendering them to her. She’d made it clear she wanted the files unedited. Surely they understood the necessity of being fully prepared, of methodically reviewing every detail so as not to be ambushed in court. This type of case demanded frequent and religious reevaluation and preparation. But her numerous requests hadn’t speeded up the delivery.

The level of bureaucratic procrastination in a government agency had been one of Regan’s most difficult adjustments after working in the private sector. If the city was trying to hide something about their officer, she’d find it, but an hour later Regan closed the file with an exasperated sigh. She hadn’t uncovered anything damaging in the personnel records, but she had a little more insight into Sydney Cabot. Syd was an only girl in a family of four children. Her working-class parents and three brothers still lived in Atlanta. Until about two years ago Syd had moved often during her twelve-year tenure with the department. The list of home addresses filled most of a typewritten page. What was not mentioned was the reason for the frequent moves. The latest address was one Regan recognized as a loft in the downtown business district within walking distance to city hall and the police station.

What Regan found most useful was the psychological profile the department had done on Syd as a new hire. It told the story of a young woman raised in a strict household with a domineering mother. Syd had a rebellious streak and tested her independence in college before eventually entering law enforcement, a profession as restrictive as her upbringing. Syd was labeled as an introvert with a suspicious nature, a perfectionist quick to make decisions, impulsive at times, reliable, and totally loyal when she believed in something. Her potential as a police officer was projected to be an eight out of a possible score of ten, well above average.

But like everything else associated with Syd, these tidbits of information could prove to be advantageous or detrimental to their case, depending on how they were manifested on the job. Regan hoped that Syd’s Internal Affairs file would help her establish a pattern of professional behavior that would benefit their case. Mentally reviewing her encounters with Syd, she prayed nothing in those files would paint an unflattering picture of the officer, on or off the job.

*

Syd left Lacy standing on the sidewalk and returned to her loft with one goal in mind, to find out more about the woman who was haunting her life. Taking the stairway steps two at a time, she reached the landing of her apartment, opened the door, and rifled through the basket of business cards on the entryway table. She pulled the Nashville PD embossed card from the stack and dialed the private number scribbled on the back.