Suspect Passions (24 page)

She felt lucky as the doctor examined her. The bullet had torn through her shirt, into the unprotected flesh of her left side, and exited cleanly. Her injury barely amounted to a deep gully scratch. She escaped the hospital with only half a dozen butterfly stitches, a pressure bandage, and a prescription for pain pills. Hal drove her home with a few attaboys for not getting killed and an aw-shit for lowering her weapon. At least he still cared.

Jesse stopped by not long after to mix a batch of martinis. “And no booze with your painkillers,” she warned as an afterthought.

Syd laughed. “It’s just a graze. Besides, I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day.” She didn’t mention Gil’s transfer. That was another conversation and she already knew what Jesse would say.

“I can stop by later, if you need anything.”

“Just sleep.” Syd shooed her out and then poured herself a dirty goose. One little pain pill and one little martini wouldn’t do any harm. Besides, the doctor had told her to rest. She reclined gingerly on the sofa and after several minutes the residual adrenaline and fear seeped from her body as the cocktail took effect. In its wake came a tidal wave of repressed thoughts and feelings shaken loose by tonight’s events.

She’d been in two officer-involved shootings in less than a year. That was more than most officers encountered in an entire career. Why didn’t she handle the first one differently? Maybe she should’ve tried harder. Could she have talked Nartey into dropping his weapon like she did the young man tonight? Perhaps she was too quick to pull the trigger.

She remembered the fear that rolled up her throat that night, the sour taste of pending death. In that sickening moment she’d chosen to end another life. The deafening eruption as her weapon discharged, the brilliant muzzle flash, the sulfuric charcoal smell of gunpowder, and the horrid sight of exploding flesh as the bullet hit its mark, all returned with vivid clarity. Syd crumpled into herself, the searing pain that ripped through her injured side no match for the emotion that stormed her body. She tried to scream and release the pain, but her lungs filled with air and all that came out was a gasping sob. It felt as if her insides were trying to purge themselves all at once. And all she could do was cry about everything she’d done and everything she’d wasted since that night behind the mall.

She’d numbed the pain any way she could, and although her choices allowed her to feel alive, they were also poisons to intimacy. She could have shared her feelings with the departmental shrink, or with friends, but she’d buried them so well she had almost started to believe they didn’t exist. Syd tried to remember the last time she felt emotionally connected to herself and another person simultaneously. The response was almost immediate—in this place, in almost this exact spot on her sofa, with Regan. That realization liberated another round of wrenching sobs as she recalled how she’d pushed Regan away. Their connection had threatened to force her back into the world of fully involved, fully functioning, fully accountable human beings. Syd hadn’t been ready and had reacted out of fear. Regan made her feel vulnerable simply by trusting her and being so open and receptive despite her fears of being hurt again.

Syd curled up tighter, almost thankful for the pain of her injury. At least this time she had something to show, an external wound that legitimized her trauma. Tears flooded her eyes again and she didn’t resist. She cried until she had nothing left and fell asleep.

*

Regan didn’t remember leaving the city building or driving to the hospital. Her next cognizant moment was standing in front of a receptionist demanding to know about Syd’s condition and being told that HIPAA prohibited the release of any information. The flustered desk attendant went on to say that if she
really
was a city attorney, she’d know better than to ask.

Her last statement sobered Regan slightly. She apologized for her behavior and after much groveling was told that Syd had not been admitted. Regan breathed a little easier as she scoured the ER waiting bay for an officer who could provide a status report. The old derogatory adage about never having an officer when you need one came to mind. She vowed to review the department’s staffing levels, which she suspected had contributed to this entire series of unacceptable events.

But Regan wasn’t satisfied. She had to see Syd alive in person or she wouldn’t be able to rest. She drove to her loft and vaulted the three flights of stairs two at a time. When she stood in front of the cold metal door, memories of the morning Syd left her briefly resurfaced, but she ignored her trepidation. She wasn’t here to recriminate or judge Syd. She was here for that sensitive part of Syd that would need comfort and support when she acknowledged her deepest fears. And she was here for herself. She had to be sure Syd was physically safe.

Regan pressed her ear against the cold metal door for sounds of life and then knocked softly. No response. She tried again, still no answer. She dialed Syd’s cell phone and listened once more but heard no ringing from inside. The call went to voice mail. Maybe the irritated hospital receptionist had just been trying to get rid of her. Perhaps Syd had gone to someone else’s home to recuperate. The thought twisted her insides with disappointment and a noticeable dose of jealousy. Her last hope of news was Jesse. If Syd wasn’t with her, she might at least be willing to give her an update on her condition.

*

The Cop Out was packed with annoyingly friendly customers who wanted to chat and buy her drinks. But Regan waved them off on her direct course to the bar. She elbowed and apologized her way through without slowing down, but Jesse wasn’t there. A blonde who looked barely old enough to drink herself was manning the station.

“Where’s Jesse?” Regan asked over the din of festive voices.

“She’s in the back.” The girl nodded toward the rear of the club.

Regan tapped on a tri-fold screen with the word “office” scratched across the top. The makeshift door, which stretched across an opening no larger than a linen closet, wobbled from her touch.

“Angie, I told you I’m doing payroll. Give me a break.”

Regan cleared her throat and said, “Excuse me, Jesse. It’s Regan Desanto.”

The rickety screen flattened against the side of the narrow entry with one whack from Jesse’s hand as she exited. “Sorry. It’s hard to get any work done in a bar. Everybody thinks you’re here for their entertainment. They forget it’s also a business.” She studied Regan’s face and her tone shifted. “But you’re not here to be entertained, are you? Let’s step outside where we can actually hear each other.”

As soon as the door closed behind them, Regan asked, “Do you know where I can find Syd?”

Jesse gave her a quizzical look before responding. “Against my better judgment, I left her at home. She said she was going to bed.”

“Was she really…” Regan couldn’t bring herself to say the word. It was as if speaking it aloud would make it more real.

“Shot? Yeah, but it wasn’t bad, only a flesh wound. It nicked her in the side where that stupid vest doesn’t cover.”

Regan expelled a captured breath and all the tension that had seized her body for the past two hours gushed out. She wobbled unsteadily and Jesse grabbed her arms, guiding her backward into a patio chair.

“Are you alright?”

Regan nodded and clasped her hands together where they rested in her lap. They kept trembling. “I’m glad she wasn’t badly hurt. I’ve been trying to get some answers for the last two hours. Do you think she’s okay alone?” Realizing the assumption she’d made, Regan quickly added, “If she is alone. I’m just concerned she might need something.”

“She was alone when I left and pretty out of it on the pain meds they gave her at the hospital. I was planning to check on her when I leave here.”

Silence grew between them. Neither spoke again until Regan composed herself enough to try to stand. “Well, then, I guess you’ve got everything under control.”

“I don’t know so much about that.” Jesse held her gaze. “Can I get you a drink, a Coke or maybe something stronger tonight?”

“No, thanks. I’ll be fine. I should go so you can get your work done.”

“You really care about her, don’t you?”

Regan wasn’t sure why the question surprised her. After all, Jesse was Syd’s best friend and her concern was certainly understandable. She considered avoidance or outright lying, but decided her actions had probably already given her away. “I’m not sure what my feelings are. But Syd’s made her lack of interest in me very clear.”

“Syd’s had a rough year. I don’t think she—”

“Please.” Raising her hand to stop any further protests by Syd’s friend, Regan said, “You don’t need to defend her. Just tell her I asked about her. And thank you, Jesse. I can see why you’re such a good friend.”

She skirted around the side of the building and back to her car. Once she was safely inside, she buried her face in her hands and allowed the jumble of emotions free rein as they spilled out in uncontrollable sobs. She was relieved that Syd wasn’t badly injured, worried that she might retreat farther into herself after this latest incident, disappointed that she wasn’t able to see her, and horrified that she’d revealed so much to Jesse. The tears fell, and for the first time in over a year she didn’t try to stop them.

The next morning Regan sprawled across her bed still dressed in work clothes from the day before. The reason for her come-apart at the Cop Out slammed into her memory. Syd had been shot and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do. Her helplessness rattled her. Regan liked to feel that she could fix everything, but since Syd had entered her life, the rules had changed.

The morning sun streamed through the unadorned windows of her sparsely furnished bedroom, chafing at her groggy senses and tear-swollen eyes. She needed a hot shower, fresh clothes, and a diversion. A visit with Izzy seemed in order. Her grandmother was always the perfect blend of sage advice and frivolity. She could use some lightheartedness. Obsessing over Syd was fast becoming masochistic. She’d started to wonder if the shooting was a sign of some kind, warning her away from making a decision she would only regret. If she threw herself at Syd, only to be rejected again, she didn’t know how she would handle the humiliation.

And there were worse possibilities. What if she and Syd tried to make something work, but Syd couldn’t resist the temptation to stray? She’d spent fifteen years with a partner who used their home as a stopover between jaunts with her boss. Being alone didn’t seem so bad if womanizing cheaters were her only alternative.

Regan decided Izzy would help straighten out her thinking. An hour later, with a dozen of her grandmother’s favorite chocolate-glazed, custard-filled donuts, Regan stood at her door. She didn’t have to knock.

“Somebody’s holding out on me. Get in here with those donuts.”

When Regan opened the door she stopped. Her once red-and-silver-haired grandmother had jet black hair cut into a short, spiky mullet. She wore a black T-shirt, boots, and black jeans with a studded black belt.

“Close your mouth, honey. There are flies in this place.”

“Gram?” Regan placed the donuts on the small side table by the door and stared in shock. “What happened to you?”

“I’m Joan Jett.”

“Of course you are. Wait right here.” Regan looked around for the nurse, certain that her grandmother had mentally snapped. She didn’t like leaving her in an assisted-living facility in the first place. It was what Izzy wanted. Now she had even more reason to take her home. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Izzy placed one hand on her hip and with the other reached up and snatched the black wig off her head. “I’m in costume for the dress-up birthday party.”

It took a few seconds for Regan to adjust, then she burst into laughter. “You’re a nut.”

“I must’ve been pretty convincing, from the look on your face. It was a toss-up between Joan and Melissa. I thought black made more of a statement.”

“It certainly did with me. You realize they’re both into the lesbian thing, don’t you?”

“That’s why I chose them. Besides, who in this place is savvy enough to know that except you, me, and my costume assistant from last year?” Izzy flung the creature-looking hairpiece onto her bed, grabbed a donut from the box, and took a huge bite.

Regan hugged her and clung to her a bit longer than necessary. Izzy had a way of always making her feel better. She understood her on a level that no one ever had. When the rest of the family disowned her for being lesbian, Izzy was her only constant. And she often seemed a lot younger than her years.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, honey. Now tell me why you’re here so early on a Saturday morning, with a box full of bribes and looking like you cried all night.”

One of the very things Regan so loved about her grandmother was also one of the most difficult to handle when she was upset, her directness. “Can’t a girl visit her Gram without having aspersions cast on her character?”

“Don’t pull that lawyer crap on me.” Izzy took another bite of her donut. “I told you I had an experience with a woman once, didn’t I?”

The donut in Regan’s hand froze halfway to her mouth. “You most certainly did not.”

“You got a problem with your mouth today, honey? The hinges are getting stuck in the open position.” Izzy motioned to the twin rocking chairs next to her only window and they sat down. “I had a special female friend before I married your grandpa.”