Suspect Passions (26 page)

“How can you be sure about that?” Izzy asked. “I think you should ask her.”

“I wish it was that simple, Izzy.”

“It just might be. Call her.”

“I’ll think about it,” Syd said.

The promise wasn’t an idle one. She and Regan had some unfinished business. Syd wasn’t looking forward to the conversation they needed to have, but she decided her discomfort was a good thing. Doing something different wasn’t going to feel easy.

*

Syd had just showered and dressed for her visit when her three o’clock appointment arrived. She took a deep breath and let Gil Brady in. His phone call an hour earlier had been an unexpected shock. So was his appearance. His chiseled features and military haircut that usually gave him an attractive outdoors look today appeared strained and unkempt.

Syd tried not to show her anxiety. “Gil. It’s good to see you.”

He looked her up and down several times before his gaze settled on her midsection and the lumpy bandage under her fitted shirt. “How’s it feeling?”

“Not bad.” She struggled not to blurt out her apologies for having sex with his wife but decided it best to let Gil set his own pace. He had probably refined exactly what he wanted to say down to the smallest number of words. “You want to sit down? Something to drink?”

“No, this won’t take long.” The timbre of his voice was deeper and more strained than Syd remembered, making his Southern drawl sound almost like a growl. But considering what he’d been through, she could appreciate the need to growl. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and Syd wondered if it was nerves or an attempt to keep from doing her bodily harm. “That shit with my wife was fucked up.”

“I know.” Syd wanted him to understand how important his friendship had become to her and that she’d never do anything to hurt him intentionally. She also wanted to tell him how confused and scared she’d been during that time of her life and that Priscilla helped her. But right now that didn’t seem appropriate. “Gil, I—”

“Let me finish. We talked and I know you were going through a bad time. So was Priscilla. Killing screws people up. That don’t make what you did right, but at least you were able to help each other.” Gil moved to the center of the room while he talked. “She told me you didn’t know she was married. Is that true?”

“Yes.” Relief made her sound breathless. “I didn’t even know her real name. I’d
never
get involved with a married woman, especially not a cop’s wife. And certainly not yours. We were friends, Gil. I respect you.”

He studied her for a few seconds. She’d seen the same intent stare many times when he was evaluating the statements of suspects. “I believe you. I’m just not sure we can be friends right now. Priscilla and I are trying to work things out. She still loves me and I’m glad she told me the truth.”

“Me, too. Gil, I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know.” Pulling his hands out of his pockets, he walked toward the exit. As he opened the door he turned back to Syd. “I didn’t tell anybody about this except Sarge. He must’ve blabbed it to everybody else. I sure didn’t want it all over the PD. But I told the squad at the hospital last night to stay out of my business and to leave you alone. It’s a private matter.”

“Thanks, Gil.”

“Be seeing you. Take care of that side and stop getting into gunfights.” With that he softly closed the door behind him.

A wave of sadness mingled with hope swept through Syd’s body. She felt like a kid watching her sandcastle being washed out to sea by the current: sad to see it go but hopeful that the fresh ground left behind would be more stable for building something new and better. If she was very lucky, the tide would eventually bring some of those original grains of sand back into her life and she, Gil, and Priscilla could be friends again.

“Will you hold still, Izzy? I can’t apply raccoon-eye mascara when you’re talking and squirming all over the place.”

Syd had shown up at the appointed hour to help Izzy prepare for her part as Joan Jett in the residents-only birthday party. She still didn’t understand why this particular character. Most of the people who lived here had no idea who Joan Jett was, much less about her connections to the lesbian community. As far as she could see, Izzy’s plan for shock value would go as limp as some of these men’s…well that was too vivid an analogy.

She was just about to add the final touch around Izzy’s left eye when the room door opened and a familiar voice behind her said, “Sorry I’m late, Gram,” and Regan Desanto walked in.

“Oh, shit.” The mascara applicator slid from Syd’s hand and down Izzy’s cheek, leaving a thick black streak.

Regan stood frozen, with her proverbial deer-in-the-headlights stare aimed directly at Syd. “What are you doing here?”

Syd was immediately drawn to the piercing blue of Regan’s eyes and her body prickled as they caressed her. A month of avoidance had done nothing to soothe the gnawing hunger she felt for this woman. Regan looked deliciously casual in black jeans and a turquoise golf shirt with the collar flipped up, but her body language was unmistakably controlled. Her muscles appeared tense, her shoulders square, her posture totally erect as though she was trying to contain strong emotions through sheer willpower and physical limitation.

“Now, Regan, play nice. I believe the two of you have met.” Izzy’s mischievous grin was all the proof Syd needed that she’d arranged this “coincidence” and was quite proud of herself.

Regan’s gaze danced from Syd to Izzy as she tried to connect two disjointed pieces of a puzzle. Her stunned expression slowly changed to a softer, more endearing look as she absorbed the scene in front of her, the two of them standing side by side like co-conspirators in some great plot. “Syd is the costume assistant you mentioned earlier?”

“Yeah, ain’t it great? She searched all over the Triad to find my outfit last year.”

There was still a hint of confusion in Regan’s tone as she asked, “How long have you known each other?”

Izzy put her arm around Syd’s neck and planted a kiss on her cheek. “About two years.”

Syd felt Regan’s gaze as she evaluated this information. The look warmed her and renewed a tingling sensation that had been missing since the last time they touched. She had to keep busy or she’d be mauling Regan right in front of her grandmother.

“It looks like your raccoon headed south in a hurry,” she said, laughing gently at the sight of Izzy’s running mascara. “Let me fix it.”

Regan joined in the laughter as some of the tension lifted. Then she placed her hand on Syd’s arm. “How are you feeling today?”

The sparks of attraction that shot up Syd’s arm and weakened her knees made her forget last night’s incident and its aftermath. “Huh?” Great. She was rendered monosyllabic.

“Your side, the injury?”

“Oh, it’s fine, a flesh wound really. It was just my luck, again, that my vest was useless.” Regan’s look told her that she didn’t understand. “Our flack jackets are basically two panels, front and back, no sides. This is the third time I’ve been injured in an area not protected.”

“The third time?”

“Yeah. My abdomen and sides look like I’ve been used as the target dummy for a weapons course.”

“What happened?” Regan asked, then remembered the last time she’d asked Syd to recount such an incident. “If you don’t mind saying.”

She listened in silence as Syd recounted the call that resulted in her injury and how she’d rescued a young man from an abusive home environment. Regan sniffed and coughed to conceal her tears until it became pointless and then let them fall freely. As Syd talked, Regan sensed a change in her. Something had shifted as a result of her experience, but she couldn’t put her finger on what.

Izzy finished lacing up her black combat boots and said, “Honey, maybe you need to look for another line of work.” She executed a slow turn, and asked, “Well?”

“You rock,” Syd said.

Regan wiped her eyes and nodded. “To die for.”

Izzy gave them each a parting hug. “Sorry you girls can’t join me, but I’m sure you’ll find something to keep yourselves busy. Besides, I might have company later and you need to be gone. Love you both.”

She winked and left, with Syd and Regan yelling after her in unison, “TMI.”

The small room seemed terribly quiet and entirely too intimate once the door swung shut. Regan looked at Syd and could’ve sworn the air around her crackled with sexual energy. She’d never wanted so desperately to kiss a woman and ravish her body as she did at that moment. Syd’s emerald green eyes bored a path deep into her soul, igniting the yearning she’d fought hard to extinguish. Watching Syd with Izzy had only confirmed the tenderness and compassion Regan knew existed under her bravado. That knowledge unleashed a flood of arousal that rendered her weak. Syd moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, and before Regan could stop herself, she was within inches of Syd, breathing in her musky fragrance.

“Can we—” Regan narrowly avoided completing the sentence the way she’d intended, with
have sex,
and substituted, “talk?”

“I’d like that because I really want to apologize.”

“It’s not necessary.” Thinking about Syd day after day and being unable to control her urges had taken a toll. Struggling not to fondle her now was like trying to cage the wind, and she saw no reason to do so. If Syd only wanted sex, that was fine. Regan understood and accepted the boundaries. She just needed Syd prone and naked so she could feel the exquisite release that came from complete physical immersion. At a time like this words seemed so wasteful of air better spent on moans, sighs, and heavy breathing.

“I’m sorry…about the note and leaving you that way.”

Syd’s eyes held a level of sincerity Regan hadn’t seen before, but her physical needs were interfering with her mental faculties and she couldn’t verbally respond. Instead she took Syd’s hands in hers and kissed the underside of her wrists. After each kiss, she trailed her tongue to Syd’s palm and licked tiny circles on her skin.

“I need you again.”

Surprise sparked in Syd’s eyes but quickly blossomed into lust. “Let’s go to my place.”

As they walked out of Izzy’s room and exited the building, Regan asked, “Will your side be okay?”

“You don’t think I’m going to let a little thing like a gunshot wound stop me from making love with you, do you?”

“I really hope not.” Regan almost exhaled her response after holding her breath in fear that Syd’s injury might keep them apart even longer. She noted with interest Syd’s reference to their making love instead of having sex. Semantics weren’t important at this point as long as the hunger in her body was soon fed. But the words soothed a raw place in her.

The walk to Syd’s loft seemed to take forever. Each step Regan took hardened the pulse point between her legs as she watched Syd’s tight ass sway in fitted capri pants that caressed the shapeliness of her hips and thighs. She tried to make small talk but mumbled, imagining her face buried in the voluptuous cleavage peeking from Syd’s ruffle-necked blouse. She’d never been so body-oriented or so certain of what she had to do.

Tonight she would give Syd what she seemed to want from her lovers, dominance and physical pleasure. And tonight Regan would take something she wanted as well, control and physical pleasure. She’d been suppressed and denied by Martha for so long that she’d forgotten what pleased her until her first night with Syd.

When they finally reached the loft, Syd opened the door and waited for her to enter. The moment they were inside, Regan backed her against the wall with a series of kisses intended to relay her objective. Syd’s lips were soft, hot, and joined perfectly with hers, parting just enough to allow her tongue access. She slid into her slowly at first, tenderly exploring the sleek surfaces of her teeth, the ridges in the roof of her mouth, and the grainy texture of her tongue. Syd’s fingers twisted into the short hair at the nape of Regan’s neck, and she brought their mouths together more forcefully.

Regan’s desire swallowed her in a flash of red. Splaying her hands against the wall on either side of Syd, she seared their bodies together with her heat. Her pelvis seemed to thrust and grind of its own accord, and her painfully hard nipples sought the cushiony softness of Syd’s ample breasts. She felt like a clumsy teenage boy trying to get off for the first time, humping his girl against the bleachers, ready to squirt his premature load at any second. That was not how she wanted this night to be remembered.

She forced herself to back away from Syd, her mouth and body immediately protesting the separation. It felt as though life was being sucked from her as she withdrew. Syd reached for her, her color high, her lips red and waiting, her eyes liquid pools of desire. Regan offered her hand and led her to the sleeping area.

The room looked the same with its king-sized bed and bare windows with the city skyline as embellishment. Ambient light from the street below softly tinted the sheets. But this time Regan would not be offering herself like a dutiful lover. This time she would unbridle herself the way Syd seemed to, liberating her most primal physical urges. She would enjoy Syd as a purely sexual being without the usual voices in her head incessantly whispering of emotion.

Regan had never tried to separate her feelings from the sex act. This was different. Every move had to be intentional, every touch orchestrated to heighten Syd’s arousal while governing her own. Her voice would be the first thing to betray her so she struggled to sound calm and controlled. “Take your clothes off.”