by V. K. Powell
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.
Keith Rickard answered, and after a few minutes of idle chitchat, Syd got to the point of her call. “I need some information on an attorney from over your way. She moved here not long ago and took a job with the city. I was wondering if you could check her out for me.”
“Sure thing. What’s her name?”
“Regan Desanto.”
“I don’t need to do any research on that one. She was a hotshot lawyer with Tuggle, Diggins, Mershaw, Thompson, and Elrod here in Nashville for years. They’re the top civil-litigation group in the state.”
“Really?” Syd’s pulse kicked up and she tucked the phone closer to her ear. “So what happened?”
“She was on the verge of becoming a partner and was handling one last pro-bono case for the city. A wrongful-death suit. A thug shot and killed by an officer in the line of duty and his family sues, you know how it goes.”
Syd’s throat tightened. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
“The case seemed pretty open-and-shut, but she lost it. Cost the city big bucks and the officer quit the force.”
She lost the case. That was just great. “Anything else?”
“I guess she couldn’t take losing. She left town. There were articles in the papers for weeks, talk about whether the officer’s family would sue her firm. All I can say is, I hope she’s not defending you.”
“Thanks, Keith, I appreciate your help.”
“But there’s more.”
“I think I’ve heard enough.”
Syd hung up the phone with a sick feeling. The information made sense a
nd it made her nauseous. That explained why a high-priced attorney had left a prestigious law firm and taken a mediocre city-service job in a town five hundred miles away. Regan had lost her edge and blown one of the most expensive cases in the firm’s history. And instead of staying to face her failures, she’d run away and started over. Great, Syd’s attorney was a coward.
For some reason the image of Regan Desanto running away from anything didn’t fit Syd’s impression of the woman. She seemed to have too much confidence and pride in her work. On the other hand, it fit perfectly. Regan did seem like the kind of person to be sympathetic to the misfortunes of others, especially if she caused them. And having cost the firm money would weigh heavily on her mind. She would have insisted on taking responsibility for her actions. So why did she leave? And didn’t Terry Blair know about her history? Surely he wouldn’t have given her this case if he did.
The lights of the city sparkled and danced beyond her window, reminding her of the challenge and satisfaction her work provided. It seemed unimaginable that her future as a police officer might be in jeopardy. Suddenly Regan’s objections to handling her case during their first meeting made perfect sense. She had tried to persuade her boss to reassign it to someone else, but he’d refused. Maybe she hadn’t told him all the details about the case in Nashville. Syd would gladly provide them. She needed the best representation the city could offer, and if that wasn’t Regan, she had no qualms about having her removed. She felt vindicated in exposing her past.
But as she envisioned having Regan taken off the case, conflicting feelings ignited inside Syd. She’d seen another side of Regan and had sensed the spark of deep caring that burned just below the surface. And what about the tiny flicker of feelings Syd had experienced when Regan tried to console her about the shooting? Would she ever allow anyone to explore those dark places inside her if she shut Regan out now?
Her mind told her to call the city attorney first thing in the morning and expose Regan’s past. But her heart held out for a better option.
Chapter Eight
Regan’s drive to work the next morning was filled with images of the previous night’s sidewalk show of Syd. Her phone was already emitting its annoying multitoned ring as she entered the office and deposited her briefcase on the desk. She answered with her usual professional identifiers and soon realized this wouldn’t be just another day at the office.
“Desanto, this is Dean Bell, attorney for the family of Lee Nartey. I understand that you’re representing the city in our wrongful-death suit.”
Regan dropped into her swivel chair and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. She’d never met Bell but had heard he was a shark in the courtroom who took only cases that had the potential to sustain his exorbitant price tag and bolster his flashy career. “Yes, that’s correct. How may I help you this morning, Counselor?”
“Actually, I’m calling to help you.” His high-pitched voice sounded condescending and presumptuous.
“I’m always open to cooperation between peers, Mr. Bell. What did you have in mind?”
“I’ve just gotten my hands on Sydney Cabot’s therapy notes and a copy of the so-called secret file from Internal Affairs. After reviewing it, I thought we should talk before this case hits the press. And trust me, it will.”
The not-too-subtly veiled threat in the man’s voice shot up Regan’s spine like the twinge of a bad back. How did he get a copy of those documents before she did? A subpoena for therapy notes wasn’t easily or quickly obtained without a compelling reason. And how dare he threaten a public airing of such private information, regardless of the content.
Based on her own recent encounters with Syd, Regan shuddered to think what Bell had uncovered. Whatever it was, he obviously thought it would make juicy grist for the mill of public outrage and win points for his case. “What is it that you find so interesting and worthy of public revelation?”
“You’re kidding, right?” His smug-sounding voice was laced with superiority and distaste. “This woman is like a feral cat that should be spayed. But then she’s not really in danger of reproducing, is she?”
The comment soured in Regan’s system, and she bit her tongue to keep from firing back the response this man really deserved. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Come on, Desanto, haven’t you read this stuff? It seems that Officer Cabot has an insatiable hunger for the fairer sex. And she’s not real picky about when or where she meets them or how she dumps them. Sounds like she failed the class on discretion in the academy.”
Regan’s heart tripped a beat as she reached for a jolt of cold caffeine. She couldn’t imagine Syd revealing intimate details of her personal life to a therapist, especially not in the context of a fitness-for-duty session. The department’s mandatory FFD examination centered on the precipitating event and getting the officer back to work. Syd was savvy enough to understand the process and to disclose only the pertinent facts, if that.
“And what exactly do her personal proclivities have to do with this case, Mr. Bell?”
“It’s pretty obvious she’s too preoccupied with scoring snatch to keep her eyes or her mind on the job. She’d probably just had a little rendezvous in that alley at the mall when she shot my client’s son to death.”
Regan couldn’t believe the vulgar tone and blatantly prejudicial comments spewing from Bell’s mouth. She’d never met this man, and yet he thought it acceptable to talk to her in such a fashion. Then another possibility occurred. What if he was taping their conversation to goad her into an unfavorable or compromising remark about Syd or the case? Even though such a remark wouldn’t be admissible in a legal proceeding, it could tarnish her reputation and credibility if he leaked it to her client or the press.
She checked her temper and replied in her most professional and impassive tone, “I’m sure the facts presented in court will show exactly what happened that night, Counselor. Why don’t we wait and try the case in that venue?”
Silence at the other end of the phone line confirmed Regan’s suspicions. After a lengthy pause, Bell replied, “Well, uh, if you’re sure you want to do that. Officer Cabot’s background won’t make her a very sympathetic witness. I just thought you might appreciate an opportunity to settle this and save the city a lot of money.”
“Thank you for your concern and your generous offer, but we’ll take our chances.”
As she hung up the phone, Regan had a sinking feeling in her gut. Obviously Bell thought he had something very damaging in those documents. She needed a copy. Now. It wouldn’t help to have Syd portrayed in the media as a wanton lesbian on a rampage to devour the city’s female population. And Syd certainly wouldn’t handle public exposure of her personal life with any degree of calm. It was her job to see that neither Syd nor the City suffered at the hands of an opportunistic attorney.
The remainder of Regan’s day vanished in an array of phone calls and personal visits to secure the Internal Affairs file and Syd’s therapy notes. After receiving assurance from the chief of police that the information would be on her desk first thing in the morning, Regan fished her cell phone from her briefcase and headed toward the elevator. As she waited for the door to open, she punched in the number she’d memorized the day she received it. This was not a conversation she wanted to have but knew in her gut she had to. Her call was answered almost immediately. She chose a guarded tone when she really wanted to blurt the news and be done with it.
“We need to talk…no, not there, somewhere more private.”
*
Syd teetered on the four-inch-wide rock parapet that encircled her penthouse and enjoyed the surge of energy that accompanied this gravity-defying feat. The idea of cheating death while skimming the perimeter of her third-floor residence had helped sell her on the place. Granted, she probably wouldn’t die from such a fall, but the odds of a soft landing weren’t great. Still, it brought the adrenaline highs of the job home and within her control.
She wobbled precariously above unsuspect
ing pedestrians, doubting if any of them felt half as alive as she did at this moment. She doubted if most people found it necessary to go to such extremes to feel an emotional connection with their own bodies. Why was it so hard for her?
She remembered growing up in the warm Southern hospitality of Atlanta. While her parents hadn’t been overly affectionate, Syd had always known she was loved and had felt connected to them and her brothers. They seldom discussed their emotions, but family activities that centered on teamwork and challenge had bonded them together. She felt supported and encouraged to experiment, within the parameters set by her mother. But when Syd went to college, she branched out and tested her own boundaries. Lovers became the new “activities” of her life and she engaged her feelings based on the circumstances. It seemed pointless to give her heart to someone she knew wasn’t the right one. Until now she had always drawn the emotional line.
But since the shooting, Syd’s ability to connect on a personal level had seemingly been surgically removed. When that bullet left the barrel of her Glock, it took a piece of her soul and she’d been unable to reconnect with it. Tina had been her lover for a few months when it happened, and until that day Syd had allowed herself to think they had a chance at a long-term relationship. Or maybe she was just still in lust. When Syd was placed on administrative leave, Tina started making demands about moving in, taking care of her, and seeing a counselor to keep their relationship on track. The pressure was too great and Syd bolted.
She tiptoed to the end of the parapet, jumped in the air, pivoted, and started back in the opposite direction. If she was honest, she’d have to admit that no one had really aroused her interest until Regan. But that was before she’d found out about her past in Nashville.
There was something compelling about the woman who pushed all her buttons, but Syd couldn’t forget that her career rested firmly in the hands of an attorney who’d lost a case just like hers. Last night she’d been determined to report her findings to Terry Blair and demand that Regan be taken off her case. But she didn’t actually want to believe the worst about Regan and she didn’t want her replaced. She simply wanted to understand what happened.
