Suspect Passions

by V. K. Powell

  “You obviously care about this woman,” Izzy said. “I haven’t seen you this fired up since the night you told me about seeing those two carrying on in the restroom.”

  Regan’s pulse kicked up slightly and her skin flushed with heat. The expression on Izzy’s face said she’d noticed the reaction.

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah, Gram, I’m afraid so. I can really pick ’em, can’t I?”

  “Let me tell you about me and Peggy.” Izzy’s face took on a faraway look reminiscent of memories laced with love and pain. “I loved that woman, probably would’ve stayed with her forever. She was a hellcat when I met her, though. Chased anything in a skirt. But I saw something else in her and gave her all the freedom she needed.”

  “But how did you deal with that? I can’t handle cheating again.”

  “I was patient and trusted her. In the end she came back to me.”

  “So why did you leave her?”

  “I didn’t, honey. She died in a car accident on her way to see me one night.”

  Regan’s eyes stung with tears as she watched her grandmother’s face flinch from trying to contain her sorrow. She took Izzy’s hands in hers, brought them to her lips, and kissed them tenderly. “I’m so sorry, Gram. I didn’t know.”

  Izzy flicked a tear from her cheek. “Of course you didn’t. But my point is that you never know how much time you’ll have with someone.”

  Her last statement struck home with Regan. How would she have felt if Syd had been killed? A pain too deep to name rose in the center of her chest. “She was hurt on her job last night. I was afraid that she might—” She couldn’t make herself say it.

  An emotion flickered across her grandmother’s face, almost like recognition or a sudden awareness of something unspoken. “I know trust isn’t one of your strong points, and with good reason. But if you want to trust this woman, you have to let her know that you accept her for who she is right now. Trust has to go both ways. Hold on to your pain and fear and that’s all you’ll have left someday. Why don’t you give her and yourself a chance? If you don’t, you’ll always regret it.”

  Izzy was right. But Regan didn’t know if she could learn to trust a woman who couldn’t make a commitment to another person. Was the risk really worth it? There was only one way to find out.

  She and Izzy spent two more hours talking, eating donuts, and preparing for the big costume birthday party that night. When she started to leave, Izzy kissed her on each cheek and stared into her eyes. “Honey, don’t let this one get away. She’s lit you up like a Roman candle.”

  “But you don’t even know her, Gram. How can you say that?”

  “Just call it an old woman’s hunch. Besides I know my granddaughter. You’re all twitchy. I’d say that’s a first for you. Am I wrong?”

  Regan fanned the blush that burned her cheeks. “I have no idea what you mean.” She hugged her again. “Sometimes you’re entirely too observant, Isadora Pearce.”

  “I know, but you love me anyway.” Izzy grinned. “Come by about four and help me get back into my costume.”

  *

  When Syd stretched to relieve the cramps in her legs, the stitches in her left side reminded her why she was curled up on her sofa in the fetal position. Last night had been a nightmare and a blessing. Her body ached and throbbed from the physical challenges of the evening, and her eyes were puffy and unfocused from the emotional purging. In spite of it all, she felt surprisingly calm and alert.

  She rose carefully from the sofa and walked out onto the balcony overlooking downtown. The domestic call, the encounter with Jason, and her subsequent injury replayed slowly in her mind. She remembered in perfect detail everything that happened and felt a rush of pride at how she’d handled the situation. Ever since the Lee Nartey shooting, she’d been uncertain that she could face another lethal-force incident and make the right decision. Her confidence had been shattered. But last night she’d trusted her instincts and utilized empathy instead of a weapon. It was the first time she’d trusted her feelings since the shooting, and the result was exhilarating.

  Intuition had guided her throughout her career, but killing another person had destroyed her belief in her own instincts. Today things seemed to have shifted. She wasn’t sure she could ever reconcile her personal beliefs with taking a life, but she felt closer to forgiving herself for what she had done. Maybe her crisis of conscience had passed.

  She would probably still have to make adjustments, but she was more confident that she had a future in the job she loved. Jason’s gratitude for being removed from an abusive home brought another smile to her lips. She wanted to share her experience with someone older and wiser who could help her put it all in context.

  It was time to visit Izzy Pearce.

  They’d met when Syd started volunteering in the assisted-living facility two years earlier. Izzy had a knack for seeing right to the meat of things, and Syd had missed a few of their regular visits since the shooting. She simply hadn’t been able to face the thought-provoking, grandmotherly questions Izzy could ask. The answers would have been too painful, and she wasn’t ready to make the tough decisions they would require.

  After a cup of coffee, Syd picked up the phone. She had an apology planned, but Izzy didn’t give her a chance.

  Brushing aside Syd’s excuses, Izzy said, “What are you doing later?”

  “Nothing. I thought I could swing by.”

  “Good. I could use your help. Can you come this afternoon around four?”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “Do you think I look like Joan Jett?”

  “What?” Syd felt a wave of sadness. Izzy had always seemed as sharp as a woman half her age, but perhaps she was slipping.

  “I’ll explain later,” she said. “What’s happening for you?”

  “I got shot,” Syd said. “No big deal. How about you?”

  “I finally took your advice and told my granddaughter about Peggy.”

  “How did that go?”

  “She coped. But once you’re over sixty, no one thinks you understand passion.”

  Syd often wondered why relatives sent loved ones to live with strangers. If Izzy were her grandmother, she’d be living with her. Who wouldn’t want such a bright, engaging woman close to them for as long as possible? She’d avoided discussing Izzy’s family situation in case it was painful. She knew the granddaughter was important to her, and Izzy had been thrilled, a year earlier, when the young woman got a job in the area and moved here.

  “Well, she’ll relax once she’s had time to think about it. You and your granddaughter seem close.”

  “Very. And it’s not as though she’s never heard of lesbians. She moved in with me after she finished high school and stayed until she met her girlfriend. They broke up last year.”

  “You never told me your granddaughter was gay. I’ve never even seen a picture of her.”

  “Oh, you haven’t? Must’ve slipped my mind. So, tell me how you are really. Something seems different about you. Have you started letting go of those ghosts at last?”

  That was exactly why Syd loved this little Irish lady so much. She exuded the perfect mixture of kindness and concern while getting straight to the point. “Actually, I think I have.” She recapped last night’s call, how she handled it, and her breakthrough afterward. “I think that helped with my confidence. Being able to make another choice, a better choice, and save someone’s life sort of gave me permission to forgive myself for the other time. Does that make sense?”

  “Of course it does. I’m so glad for you.” Izzy’s voice softened. “And there’s more, isn’t there?”

  Syd wondered at Izzy’s ability to see things in her that others missed. People who could do that were either blessed or cursed. Her thoughts strayed to Regan, another woman gifted with intuition. Several times during the trial preparations, she’d picked up on thoughts and feelings that Syd couldn’t or wouldn’t express.

  Syd’s sigh was a blend of r
esignation and hurt. She’d half-expected Regan to show up at the hospital or at the apartment. Maybe she hadn’t heard the news. “You’re right, as usual, my friend. There is something else. Last night I was thinking about how I’ve lived my life the past nine months, running from everything, hopping from bed to bed, hurting good people, pretty selfish, actually.”

  “We all do the best we can at the time, Syd. We use all types of defense mechanisms to help us through painful situations. And then we have breakdowns that always precede breakthroughs and start to create a different future for ourselves. That’s just how life works. It’s about change and having the faith to move forward no matter how scary it is.”

  “I’m just wondering how I can do that…move forward without dragging the past along with me,” Syd admitted.

  “Are you talking about making a fresh start?” Izzy asked.

  “In a way.” Syd hadn’t thought about it in exactly those terms. She tried to explain. “I think people have an impression of me, when all they’ve seen is the side I’ve been showing…my worst side. I’m not sure how to get them to take a second look.”

  “People—?”

  “At work,” Syd said vaguely. “And…friends.”

  “Who is she?”

  No beating around the bush, where Izzy was concerned. Syd started to protest, avoid, and deny, her usual responses to being found out, but diversions were ineffective. And for the first time in months she wanted to be open and honest. “The city attorney who handled my case.”

  “The one who didn’t know what she was doing?”

  Syd cringed. “I was upset when I phoned you that day. She was amazing. But I’m pretty sure she hates my guts. I’ve behaved badly.”

  “What do you like about her?” Izzy sounded enthralled, as always when romance was concerned.

  “She’s very sensitive and nurturing, majorly sexy, intelligent, assertive, and way too empathic. At times she seems to understand me even when I’m not sure I do.”

  “Did you get involved with her?”

  “We slept together once and I left afterward without saying good-bye. I haven’t had the nerve to call.” The callousness of her departure hit Syd again. How could she have done that when she knew what Regan had endured over her ex-partner’s betrayal? Things like that left scars, and she’d just yanked the scab off without regard for Regan’s feelings. The cruelty of her actions blazed through her like a scourge and she shivered in disbelief.

  “Do you want to see her again?” Izzy asked.

  “Yes, and I’d just decided I would sleep with her one more time when this happened.” Izzy was silent for so long Syd asked, “Are you still there?”

  “I was just thinking. Why do you want to sleep with her again…just once?”

  “I felt a connection to her.” Syd covered her heart with her hand. “It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever experienced. It was amazing, but I think the circumstances had a lot to do with it.”

  “You hope it might be more…ordinary, next time?”

  Was that really what she hoped for—a dulling of the power Regan exerted, an encounter that would break her hold? “It doesn’t matter now, anyway. I changed my mind. She’s already been hurt pretty badly and I don’t have anything to offer her…anything she wants.”

  “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.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “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.
r />   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?”