Suspect Passions by V. K. Powell Page B

this case. Tragedy averted.
    She left the conference room and walked toward the Cop Out. Regan Desanto was the first woman to resist her advances in a very long time. But it wasn’t her ego that was shaken. It was a nagging feeling that something inside her had shifted and could never be righted. One thing was for sure, she needed to find out more about this woman who had charged into her life, disrupted a perfect orgasm, and taken on the defense of her professional life. She could not summarily relinquish such monumental responsibilities to the unknown, or the unworthy. Syd wanted to know the woman she was counting on.

Chapter Seven

    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