Free Suspect Passions by V. K. Powell Page A

few things.”
    Terry hesitated before asking his next question. “Any problems I need to know about?”
    She knew his question referred to her professional lapse in trying to get off the case. “No, no problems at all.” She ignored the nagging voice in the back of her mind.
    The remainder of the morning disappeared in a quagmire of phone calls back and forth between her and the police chief, as she tried to explain that full Internal Affairs and personnel files did not mean a redacted version. She wanted the secret files kept on each officer that even they weren’t shown. She needed all the good, bad, and questionable pieces of Sydney Cabot’s file intact. It was almost two o’clock when the receptionist buzzed and informed her that Syd was waiting in the conference room.
    Great, another day with no time for lunch. Facing Officer Cabot fully fortified had proven challenging; this time she’d have to depend on mental mettle to sustain her.
    When Regan entered the conference room, Syd was standing at the wall of glass windows overlooking downtown. Crisp linen slacks in a warm chocolate color hugged the perfectly rounded orbs of her butt, and a white sleeveless shell shone in stark relief against the pants and her tanned arms. Chiseled muscles along the back of her upper arms flexed and released as she clenched her fists in front of her. Her straight chestnut hair kissed the top of her shoulders, and the layered strands blew lightly with the circulating air in the room.
    Regan felt an urge to simply stand and watch the shapely officer silhouetted against the backdrop of the city. She hadn’t wanted to just look at another woman since the early days with Martha. Why this particular woman? At that moment Syd sensed her presence and turned.
    “Good afternoon.” Her tone held a cool, guarded edge mirrored in her evasive gaze.
    Regan elected a briskly professional response. “Syd, thanks for coming in.”
    “I didn’t exactly have a choice. I am assigned to you for the next two weeks.” Syd chose the chair farthest from her.
    Very encouraging, Regan thought. Syd’s voice sounded hollow, with a sense of resignation. The timbre of it filled her with compassion. “Is it really necessary for you to sit way over there?”
    She realized, with more than a moderate amount of surprise, that the words carried a double meaning. One was a professional concern for their ability to communicate easily and effectively about this case. The second was an uncomfortable desire to be physically closer to Syd. Something about this enigmatic woman yelled sex while simultaneously eliciting compassion and asking for help.
    “Probably as necessary as the rest of this.”
    Regan understood that Syd didn’t want to be in this situation. Reliving every detail of the shooting, exposing her unorthodox coping mechanisms, and waiting for a barrage of professional and personal judgments wouldn’t appeal to anyone. Steeling herself against further invasion into her life by giving as few details as possible was likely her method of self-defense.
    “I’m really sorry about all this,” Regan said. “I can’t imagine how it makes you feel.”
    “No, you can’t. Could we just get this over with, please? I’m meeting someone for drinks later and I don’t want to be late.”
    Syd’s tone had changed from resignation to defensiveness, and the sharp contrast stimulated Regan’s Irish temper, reminding her just who she was dealing with. “Fine, let’s get started. Wouldn’t want you to be late for a date, now would we?” She could care less about Syd’s personal life. Her job was to defend the City of High Point, in spite of Sydney Cabot.
    “Don’t you think we need to talk about something else first?”
    “What did you have in mind, Officer Cabot?”
    “The first time we saw each other.”
    After a lengthy pause, Regan felt her face flush with heat. “If you’re referring to that scene at the Cop Out, I don’t believe it needs to be