Culture Shock (23 page)

"That's right, I'm over here in his body, and believe me it's been no picnic."

"Hey, wait a minute." Alex stiffened. "It's not so hot being you either."

Cynthia stood and crossed over to him. "Oh, really?" She stared at her own face.

"If you're going to whine about my shoes again, then I don't want to hear it. I'm sick of your complaints."

"Shoes. Ha! That's just the beginning." He jumped to his feet and waved his finger in front of her masculine nose. "Cramps, makeup, unmanageable hair, having to shave your legs...the list goes on."

Flames beneath her skin crept up her neck and into her face. "Oh," she huffed, "and shaving this mug twice a day and dealing with your erections every morning is pleasant?"

Kevin stepped between them. "Stop it, you two! This isn't solving anything. I think there's much more to your problem than morning wood and wayward hair. Let's work on this together."

Alex plopped back in his seat. Cynthia's full tresses spilled forward as he hung her head. "I'm sorry, Cynthia. I guess I'm more rattled than I let on."

She perched on the chair's arm and patted his shoulder. "I know. I'm sorry, too. We've both been under stress no one else could understand." She looked to her brother. "Any ideas, Kevin?"

A deep exhalation passed through his lips. "Whew, I don't have a clue. It's not like this is a problem I'm called upon to solve every day." He eyed them with a raised brow. "Are you sure you aren't pulling a fast one on me?"

Alex glanced up from his dejected position. "Why in the world would we concoct such a ridiculous situation? If you think you're confused, imagine how we've been feeling. Something like this is only supposed to happen in the movies."

Kevin rubbed his palms together. His calloused hands caused a bristling noise with each back and forth movement. "I have a week to devote to helping. Let's put our heads together and either find a way to resolve your problem, or locate someone who can."

Cynthia nodded. "Sounds like a good idea to me, but the bad news is, we have to work tomorrow. Besides, dealing with our own personal problems, I'm acting Alex's part in trying to solve the kidnap/murder case we discussed earlier, while he's bored to tears pretending he doesn't suck at accounting."

"Hey!" Alex interjected.

"Sorry, but you, yourself, told me that math wasn't your strong suit."

"True, I did say that, but you don't have to be insulting." His familiar sparkle danced in her eyes when he smiled.

Cynthia sighed and ran a hand through Alex's hair. "The bottom line is we've both got a lot on our plates and we need your help, Kev."

"I'll do all I can, Cyn." His eyebrows arched. "Boy, this is too weird. Looking at you in a man's body and calling you by name."

Alex's booming laugh filled the room and lessened the stress for a moment.

"I got it," Kevin said. "Tomorrow, while you two are at work, I'll go to the library and do some research on body transference. Maybe this has happened before and we just don't know about it."

Alex wagged an eyebrow. "I think you'll be wasting your time. I've already surfed the net under every possible topic and found zero, zip,
nada! If this had happened before, everyone would know about it. The media would have had a field day, that's for sure."

Kevin shrugged. "Maybe you're right, but at least it's worth a try."

"I agree," Cynthia piped up. "We've got nothing to lose. In the meantime, it's late and we best get to bed."

"Hey, Sis, do you mind if I sleep over at your place...Alex's place?"

"Not at all." She looked around her own apartment. "I'm sure you'll find it much neater than here. Trust me, this apartment didn't always look like this."

Alex rose and began picking up shoes, papers, and other debris. "Okay, so I'm not a Martha Stewart protégée. There are other things I do better. If you don't like the ambiance, then leave."

Cynthia fought laughter at the sight of Alex with his arms full of clutter. Although she wouldn't wish her circumstance on anyone, she enjoyed getting a unique glimpse of herself. She opened the door, and motioned to her brother. "C'mon, Kev, let's go get some sleep. Good night, Alex."

***

Kevin's laughter from the doorway drew Cynthia's attention as she walked across the bedroom. She'd just taken a shower and was wrapped in a towel. She peeked around the corner. "What's so funny?"

"Oh my gosh,
Cyn! You should see yourself. You look like a goof."

Confused, she glanced down. "Why?"

"You're a guy for Christ's sake, but you're wearing the towel like a girl."

"Oh. Is that all? I guess old habits die hard. I've been wrapping a towel like this all my life." She thought about it for a minute and then laughed herself. "I wonder if Alex has the same problem."

"Couldn't tell ya. He kept the bedroom door closed while I was there."

She glimpsed the clock. "Oh, shoot. I've gotta get moving if I'm going to get to work early. Are you still going to the library this morning?"

"It can't hurt. Maybe, just maybe, I can find something that will help. Isn't there a university close by? Maybe you two should seek out a research scientist."

Cynthia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, like I want to be the newest freak in the tabloids. I don't think so, Kevin."

As much as she hated the idea of going public, doing so might be the best way to find a solution. There had to be someone in the world with knowledge to help her and Alex. Still, she shuddered at the idea of everyone knowing their secret. They'd gotten themselves into this jam, they'd find a way out...at least she hoped. She fixed her brother with a piercing glare.

"Don't even think about telling anyone else about this. I mean it."

"Hey, don't bite my head off. I just thought I'd toss it out as a suggestion."

"Sorry. I guess I'm feeling cranky today. I can't even blame it on my hormones anymore. I gotta get dressed."

She went back into the bedroom.

***

At work, well before the start of Alex's shift, Cynthia sat in front of the computer. She fed Sorenson's information into the database and waited to see what popped up. If something of interest developed, she really wanted to share the outcome with Mike. He had far more experience than she, and right now, she could use the help.

She weeded her way through the multitude of forms on the computer, hoping to find one that would lead to previous addresses, but all she turned up was a blank form with a big red "confidential" stamped across it. "Crap," she muttered.

With no experience, she had no idea what it meant. She logged off the terminal and headed for the locker room.

The hallway was filled with officers from the graveyard shift headed home. Cynthia brushed past a group in the corridor and overheard a tall, skinny guy talking to his friends. "Yep, they found the last one. We've got ourselves a serious serial.…"

Cynthia turned around, and looking past the man closest to her, addressed the man she heard speak. "Excuse me..." She didn't have the benefit of a name tag. "I can't recall if we've met or not. I'm Alex Carlyle." She was actually getting comfortable calling herself by his name. "I think I overheard you talking about the case to which I'm assigned."

"Jenkins, David Jenkins is the name." He reached across his friend to shake hands.

"If you're assigned to the serial creep, then you've got another vic."

Her heart dropped. "He killed again?"

"Afraid so. Another blonde, with baby doll and blanket, just like the rest. My partner and I took the call around one a.m. this morning. She was sprawled—"

"Spare me the details," Cynthia begged. "I'm sure I'll hear and see all about it after roll call."

The group dispersed and moved toward the door. "Good luck to you, Carlyle," called Jenkins as he disappeared outside.

Good luck was something she needed. Since moving to town, she'd had nothing but bad. Any hope for improvement, she'd pinned on her brother.

She pushed open the double doors of the locker room and went inside. Laughter and loud talking greeted her. The behavior seemed totally inappropriate given the fact that women were dying and nothing was being accomplished with regard to finding the killer. She wanted to scream at them, but choked back her frustration. She opened her locker and took a deep breath.

Mike punched her in the arm. "Hey, buddy! You look like shit. Someone run over your dog?"

She glared at him. "No, no one ran over my dog."

Mike held up his palms. "Sorry, I was just joking."

"Well, I don't see anything funny right now. I just heard from the graveyard guys that we have another victim."

Mike's face turned somber. "I'm sorry, Alex. I didn't know."

"And I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm just frustrated we can't catch a break in this case!"

"It's okay. I understand. We all get testy some times. Hey,
what are partners for?"

Cynthia grinned to hide her anxiety. "For helping catch the bad guys, and we really need to catch this one."

Chapter
Twenty

Cynthia's head throbbed. She and Mike had spent the entire morning following up on dead-end leads. Her stress-level hovered at maximum when they pulled over a vehicle matching a car seen in the vicinity of the latest crime. As Mike took the passenger side of the vehicle, Cynthia approached the driver and asked for his license and registration. He presented her with out-of-state documents. "He's from Oklahoma," she called across the roof of the car to her partner. Did she handle him differently than in-state drivers?

The dark-haired man in the car bore a marked resemblance to the living victim's description of her abductor, but then half the population did.  The driver fidgeted while keeping a white-knuckled grasp on the steering wheel. He turned his ebony eyes on her. "What did I do, Officer? Was I speeding?"

Cynthia held on to his license, leaned over and compared him to his picture. "No, sir, you weren't speeding. We're following up on report of a vehicle the same color as your automobile that may have been used in commission of a crime."

His eyes widened. "I've been at work all day. I'm just on my way home."

"So, I assume you are living in California at this time?" She gazed at his address.

"Yes, just a few blocks from here." He gestured to the north.

"How long have you been in the state?" She glanced at his I.D. "Mr. Caruso."

"Only about a month. I've applied for a new license and registered my vehicle. I just don't have the DMV receipts with me."

Mike peered inside the passenger window. "Sir, would you have any objections if we searched your vehicle?"

The driver shrugged. "I guess not. I've got nothing to hide."

Cynthia took the keys from the man at Mike's insistence. "You check the trunk, and I'll keep Mr. Caruso company."

She walked to the rear of the car and unlocked the compartment. Inside, she found only two cans of motor oil in a paper sack and a small locked box. She eyed the set of keys in her hand, and noticed one that looked about the right size. She inserted it and the box opened. Inside, she found a gun.

She carried the wooden container back to the car's front. It seemed strange that Mr. Caruso didn't seem worried when he saw it in her hands. She showed it to Mike, and then looked at the driver. "Well, I'm sorry to tell you, Mr. Caruso, that we're going to have to cite you for carrying a concealed weapon."

"But, Officer, I only have it in the car to keep it away from my kids. I plan to buy a gun safe for the house. I just haven't had time."

Mike walked around the front of the vehicle and gave her that "come hither" nod.

"Please remain seated, sir." She excused herself. "I'll be right back."

Puzzled by Mike's interruption, she joined her partner. "What do you want?"

"What's wrong with you, Alex? He's not carrying a concealed weapon. To quote California Penal Code, 12025 does not prevent a citizen of the US over eighteen years of age and who resides or is temporarily in California from transporting by motor vehicle any pistol, revolver, or other firearm capable of being concealed upon the person if the firearm is unloaded and in a locked container."

Which should she feel, fear of revealing her real self or embarrassment from having just made a fool of herself in front of a citizen? She swallowed hard and struggled for an explanation. "I think I've just been working too many hours. Shoot."

"Shoot? What's with this new found lingo of yours? You don't say, 'shit' anymore? I don't know, Alex, I think you're headed for a breakdown. You've always quoted the codes to me, and you pull a boner like this?" He shook his head.

Cynthia flashed a smile at the driver, hoping to keep him comfortable and praying her cheeks didn't flush red from humiliation. After all, she had to go back to him and usurp her own authority.

She turned to go, and Mike grabbed her shoulder. "Hey, how long did Caruso say he's been in California?"