"No! I've never even taken mine out of the holster. Don't worry. You'll do fine. Just remember the basics. You'll be surprised how things sink in even if you don't think they did. You'll remember what you need to know when you need it."
"That's easy for you to say. I'm the one that has it the toughest."
He scrunched up his face. "You? How can you say that? I haven't the first idea about how to be a woman, and we all know how complex they are."
"We are not! Being feminine is very simple. Let me show you." She struck a pose that looked ridiculous and walked across the room. "The walk is the most important thing. Take small steps and lead with your hips. Let them be your guide."
Alex's flinched at the sight of his masculine frame sashaying around the floor. Even more annoying was the way she made feminine gestures with his hands. He rolled his eyes. "There's no way I can walk like that, and I wish you'd stop. You're making me look ridiculous. Promise me you won't walk like that as long as you have my body."
He jumped to his feet. "Real men walk heavy and hard ... and pull your shoulders back." He grabbed her forearms from behind, forcing her chest forward.
She jerked out of his grasp, turned and glared at him. "Don't worry. I'll play up the macho thing, but I want to see you walk like I just did."
He blew out a loud breath then reluctantly took one step, then another. The swivel didn't come naturally, but he tried following her example. Having a woman's form and a man's thought process was tough. The two didn't work well together. He walked across the room then turned. "Well, what do you think?"
"I think you look like someone who just had casts removed from their broken legs. But, we'll keep working on it. I also need to show you how to sit properly, drink with poise, and how to be graceful."
He grabbed two handfuls of her blonde hair and yanked in frustration. "Just kill me now."
"I can't. You promised I wouldn't have to shoot anyone, and I don't want to be the first to un-holster your gun." Her giggle sounded forced.
He sagged down on the sofa. "I guess I'll be spending the night again. Looks like we have a lot of ground to cover."
Chapter Six
Monday, the alarm sounded at six-thirty a.m. Disoriented by his surroundings, Alex recognized Cynthia's bedroom. He punched her wimpy pillow into a ball and rolled over and hit the snooze button. If he went back to sleep, he wouldn't have to face what lay in store. But no matter how hard he wished the problem away, he'd have to face it. Great! He had to gussy up for a job that wasn't his, pretend to be something he wasn't and continue to fake things until he and Cynthia could come up with a solution if there was one. The prospect of being stuck like this forever terrified him.
He rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Was Cynthia awake yet? Even though it was her idea, he felt bad making her sleep on the couch in her own apartment. With a deep sigh, he swiveled around and sat on the edge of the bed. Holding his head in his hands and staring at the floor, he spied her fuzzy slippers. "Ohhh, nooo. I ain't wearin' em."
Barefooted, he walked to the door and leaned against the jamb. Cynthia still slept. "Hey, wake up. It's almost time to go to work," he called. "Let's run through things one more time."
Cynthia rolled over and moaned then sat and rubbed the back of her neck. "God, this couch is awful. I can't take too many more nights of this torture."
"I suggest you sleep in my apartment from now on. That's where all my clothes and shaving things are anyhow."
"Yeah, I guess." The tone in her voice showed she didn't welcome the idea. "I definitely have to change clothes and shower. This is disgusting…and I do need to shave, and I don't mean my legs."
He ran a gaze up and down his own body. "Well, you certainly won't fit into your clothes, and you’d look pretty ridiculous even if you did. I'm sure my wardrobe isn't nearly as extensive, but help yourself."
"I suppose wearing a dress would arouse a little suspicion about your sexuality," she said with a cocky tilt to her head.
"Very funny…and that reminds me. Don't do anything to make me look stupid today."
She stiffened. "How in the world could I possibly do that? I don't know a blasted thing about being a cop, and you don't want me to make you look stupid. That makes perfect sense."
"Okay, I guess I didn't explain myself very well. A few months ago, I took the Lieutenant's test and I'm still waiting to hear the results. I don't want anything to screw my chance to advance. This whole body exchange thing couldn't have happened at a worse time."
She fixed her gaze on him. "You don't actually think there would be good time for this to have happened, do you?"
"Of course not, but you know what I mean."
"I hadn't considered the prospect of messing up your entire career. What if I do?" Worry thinned her lips.
"Don't worry. Just remember everything we've talked about and you'll do fine."
His words of warning struck a chord in his own mind. "But, what about me? I've always sucked at math and I'm supposed to go and crunch numbers. I'm beginning to think I might just take my chances with the shock thing again."
Her brows rose. "Really?"
"No!" he said adamantly. "That's the last possible alternative."
"Then come up with an alternative." She glared at him.
"Right after I find a cure for the common cold." His patience was already being tested and it wasn't even eight a.m.
Cynthia rubbed her thigh. "I've slept in these same clothes for two days now, and I'll bet if I check, I have a bruise from sleeping on your stupid keys. It sucks to be you." Unshaven, and grizzled, she sauntered toward the door.
Frustrated by the faulty door lock, she mumbled inaudibly under her breath. As she walked out, she looked over her shoulder. "I'll be baaack," she declared in a great Arnold Swartzenegger impression.
Despite the stress, Alex chuckled as he went back into the bedroom and scanned his clothing options for the day. Flipping through the hangers, he grimaced. Didn't the woman own anything but dresses?
Finally, he found some slacks, but feared the dress code didn't allow them. He pulled out a little black number with a white collar. All he had to do was stand it for eight hours. Wearing women’s clothing couldn't be worse than an overnight stake-out. He draped the dress on the bed, went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. While he waited for the water to warm, he glanced in the mirror. "Cripes, what a mess. And I don't have the first idea how to fix this hair. She'll have to show me."
In the shower, Alex wanted to languish in the warmth and explore his new body, but unfortunately his knowledge of the hot water supply precluded it. Letting his hands slip slowly over her firm breasts and down her abdomen, he gently lathered every inch and crevice of her delicate skin. Somehow, it just wasn't the same. His actions were way too perverted and did nothing for him. He doubted it did much for her either.
After showering, Alex wrapped a towel around his waist. A glance at the mirror showed a problem. Although alone, he caved to the need for unexplained modesty and re-adjusted the wrap over his chest. Then opening the medicine cabinet, he was confronted with all types of face creams, lotions, and perfumes. He shut the door, refusing to imagine what all that crap was for.
Back in the bedroom, he dropped his towel and left it where it fell. The black sheath proved to be harder to put on then it looked, as he awkwardly wriggled his body until it fell down past his hips.
He opened the closet and surveyed his shoe options. Tennis shoes? No, that wouldn't fly with business attire. He gaped at the row of high heels. "No fuckin' way," he mumbled.
Believing he wouldn't fall and break his neck in something less elevated, he opted for a pair of sandals with a short, block heel. He glanced at the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. The dress didn't look quite right. What had he overlooked? He caught sight of the brassiere slung across the dresser. "Shit, now I have to start over!"
He tugged the dress up and over his head and tossed it on the bed. Looking at the bra,
he tried to figure the best way to hook it. He'd always had a knack for undoing them, but he had no idea how in the hell to put one on. After several tries he succeeded. He shimmied into the dress a second time, then, turning from side to side, checked the mirror again. This time, he looked just fine, but he understood the gravity issue women worried about. Cynthia definitely had nice breasts, but the uplift from the bra made a difference in the fit. God, what was wrong with him, thinking about how her tits looked in a dress? He might be inhabiting her body, but somewhere inside lurked her thoughts.
No sooner had Alex finished, Cynthia appeared in the doorway. "Well, I'm ready…I think."
She was a mess. Pieces of tissue dotted numerous razor cuts on her cheeks and she had combed his hair all wrong. "Gees, Cyn, take it easy on my face. Should I call 911 and ask for a transfusion?"
"Very funny, Alex. I've been shaving my legs for years, but this was a lot tougher than I expected."
"Come here and let me show you how to comb my hair. That looks ridiculous."
"Can I help it if you have unmanageable hair? I'm not used to dealing with waves."
Her gaze rested on him. "And, what do you plan on doing with mine? You certainly can’t go to my job looking like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you just got out bed."
"I did."
"I know, and it shows." She looked him up and down. "Although I must say, you did okay picking out a dress."
"Thanks."
Cynthia lowered her gaze. "The shoes aren't bad." She looked closer. "Wait! You forgot panty hose."
"You're kidding, right?"
"I never go to work with bare legs." She turned and rummaged through a drawer and withdrew a new package of nylons. "Here, put these on."
Alex groaned and kicked off his shoes. He sat on the bed, tore into the wrapping, and held up the delicate leg coverings. "I don't have a clue how to put these things on."
Cynthia took them from him and demonstrated how to gather them together. The rough skin of his hands snagged the silky fabric. "Christ, Alex, don't you ever use lotion. Your hands feel like sandpaper." She wrestled with the nylons. "Like this," she said as she handed them to him.
Not at all used to his new fingernails, Alex did further damage as he mimicked her actions. She grabbed his hands and made him stop. "Take your time, go slow…and about the lotion. Don't let my hands get like these." She rubbed his palms together, creating a grating noise.
"Yeah, like my biggest worry is hand lotion right now."
After massive grunts and groans, several attempts and a few more snags, Alex had wriggled his hips enough to get the waist where it belonged. "I never knew what you women go through. I am so glad I was born a male." He dipped his feet back into the shoes. "Satisfied?"
"Not hardly! Let's do something with that hair."
He followed her into the bathroom and sat on the commode while she gave him styling instructions. He rolled his eyes and acted like he cared.
She toyed with one last stray wisp. "Okay, that looks pretty good." She reached for a tall can. "Close your eyes while I spray."
Alex squeezed his eyes closed.
Obviously knowing her own hair, she administered a hearty dose of hair spray. "There! It's actually easier to do my hair from this perspective," she said as she stood back and admired the finished product.
Alex went into a coughing spasm. "Are you trying to asphyxiate me?”
"Quit complaining. Now, for makeup."
"Oh, no way!" He tried to stand.
She used her new-found strength and pushed him down. "There is no way you are leaving this room without at least blush and mascara."
"Oh Christ ... if I must." He closed his eyes while she worked her magic.
Cynthia hunched over him as she coated his lashes. "Quit blinking. This isn't as easy as it appears."
"Why couldn't you be a natural beauty?"
"Watch it, buddy." She stood back and again surveyed her handiwork. "You look fabulous. A little lipstick and you're good to go."
"Will that be the last of the torture, or do you have more in mind?"
"Lipstick and that's it." She handed him a tube. "Pucker up."
Slump-shouldered, Alex stood before the mirror "What now?" he said through pursed lips.
"Just apply the color to the lips and then blot them together."
Alex did as he was instructed. "How's this?"
"Perfect. Very good for a first attempt."
"God, I hope it's my last." He turned and looked at her. "Okay, your turn, and take the toilet paper off your face."
Cynthia sat and let Alex wet and comb his hair. In comparison, it took no time at all. "That's it?" she questioned.
"Yep. Check it out."
She peered in the mirror as she peeled the last pieces of tissue from his face. "Okay, so it takes you a lot less time to get ready than me. I'm beginning to think women got the raw end of the deal."
"It may surprise you, but I think I agree." He followed her into the living room.
Tension built as the moment of truth drew near. While wringing his hands, Alex gave her a refresher course in what they had already covered.
"Okay ... remember! Your partner's name is Mike. His wife is Michelle. You're working on the disappearance case. Two dead now, two missing. And don't forget the confidential things I told you about the victims. And to think I wasn't going to share it with you. Any questions?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "No, I think I'm thoroughly confused. Oh, yeah, what was your locker number again?"
"Thirty-two, and remember what we talked about. You clip the holster to your belt with the little leather bands, make sure the safety is on the gun, and for God's sake, try to think like a guy."
She tilted her head and stared at him. "Why don't you just ask me to walk on the moon? It's about as easy."
"Any last minute instructions from you?"
She thought for a moment. " Since you insist you lack math skills, perhaps it would be best for you to just try to look busy and bring the work home for me to do each night. Oh, and keep your knees together when you sit and try to walk like a lady."
He laughed. "I'm giving you instructions about a weapon and all you worry about is whether or not I keep my legs together." He glanced at the clock. "I've gotta go, right?"
"Yes." She shoved him toward the door. "Don't be late ... and, no farting or belching!"
Alex's mind spun. Too many things to remember. Passing gas he could control, but how about all the other things he couldn't. What if she shot someone on accident? What if…the possibilities were too horrible to imagine.
Chapter Seven
Alex reminded himself of all the things Cynthia had ingrained in his mind as he walked out into the hallway and down the stairs. Little steps, little steps, little steps. A gentle sway of the hips. Walk like a lady. Another tenant joined him just as he reached the first floor landing. The man was normal height, although his excess weight made him appear much shorter. Balding, with a pointed nose, his beady eyes never left Alex. Trying to maintain a ladylike composure, Alex smiled politely. "Good morning."
"Hi there, good-lookin'. How come I've never seen you before?"
Holy cow, the creep was flirting with him. Alex continued to remain calm. "I'm fairly new to The Cairns."
"Well, my name's Thomas Carpenter. What's yours?"
The seedy little man couldn't possibly believe women would find him attractive, but still Alex forced himself to be polite. "Cynthia Freitas, but…you'll have to excuse me, Thomas, I'm running late. Nice meeting you." Alex hurried out the front door before the man could utter another word.
The walk to the BART station was mostly uphill, and by the time Alex got there he gasped for breath. The demands of police work kept him in good physical condition so feeling winded after a little jaunt was totally out of character. While waiting on the train platform with a crowd of other passengers, he glanced down at his feet. The stupid shoes he wore caused his state
of breathlessness, and adding to his discomfort, cold air swirled around his bare legs and crept up his skirt. He shivered.
A painful cramp seized his calf and verified his suspicions. Although he walked on female legs, something in his brain kept him from walking like a lady. Who would guess what lengths of discomfort women went through to look stylish? He bent and kneaded his muscle, hoping the spasm would release. It soon eased. If only he could massage his temples and make the confusion go away.
His mind raced with all the things he needed to remember: her office…first floor, third door on the right. The yellow folder held her current project and computer diskette. The plan: act busy and bring everything home.
The train arrived, and the swift-moving mass of people in search of seats swept inside. He feigned a coquettish smile when a gentleman stood and volunteered his seat. Feeling a tad guilty, Alex accepted, thinking it was much better than standing in unfamiliar, and totally uncomfortable, shoes.
He eyed the men suspiciously and wondered about the identity of the serial kidnapper. Although lost in Cynthia's body, his determination to find the killer fueled his every thought. The short hair on the back of his neck stood on end at the realization he had become fair game in the flash of an electric jolt. He'd never felt quite so vulnerable…and uncomfortable.
Five stations later, he was still grumbling about Cynthia's shoes. His Charlie horse had eased, but threatened to return. When he disembarked, he stepped onto the platform, still nursing his leg cramp. The thought of what lay ahead wore heavily on his mind. He should have worn high heels, he might have broken an ankle and at least had an excuse to miss work. If he hadn't tried to be so suave in the first place and make first base with Cynthia, he wouldn't be in this position now. So much for being a Don Juan.
As much as he hated to, Alex followed Cynthia's directions. Standing on Center Street, he glanced up at the name on the building. Harris and Morgan, Accountants.
"Well, here I am," he muttered, as he took a deep breath and walked in the door. He stood for a moment and surveyed the interior. Not bad if you liked being confined. Counting doors as he went, he started down the hallway and stopped at the third door. He reached for the knob.
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