The Displaced Detective - Part 4 free porn video

The Displaced Detective - Part 4 by Limbo's Mistress After the sobering realization that my problems, biologically speaking, extended beyond just being stuck in a female body, I turned my face to the window, watching the scenery go by as the city which had been my home and employer for the past twenty years was left behind. By the time the first tendrils of the sun were trying to peek over the horizon, we were rolling through the rural countryside. Traffic on the road had been rather light during our pre-dawn escape. Now, however, the number of other vehicles on the road began to increase slowly. People on their way to work, I surmised. Or, more unsettling, to school. A few of the drivers gave the shiny black Hummer an appreciative glance as it passed by them. However, the dark tint of the window kept them from seeing the forlorn-looking girl staring back. We changed lanes to go around a green mini-van, the rear seats loaded with a quartet of kids of various ages. The woman behind the wheel, who might have been somewhere between thirty and fifty, looked harried, exhausted, and frustrated as she focused on keeping the vehicle in her lane. Our speeds matched for several long seconds. Enough time for me to stare, raptured, as the woman's mouth opened and closed, obviously voicing screams I couldn't hear. The kids seated behind her seemed oblivious to her. They continued to laugh and throw things at each other with reckless abandon. My thoughts turned to the other mother, the one I'd seen the outside the coffee shop just the previous day. Back when I was still Detective Jack Hamilton. With the benefit of retrospection, I realized that, while she had seemed a little rushed, she hadn't looked worn out. Perhaps it was because she only had the one child to contend with. Or maybe her spawn was more agreeable to its mother's wishes. In either case, the thing that struck me the hardest was the knowledge that I could end up like those women in the future. Back in my younger days, I'd often imagined what having kids would be like. I'd take my son camping, and fishing, while my daughter would be daddy's little princess. As fate would have it, however, I never found a woman with which to make those thoughts a reality. And I'd definitely not given a single second's thought to what motherhood would be like. Matthew reached over and turned on the radio, twisting the dial to search for a station. When I turned my head to glare at him, he returned the look. "I'm trying to find out if our situation has followed us out of the city," he said. I shrugged. "I would be surprised if it hasn't. Michael Dellinger's influence is vast. You can bet your shiny new badge that every law enforcement agency within a hundred mile radius has received an APB with our pictures on it." Matthew smirked. I didn't like the way it looked on my face. "Then it's a good thing we don't look like ourselves, huh?" he said. I rolled my eyes with a loud and dejected sigh. Then I immediately clenched my jaw and balled one hand into a tight fist. Dammit, I needed to be more vigilant about remaining myself. Drawing in a deep breath, I relaxed and forced myself to speak with authority and experience. "These hasty disguises might work at keeping the average citizen from immediately recognizing us. Any cop worth his badge, though, has been trained to see past someone's basic appearance. Especially if they are attempting to discern, like, the identity of a suspect. Simply shaving your head, or dying mine this horrible shade of red isn't going to fool them." Matthew shrugged again. God I hated when people constantly did that rather than actually responding. "Then I guess we should do our best to avoid interaction with law enforcement." I snorted, rolling my eyes again. "No duh, genius." I turned back to the window. Talking with Matthew, especially when he was speaking in my voice with my mannerisms, was like having an itch under my skin. Skin I was becoming more and more accustomed to wearing. I just hoped we could rectify our situation before it was too late. The minivan had exited the highway during our discussion, and the rest of the cars that passed us were totally uninteresting. At one point, a state trooper pulled alongside us. A few seconds later, however, the lights on top of his vehicle sprang to life and he swerved away, taking the first available exit. It wasn't until he was out of sight that I realized that every muscle in my body had tensed like a guitar string. The radio was a bust. Other than the brief recap of the "crime" and the announcement that the manhunt was still ongoing, there was no other mention of Detective Hamilton or his supposed captive. Either we'd managed to remain elusive better than I had hoped, or else the police were playing their cards close to the vest. Since the person they were looking for was one of their own. I wondered how long it would be until someone thought to try Thomas' place. We'd gotten lucky, but I didn't harbor any illusions that our connection wouldn't be explored. If so, the minute they saw my sedan in the garage, information about our current ride would be broadcast up and down the chain of law enforcement. The fake tags Matthew had put on the car would help a bit, but black Hummers weren't exactly commonplace. The moment a patrolman performed a check, out of idle curiosity, and discovered the numbers on the plates were registered to a Honda Civic or something like that, we would be totally screwed. The miles rolled by. Morning rush traffic thinned and waned. Matthew tried to instigate a conversation once or twice, but each time, I shot him a look that said I wasn't exactly in a talking mood. Likewise, each time he turned on the radio to put on some music, I turned it back off. The swaying of the silent vehicle began to lull me to sleep. More than once, my eyes flapped open as I gave a startled jump from nearly having fallen asleep. When that happened, I would pinch my thigh a few times, hard. The pain acted like a little shot of adrenaline, pushing away, at least temporarily, the siren call of slumber It was the other call I was starting to feel that refused to be so easily dismissed. It took several miles of sitting with my knees pressed tightly together before I finally accepted that I could put it off no longer. Not unless I wanted to have an embarrassing accident. Sighing loudly to draw Matthew's attention, I pointed through the windshield at the road before us. "How long until we get there?" He frowned. "At least another eight hours or so." I nodded, turning my face away. As if that had satisfied my curiosity. A second or two later, however, we hit a small bump in the asphalt. The jolt threatened to overwhelm my screaming bladder. I closed my eyes, swallowed the lump of pride stuck in my throat, and turned back to him. "Do you think we, uh ... could stop somewhere up ahead?" Already, a warm sensation was creeping up my cheeks. I shouldn't have been embarrassed by my request, but I couldn't seem to help it. He glanced over at me, reading my face for a moment with a confused expression. Then his gaze drifted down to where my knees were doing their best to push through each other. Nodding, he looked up and gestured at the oncoming sign. The words on the blue rectangle informed us that the next exit had lodging, campsites, gas stations, and restaurants. I don't think I'd been so excited to see something in my life. Definitely not since yesterday morning. Matthew drove the big Hummer up the ramp to the stoplight at the top. From the intersection, I could see three large gas stations, five fast food joints, and a car wash. "We could use some gas," he said, looking over at me. "And something to eat. I haven't had anything since raiding the vending machine at the hospital, and I'm starving. How about you?" I shook my head, opening my mouth to tell him all I needed was a bathroom. However, before I could utter a word, my tummy growled as if it were holding an unruly litter of wild dogs. Apparently the idea of food was appealing to my traitor of a stomach. I quickly moved one hand to cover the noisy rumble, and the heat in my cheeks intensified. "I'll take that as a yes," he said with that damnable smirk. When the light turned green, he navigated into the lot of one of the nicer of the food places, pulled into an empty spot, and shut off the engine. I unbuckled my belt as fast as my fingers would work, and started to jump out of the Hummer. The bathroom only a dozen or so yards away was screaming my name. "Hold up," he said, putting his hand on my arm. "We need to establish our identities first." "Our what?" I said, trying to focus more on not peeing on myself than the words coming out of his mouth. "I can't call you 'Jack' in public," he said, pointing at me. "It'll attract attention." "Well, you can't call me 'Sasha' either," I snapped, pressing my knees together again. Oh god, I was going to wet myself because Matthew was channeling his inner police officer. Wasn't this something we could discuss after I'd relieved my bladder? He frowned, the expression making it seem he thought I was being deliberately confrontational. "Do you have a preference for a name? A female name?" I just wanted to yell at him that he could call me anything he wanted. Just so long as he would let me get out of the Hummer and into the closest restroom. Jesus, how small a bladder did this girl have? "No," I snapped. "No preference. Call me 'Jackie', if you want. Or 'Jeanie'. Or 'the Queen of Freaking France'. Now, let go of my arm before I lean over and punch you right in the dick." He released me with a sigh and a shake of his head. Finally free, I scrambled out of the big SUV, darted across the parking lot, and rushed into the restaurant. There were a few workers standing behind the ordering counter, a couple of them giving me a weird look as I practically burst through the door. That was, until they realized where I was headed. I was probably not the first highway traveler to make a frantic beeline to the restroom upon entering the place. My palm slapped against the door before I noticed the sign informing me that I was no longer the proper gender to use that particular room. Spinning around, I located the one that wouldn't get me thrown out and went inside. Thankfully, the brown tiled room was empty. Like an idiot, a slow idiot at that, I swept my gaze across the room for the urinals before groaning and slapping my palm against my forehead as I rolled my eyes internally. "Duh! Different plumbing, dummy." Pushing open a stall, I was amazed to see it was relatively clean. The ones in nearly every men's room I'd ever been in were nasty affairs one wouldn't even want to be in close proximity with. Much less actually be inclined to sit down and do business. Closing the door behind me, I pulled down my jeans and underwear and lowered my bare bottom to the seat. A sharp hiss came from between my lips as the icy coldness of the hard plastic assaulted my tender skin, causing goosebumps to appear. I paused for a moment. Despite the overwhelming pressure in my bladder, I didn't have the slightest clue how to go about doing what I needed to do. Did I squeeze something to make the flow start? Spread my legs a little? As a guy, when I needed to piss I just whipped it out, aimed, and let go. Surely it was different for girls, right? Turns out, not so much. That residual knowledge Matthew mentioned kicked in and biology took over. A hard, hot stream shot out from somewhere between my legs, and I sighed loudly with relief, my eyelids fluttering. Who would have guessed the simple act of relieving one's overfull bladder would be an equally pleasant experience for both sexes? When the last trickles finally stopped, and I no longer felt as if I were going to float away, I pulled a few pieces of toilet paper from the roll next to me and wiped myself clean. This time, it was knowledge acquired over decades of girlfriends that prepared me for what needed to be done, rather than some leftover bit of Sasha in my brain. After washing my hands, I exited the bathroom and returned to the open area of the restaurant, spotting Matthew standing near the counter looking up at the menu. When he spotted me, he nodded his freshly-shaved head at the direction in which I'd come. "Everything okay now?" he asked. I almost asked him if he wanted to go in behind me and check, but the older woman behind the register was looking at us, so I put on a smile I didn't feel and nodded. "Oh my god," I said, easily injecting my voice with a hearty dose of Embarrassed Teen. "That's not funny ... Daddy." For a second, it seemed as if Matthew was going to choke to death on his own spittle. Instead, he just blinked at me several times before clearing his throat. "Sorry, uh, Jackie." he mumbled. I turned to the observant woman and rolled my eyes in a "can you believe this" manner. She responded with a little smile and cut her eyes over to Matthew for a moment. We ordered. I requested a bacon and egg white sandwich with hash browns and an orange juice. Matthew ordered two sausage biscuits with gravy, a side of pancakes, an order of hash browns, and a large coffee. When the server turned to get our drinks, I elbowed him in my ribs. "I'd prefer you not balloon up my body before you figure out how to stick me back in it," I said in a low voice through gritted teeth. "In case you haven't noticed, but I've been taking care of it most of my life." The woman returned before Matthew could respond, but the look on his face was admonishment. We ate mostly in silence, each of us alternating between looking through the window at the busy street outside and staring down at our food. Matthew devoured every morsel on his tray while I was only able to eat most of the sandwich and half the hash browns. Realizing that another bite was going to make me hurl, I pushed the tray away and sighed. "Stupid tiny girl stomach," I grumbled. He smiled. "Think of how much you could save in groceries." I blinked at him, then leaned back to cross my arms over my chest. "I hope your friend knows more about what's happened to us than you do. Despite how great it would be to decrease my food and alcohol expenses, I have a feeling that any gains will be lost to makeup, jewelry, and clothing. Not to mention feminine hygiene products." Matthew frowned again. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen, Jack. All I wanted to do was live a long, quiet life for a while. If the Order hadn't come after me, our paths would likely never have crossed." He shrugged. "Then you would still be a middle-aged detective and I would still be a rich investment banker." I locked my eyes onto his. "And Sasha Dellinger would still be alive." He didn't say anything for a second, then nodded slowly. "Yes. She would still be alive." When we'd finished eating, we climbed back into the Hummer. Matthew drove out of the restaurant's parking lot and down the street back toward the highway. Right before reaching the on ramp, he pulled into a gas station on the corner, maneuvering the big SUV to a stop next to the pumps. He hopped out, looking back at me before closing the door. "Sit tight," he said. "I'm going to go in and pay." Something must have crossed my face because he gave me a slight smile. "In cash, Jack. I heard you loud and clear on the credit cards." As he quickly strode to the entrance of the convenience store, I rolled down my window and rested my arm on the sill. Leaning down, I put my cheek against my tiny, nearly hairless forearm, and stared at nothing. I felt bad for Sasha Dellinger. While I had no trouble imagining what it would be like to suddenly find yourself in a body that wasn't your own, I also had the benefit of being a trained adult. There was no doubt in my mind that she'd been terrified. One second, she's watching with horror as some random guy is grabbed off the street in front of her and shoved into a car. The next, she's the one in the car, being restrained and stabbed with a syringe while another her stands on the curb watching. I wondered if the Order was merciful when they killed her. Did they keep her sedated? Or did they torture her for information on her identity before putting a bullet in her head? Did she cry for her father to save her? Closing my eyes, I sighed. After twenty years of working Homicide in the big city, I could think of a dozen horrible ways her young life could have ended. Sure, it was easy to blame Matthew for our situation, for the death of the real Sasha. But the incident had been born out of panic, not malice. Matthew had panicked and Hopped bodies before thinking about what the swap might mean for the innocent teen. My thoughts were pulled back to the world around me as another vehicle pulled into the pumps, stopping across from the Hummer. It was a newer model pickup truck, with glossy royal blue paint, shiny chrome bumpers, and oversized tires. The driver was a teenaged boy, probably around seventeen or eighteen years old. He shut off the engine of the truck and slid out of the seat with the easy grace of a natural athlete. Dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a black polo shirt, he pushed one hand through his shaggy brown hair before his blue eyes, an intense shade of sky blue, turned my direction and the corners of his mouth curled up in a tiny smile. I blinked for a few moments, staring back at him, though I wasn't exactly sure why. Did I know this boy somehow? I didn't see how that could be possible. We were hundreds of miles from the city and everyone I knew. Besides, it wasn't as if there were a lot of younger people in Jack Hamilton's life. Like, zero even. After a few seconds of staring at me, he seemed to realize that he was doing it. His smile widened a bit, then he ambled around to the side of his truck that was closest to the fuel pumps. He pulled a card from his back pocket, swiped it through the slot on the front of the pump, and removed the handle from its holster. Motion out of the corner of my eye finally pulled my attention off the handsome male to a beautiful girl who climbed out of the pickup's passenger side. She was blonde, though her hair was a few shades darker than mine used to be, and had high cheekbones and thick, pouty lips painted a dark pink hue. When she sauntered over to stand next to the boy, I saw she was wearing a short, denim skirt that barely fell to mid- thigh and a sweater similar to the one I had one. Only hers was powder blue and fit snug enough to show just how generous puberty had been to her. The outfit was cute. Super casual and just trampy enough to promote her body without crossing the border into Slutville. The girl leaned against the tailgate of the truck, arching her back just a bit to push her chest a little further out. She said something I couldn't hear to the boy, and he responded by reaching back into this pocket and handing her his credit card. No sooner had her thin fingers, with their bright cherry red nails (trailer trash!), plucked the plastic from his grip, she whirled around and sashayed toward the store. As she passed the front of the pickup, she happened to glance in my direction, noticing I was staring at her. I quickly lifted my head from my arm and glanced at the front of the store, trying to make it seem like my gaze had been nothing more than idle curiosity. As if I thought she was about as interesting as the window posters advertising the establishment's current deal on energy drinks. The blonde waited until I glanced her way once more. Then she sniffed with derision, turning her head to look over her shoulder toward the young man. I followed her gaze, then turned back to see she was staring at me with icy eyes full of loathing. I was enough of an expert in body language and facial expressions to know what she was telling me: "That's my man. You stay away." She turned her nose into the air, resuming her journey to the entrance of the convenience store without bothering to give me the satisfaction of a finale look. When she vanished inside, I rolled my eyes before turning my attention back to the forbidden male. The little interaction between me and the blonde skank hadn't gone unnoticed. When my eyes met those of the boy, he gave me an apologetic smile and a single-shoulder shrug. I couldn't help but return his grin and copy the gesture. Then he went back to paying attention to the task in his hands while my thoughts turned dark and inward. What did he see in that low-rent bitch? I mean, he was kind of hot, and apparently had money, considering the condition of his ride. As far as I could see, the only thing the blonde floozy had going for her was a set of boobs. Hell, even her butt had appeared kind of flat beneath her skirt. There was no doubt in my mind that he could do so much better than a stuck-up, bitchy bimbo with security issues. He looked over and smiled again, this time flashing me one that was warm and friendly, rather than embarrassed. The expression sent my heart to pounding in my chest and my eyes wandered down over his muscular chest and arms. Strong, manly arms. While not as large as one would find on a gym rat, they were still a good size. More than big enough to easily wrap around someone as petite as I was. I bet he could have picked me up as easily as he could a doll. My pulse quickened as new thoughts and images formed in my brain. What would it feel like to be held by those arms? Pressed against that well- defined chest. What would his cologne smell like. Would his breath smell like mint? Would it taste like mint? A shudder ran though me as my mind began to imagine the way his breath would tickle my ear as he whispered in it between bouts of kissing lightly on the skin of my neck. The sound of Matthew slamming the pump's nozzle into the Hummer's tank pulled me from my daydream. I sat up, turning away from the boy, who was finished gassing the truck, and stared out the windshield. I felt dazed, like I'd just been sucker-punched by a heavyweight contender. Had I really just been about to drool all over myself while ogling some boy? I shook my head, like I could fling everything I'd just felt and imagined out of my brain if I tried hard enough. However, as much as I wanted to deny it had happened, my elevated heartrate, plus the aching hardness in my nipples, provided evidence enough. I finally calmed down enough to notice the activity taking place at the front of the store. The blonde was standing on the curb, cellphone jammed against the side of her head. She waved her free hand in the air as she spoke to the person at the other end of the line, repeatedly looking over at me. I shook my head with pity. Had she considered me that much of a threat to her relationship that she felt the need to jump on the phone with one of her girlfriends just so she could bitch about the redheaded girl eyeing her man? Pathetic. After observing her for a little longer, though, I realized what was actually going on. She wasn't looking at me, she was looking at the front of the Hummer. Then she turned to peer at the nearby intersection. My heart began to race again. Only this time, it was out of fear, rather than infatuation. The bimbo wasn't whining about me to one of her besties. She was talking to someone else altogether. Oh, shit. I scurried over the front seat of the Hummer and stuck my head out the driver's window. "Matthew, stop pumping! We've got to get out of here." I pointed at the blonde. The boy had joined her and was looking between her and our vehicle. "We've been made!" Matthew looked to where I pointed. Then he swore under his breath and yanked the nozzle free, practically slamming it back into place on the pump. By the time I was back on my side of the SUV, he had climbed into the driver's seat. Without a second's hesitation, he fired up the engine, dropped the transmission into gear, and stomped on the pedal. The Hummer took off like a gigantic rocket, zooming across the lot in the most direct route to the onramp. The suspension received one hell of a workout as we bounced over the curb, down a grassy hill, and turned right onto the highway. Matthew kept the pedal to the floor, pushing our speed well past eighty. His eyes jumped from the lightly occupied road before us to the rearview mirror and back. "How much of a head start do you think we have?" He asked me. I tried to concentrate on his question. However, I find myself continually coming back to the way I'd reacted to the cute boy and his girlfriend at the gas station. The attraction I'd felt toward him. As well as the jealousy toward the blonde. It didn't make sense. I might be a girl physically, but I was still a man mentally. Mostly. Matthew had commented that sexual orientation was more a biological reaction, rather than a psychological one. At the time, I'd tried to rationalize it as something like a wild theory. But considering my behavior, it was very possible that his argument had merit. That fact almost scared me as much as the fear of getting caught. I shook my head, trying to get back on track. "Uh," I said, trying to gather up all those unimportant thoughts and feelings so I could shove them into a closet in my mind to sort through at a later date. "Come on, Jack," Matthew snapped, whipping the big SUV around a tractor trailer. "Get your head in the game." I nodded, finally getting a grip on myself. "Okay. Chances are the girl was talking to a dispatcher, rather than directly to an officer. With as big a search as I'm sure this is, they would want some type of confirmation before calling the troops. Especially if she'd mentioned that the girl she'd seen had red hair instead of blonde." "They don't want to waste resources chasing down a false lead." Matthew said. I nodded, slightly surprised that he'd come to that conclusion. I guess I wasn't the only one being influenced by a new body. "Exactly. Of course, the way we took off out of there is just going to, like, add credence to her report." I glanced in the side mirror at the throng of cars behind us. "Depending on how far away the closest officer was, it would take between two and five minutes for him to get there and get any information. Once they reported which way we'd gone, they would use the radio to coordinate a roadblock ahead and several patrol cars behind." "So, we're screwed?" I closed my eyes for a second, trying to be more Jack Hamilton and less Sasha Dellinger. "Maybe not," I said pointing at the rapidly approaching exit ramp. "Get off here." To his credit, Matthew didn't argue or ask any questions. He simply slowed down and guided us off the highway. "Okay," I said. "At the top of the ramp, it doesn't matter if you go left or right. We just need someplace to, like, park and lay low until we figure out our next move." He nodded in response. He turned right, keeping his speed right at the legal limit. Then a grin replaced his scowl. "I have an idea," he said, turning left at the next intersection. Five minutes later found us pulling into the parking deck of a large shopping mall. The structure was three stories tall and filled with dozens of cars. Matthew continued up to the second level, finally stopping in a darkened corner next to the delivery van of a big-name electronics company. "We've got to ditch this vehicle and get a new one," he said as he shut off the Hummer's engine. "Should we wait a while? Or try to get way out of town as soon as possible?" I tapped my finger across my lips for a moment. "Probably the best idea is to get out. When we don't show up at the roadblock, they are going to start backtracking down the highway toward the gas station. Eventually, they will think of looking here." He nodded and opened the door, climbing out of the vehicle. I followed and the two of us leaned against the side of the multi-colored van. "Okay," I said. "We will wait until someone parks and goes inside. Then we'll boost their car. With any luck, we can be down the road and past any dragnet before it's reported missing." A frown formed on my face as I continued. "Once we're a couple of towns over, we'll need to ditch that one and steal another." A sigh came unbidden from my throat. "It's only taken me one day to turn to a life of crime. I really don't want to go to juvie as a girl." Matthew shrugged. "I've had to do a lot of questionable things over the years, Jack. I'm not proud of them, but I'd rather have broken the law than end up dead. Or worse." I couldn't argue with that. The only thing worse than being the Bonnie to Matthew's Clyde wasn't the fear that I wouldn't ever get my old body back. It was the terror that the Order would get their hands on me and make however long my remaining days were a nightmare. We waited a few minutes, then I watched as a Honda sedan pulled into a nearby spot. An older woman, probably in her mid-forties and a girl about Sasha's age climbed out. The two of them were loud and chatty as they walked through the darkened garage and vanished inside an elevator. So intent they were on their conversation, actually, that I never saw the lights of the vehicle flash or the horn chirp. "Let's go," I said to Matthew. Before I could move, he grabbed my arm. "Why that one?" I held up one pink-tipped finger. "One, because they didn't lock the doors." I held up a second finger. "Two, because a mother and her daughter at the mall? Around lunchtime? Seriously? Chances are they will be several hours inside between eating and shopping. By the time they find out their car is gone, we'll have already traded it for another." Matthew looked between the car and me a couple of times before nodding. I guess the detective skills remaining in my brain weren't completely integrated with him yet. Slowly, we emerged from our hiding spot next to the van and strolled over to the dark gray import. "Do you know how to hotwire a car?" I asked him. The look he shot me said I'd just asked a stupid question. Opening the driver's door, he leaned under the dash and began pulling wires. I waited a few seconds, thinking, before reaching past him to pull the lever that would open the trunk. "What are you doing?" he asked. "I'm going to ride in the trunk until we get past the dragnet," I answered. "Everyone is looking for a man travelling with a young girl. A man alone in the car won't warrant a second glance." After Matthew got the Honda started, he walked around to stand next to me, looking into the trunk. "You sure about this?" he asked. I nodded. "There are a bunch of garbage bags full of clothes back there. And a few other items." I flashed him a smile. "I'll be fine." Matthew didn't respond as I climbed into the spacious compartment and nestled on the soft piles of clothing. With a final grim expression, he closed the lid, securing in the darkness. The car bumped over the entrance of the deck and the smooth sound of the tires on the pavement hummed at me until I was practically zoned. Occasionally, Matthew would glide slowly to a stop before either turning or continuing on. He never accelerated too much, nor took the turns too sharply. I wasn't sure how long we drove. It might have been about an hour, but felt like much more. Eventually, however, the vehicle slowed to a stop, and the engine cut off. I waited for the return of daylight, but several minutes after I heard Matthew get out of the car, I remained locked inside the trunk. Worry and doubt began to creep into my thoughts. Had he abandoned me? What if he thought about what I'd said about the cops looking for a man travelling alone and had decided ditching me would increase his chances of getting away? What if he never came back? Feeling around inside the trunk, I found the handle set into the side of the compartment. The emergency release. Installed in most late model cars, all I had to do was pull hard on the handle and the lid would fly open and let me out. If I did that, then I would be committed to getting out of the trunk. Which could be a bad thing, especially if a driver happened to pass by. Any halfway decent person would never leave a young girl standing on the side of the road by herself. A good Samaritan would be the end of the chase for sure. After what seemed like a near-eternity, I heard another car pull to a stop right behind the Honda, causing sweat to break out on my forehead. Matthew had left me behind, and now the cops had traced the stolen car. Once they opened the trunk and found Sasha Dellinger inside, all my hopes of getting my old body back would be nothing more than idle wishes. The sound of a car door opening and closing was followed by a series of quick footsteps that approached the rear of the sedan. I steeled myself for the inevitable end of my flight, determined that I was going to run away as soon as an opportunity presented itself. Even if that meant I'd have to live on the streets. The lip popped open and the harsh afternoon sun blinded me. I threw up an arm over my face, blinking against the glare that took full advantage of the fact that I'd been huddle in utter darkness for the last long while. "Come on," Matthew said as he grabbed my arm and helped me out of the trunk. "We have to hurry." Still mostly blinded, I let him pull me out. My legs were shaky from nerves and disuse, causing me to have to lean against the Honda's fender. "Where are we?" I asked, looking around at the wooded area around us. Then I turned my attention to the car parked behind us. It was another SUV, this one a brown Ford that had seen better days. "Where did you get that?" Matthew looked at the bags in the trunk, then grabbed two of them before shutting the lid. He walked around and threw them in the back of the Ford, leaving the liftgate up. "We're about fifty miles from the mall. I stuck to the back roads and travelled parallel to the highway." He nodded back at the Honda. "The sweet GPS built right in the dash was really helpful." I walked around to stand next to him. "Are we outside the search area?" He shrugged. "I think so. However ..." He looked from me to the open cargo area and back. I sighed and climbed into the back of the SUV. "Yesterday, I was a highly respected member of law enforcement. Today, I'm luggage." Matthew grinned, moving the bags around to partially hide me. As well as provide me with something comfortable to lay on. "But cute luggage." Then he slammed the hatch closed before I could kick him in the balls. After we had pulled away from the Honda, he made a couple of turns before I felt the smooth sensation of speed on asphalt. We were back on the highway. "We should be a Carol's place in about four hours," he said. "Are you okay back there?" "Yeah," I said as I stared at the roof of the car. "It's better than the trunk." "I bet. Anyway, I think most of the searching is taking place behind us. I'll keep an even speed and try not to draw any attention." "Good idea." Once again, the gentle swaying of the ride lulled me into a very relaxed state. Matthew turned on the radio, but the music was barely audible where I was stashed and only served to make me even more lethargic. My mind turned inward, back to the boy at the gas station. There was no doubt I'd found him attractive. To deny that would be nothing more than a lie. The memory was uncomfortable, but not revolting. Then I thought about the girl who'd been with him. Her large, firm breasts and pretty face. As well as the shapely legs flowing out of the hem of her skirt. Before yesterday, I would have given her a lengthy, appreciative examination. Not too different from the one I'd given the barista at the caf?. Now, however, I realized that I didn't feel any attraction to her. Zero. Instead, the sensation rolling through me as her image floated in my brain was jealously. I disliked her immensely. Not just because she'd notified the authorities on us. No, this was because she was with a guy I thought was hot. She was competition. After a while, I shook off the alien thoughts and began to rummage around inside the garbage bags. Most of the clothes were adult-sized, but half of one of the bags was filled with the cast-off remnants of a teenage girl's wardrobe. There were a few t-shirts, one of which had a unicorn on the front, some dresses, and three pairs of designer jeans. There was also a meager assortment of bras and panties. I hoped the items would fit better than the stuff from Karen's closet. The sensation of the car slowing down was followed by an explanation from Matthew. "We're pulling in to a rest stop. I have to go to the bathroom." I snickered, then realized I did, too. When I stepped into the gigantic ladies' room inside the building, there was only one other person present. An older woman, who might have been about seventy, was washing her hands at the sink. She glanced up into the mirror as I passed behind her and flashed me a warm smile. Right before I could disappear into a stall, she spoke. Her voice was strong and soft at the same time. "I love your hair, dear," she said, eyes glittering with mirth. "It's so bold and lively." "Thank you," I said in response, reaching up the run my fingers through the short, red strands. "I think it may have been cut too short." She shook her head, grabbing a few paper towels from the holder on the wall. "It's not the length, sweetie. But whoever used the scissors didn't cut it straight in the back." My cheeks warmed. "Uh, that would be me. It was an ... impulse cut." She laughed, turning around to look at me. "Nothing wrong with being impulsive, my dear. All of history's famous women were. Just remember to temper that boldness with a little common sense." She tossed the damp paper into the wastebasket, then gave me a stern look. "You're a pretty girl, and sometimes pretty girls don't think things through." I shrugged, my hand resting on the closed door of the stall. "Guess I'm still getting used to being a pretty girl." She laughed. "Good. That's good. Never get used to it and you'll find your other strengths." She gave me another smile and turned toward the door. "You take care now, sweetie." When I finished my business, Matthew was waiting on the hood of the Ford. There were several different types of snacks from the rest area's vending machine spread out on the hood, as well as a couple of bottles of water. "You certainly took your time," he said, tossing me a smirk. I glanced around to see that none of the other visitors were looking at us, then gave him the finger. "I don't have the ability to, like, just whip it out and spray down a seat anymore, jerk." I planted my hand on my hip. "It takes a lady a bit longer, you know." He laughed and handed me a candy bar. "It's not a real dinner, but it's all we have right now. It's probably not a good idea to stop anywhere." He glanced up at the diminishing light overhead. "Only about another hour or so until we get to Carol's place." I nodded, grabbing one of the bottles of water and a chocolate bar. I really needed something more substantial, but at least the candy would keep my blood sugar from dropping. When I started toward the back of the SUV, Matthew reached over and took my arm by the elbow. "I think it's safe for you to ride up front now. I haven't seen any increased level of police presence for the last thirty miles." We got back into the vehicle, my butt and back grateful to have a real seat to sit in, rather than the stiff, unyielding floor of the cargo area. A few moments later, we were rolling down the highway once more. "So, this Carol chick. She's a Hopper, too? Think she might be able to tell us why you can't, like, switch us back?" He remained silent for several seconds. As if gathering his thoughts and sifting through them for the correct words to make his response. Then his head dipped in a semi-nod of confirmation, followed by an indecisive shrug. "Yes, she's a Hopper," he said, drawing the words out slowly. "She's been around for a really long time. Longer than me. Which means she's seen a lot. If anyone's got the answer, it would be her." I arched a brow, giving him a suspicious stare. I didn't even need to look in a mirror to know the expression on my face seemed right at home. If anything I recalled from my interaction with citizens, it was the certain knowledge that no one can convey disbelief better than a teenage girl. Matthew glanced over my way twice, definitely noticing the look I was sending his way. After the second time, he put his eyes back on the road and sighed. "She's not as altruistic about her Hopping. Not like me." "I see," I said dryly. "She's one of those 'take without asking' types?" Another half-shrug was his response. "Well, if I want to get back where I belong, I guess I'll just have to decide to overlook how I feel about that. For now." An hour or so after it was full dark, Matthew turned off the highway onto a small country service road. The dirt trail was pitted with a ton of potholes and ruts, and it seemed as if he were determined to hit every single one. The jarring caused the Ford, and my boobs, to bounce around like a bucking bronco. Thankfully, we eventually pulled into a long driveway that was much better tended. The thick trees lining both sides almost completely blocked the light from the moon overhead. The trail emerged into a wide clearing, revealing a rustic, two-story farmhouse waiting at the end of the path. The house looked like something out of a movie, looming ominously over the well-manicured lawn. The second story of the structure was completely dark, but there was light spilling through the thing drapes covering all of the downstairs windows Matthew drove toward the house while I glanced at the vast empty fields around us with a sense of foreboding. I wasn't sure if it was adolescent fear making the tiny hairs on my slender arms stand on end. Or if it was the honed instincts of a cop. All I knew for sure was the closer we got to the farmhouse, the less comfortable I became. The feeling didn't abate when Matthew pulled to a stop in front of the detached garage next to the house. He killed the engine, climbed out of the Ford, and walked around the front of the vehicle, waving at me to get out. I really didn't want to spend the rest of my life in the body of Sasha Dellinger. Even if I could get away from her mobster of a father, I didn't want to have to deal with periods and boys and growing up all over again. However, at that moment, I would have readily taken all of those rather than go inside that house. Matthew opened the gate of the little fence running around the perimeter of the yard. He was just stepping through when he realized I wasn't behind him. Turning back around, he ambled over to the passenger side of the SUV and gave me a quizzical look. I rolled the window down. "I'm not sure about this," I said to him, cutting my eyes over to the house. "I'm getting some, like, seriously bad vibes from this place." He glanced back at the house, then turned back to me. "It's okay, Jack. We're safe here." I shook my head. "Something's not right here. I can feel it." Matthew looked back at the house again, then turned to me. He leaned close, staring into my eyes. "Jack, I think your imagination is getting the best of you. I think you're worried, deep down, that Carol can't put you back in your body, and your subconscious is trying to do whatever it can to keep you from hearing that bad news." I gave his words, as absurd as they sounded, a moment's consideration. It was possibly, however unlikely, that he had a good point. I already knew my thought processes were far from their normal parameters. My foreboding could merely be Sasha's adolescent response to Jack's fear of losing himself forever. That still wouldn't explain why I was positive, despite having no shred of evidence or support, the Order of the Dawn had beaten us here. Behind Matthew, the front door of the house swung open, sending a shaft of light streaming forth to back-lit the individual hovering in the entrance way. The light wasn't enough to make out any concrete details of their appearance, save that it was an adult woman. "Well, are you two going to sit out there in the car all night?" a melodious, almost cheerful voice called to us. "Or come inside?" Matthew looked back at me, flashing a slightly forced smile. Then he turned around and began to trek toward the open door. I drew in a deep breath and, against every instinct I still possessed, climbed out and followed him.