The Displaced Detective - Part 4

by Limbo's Mistress

Matthew’s announcement that all of the problems, mental and emotional, I’d been experiencing were due to being stuck in the body of a hormonal, teenaged girl was more sobering than a cold shower and an adrenaline injection. I found myself unable to present an opposing theory, because I had none that made more sense.

I might look like I was ready to lead the pep squad, but I was still a seasoned detective. Arguing against the facts would be completely non-productive. So, I closed my mouth, and turn my face to the window as I watched the scenery go by outside. As the two of us fled from the city which had been my home and employer for almost twenty years.

By the time the first tendrils of the sun began peeking over the horizon, we were rolling through the rural countryside. The light traffic we’d encountered during the first part of our escape slowly increased to a more normal number as people joined us on the road on their way to work.

Or school.

The thought made a small ache form in my chest. If not for an unfortunate turn of events, Sasha Dellinger would either be getting herself ready for school or already on her way. Now, though, she was dead and her once-bright future over.

A few of our fellow travelers gave the shiny black Hummer an appreciative glance as it passed by them. The darkened tint of the windows, however, kept the identity of the occupants hidden from prying eyes. None of the other drivers could see the redheaded girl staring out the passenger window with a sad, forlorn look on her pretty face.

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. More than enough time for me to observe the pandemonium taking place inside the vehicle. The woman's mouth opened and closed, voicing screams I could see but not hear. The kids seated behind her seemed completely oblivious to her angry tirade. They continued to laugh and throw things at each other with reckless, disorderly abandon.

My thoughts then turned to the other mother, the one who blew past me outside the coffee shop back when I was still Detective Jack Rollins with a life that was my own. Through careful retrospection, I remembered that, despite seeming to be in a hurried rush, she hadn’t possessed the same, worn-out expression as the woman in the van. Maybe it was because she had only a single child to contend with. Or maybe her offspring was more agreeable and less a ball of organized chaos.

Regardless, the thing that struck me the hardest was the knowledge that I could very well end up like either one of those women.

Back in my younger, less cynical days, I’d often fantasized what it would be like to have a wife and a family. In those idle thoughts, my son would grow up as a dependable, strong young man. Someone who protected those smaller than himself and always did the right thing. My daughter would be Daddy’s Girl. No less honorable than her brother, of course, but with enough charm and grace to convince me to overlook her minor transgressions.

However, as the years rolled by, I never met that one woman with whom I felt a permanent connection. Someone who could make those dreams a reality. One thing, though, which had never reared its head in my fantasies was the aspect of how I would handle motherhood.

Matthew, apparently tired of uncomfortable silence after almost three hours, 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 not looking for road tunes, Jack,” he said, sounding annoyed. “I'm trying to find out if our situation has followed us out of the city."

I shrugged. "I would be more surprised if it hasn't. Dellinger's influence is probably pretty 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 let out a rather loud and dejected sigh. Once it was out of my mouth I clenched my hands into fists, digging the adorable pink nails into the tender skin as I began to mentally chastise myself for not being more vigilant. Yes, I accepted that some of Sasha’s personality was going to bleed through, despite my best efforts. But that didn’t mean that I had to just sit back and let them happen. I’d been a fighter all my life. First in the orphanage, where I’d been one of the smallest. From there it had been the military, with a double rotation of deployment. Then the police force, and my dogged pursuit of justice.

I could beat this body’s influence. I just knew I could.

Drawing in a deep breath, I closed my eyes and relaxed, waiting until my flash of unbridled anger passed and I could make myself speak the calmness of authority and experience.

"We both agreed that these hasty disguises might work at keeping the average citizen from immediately recognizing us, but any law officer worth his badge will insist on taking a closer look if we come anywhere close to matching the official descriptions. The most basic of which are, a Caucasian man and a Caucasian teenage girl travelling together. Simply cutting and dyeing our hair isn’t going to fool anyone.”

Matthew nodded his head, then turned to look at me with a slightly amused expression.

“Well then, I guess we should probably do our best to avoid any attention from law enforcement.”

I snorted, rolling my eyes again. "No duh, genius." Then I returned to staring out the window.

Talking with Matthew, especially when he kept using my voice and my mannerisms, was like having an unreachable itch just beneath 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 brief discussion, and the rest of the cars that passed us were totally uninteresting. I’d actually started to nod off from boredom when I sensed, rather than witnessed, Matthew’s body suddenly go tense. I blinked away my sluggish thoughts and realized that there was the logo-emblazoned vehicle belonging to the state police riding alongside us.

I nearly ducked beneath the window before I remembered that I was practically invisible from the outside. I held my breath and looked over to see that Matthew’s eyes were constantly jumping from the road in front of us to the speedometer on the dashboard. The knuckles of his hands were nearly white on the wheel.

A couple of seconds later, the siren on top of the police vehicle flared to life, the lights began to flash, and the car zoomed forward to exit the highway at the first available ramp.

It wasn't until he was out of sight that I realized that every muscle in my petite body had become as tightly wound as a guitar string. I let out the breath I’d been holding and slumped back in the seat. When I glanced over at Matthew, he looked like he had just nearly crapped his pants.

“I think I need to pee,” I said, the tension draining out of me sending ripples into my small bladder.

Matthew nodded. “I think I did pee a little.”

When he looked over at me, I couldn’t help but start to giggle with teenaged gallows humor.

“That’s, like, totally not funny,” I saw between chuckles.

The radio was a bust. Other than the brief recap of the "crime" and the announcement that a state-wide search for us was ongoing, the was nothing of value to us reported. I’d at least hoped that the reporter would drop some hint about our suspected whereabouts. Just so we could be sure we weren’t running into a dragnet.

I wondered if anyone had checked out Thomas’ house yet. We had gotten lucky to be able to use it to hole up and make a plan. Not to mention acquiring the transportation we currently enjoyed. However, I didn’t harbor any illusions that our temporary stopping place would remain secret forever. Especially if this seemingly powerful Order had the resources at their disposal that Matthew hinted.

A cross referencing search of my past would bring up Thomas’ name as one of the few surviving members of my unit. When the files revealed that we both lived in the same city, it was a fair bet they’d be knocking down the door in less than a half hour. The minute they saw my sedan in the garage, information about the missing Hummer would be broadcast up and down the chain of law enforcement.

Matthew informed me that he’d stolen some plates from a car parked on a street near the convenience store where he’d purchased the hair dye. While I napped, he had used them to replace the ones registered to the SUV. It was a pretty good idea, but black Hum-Vees 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 as the morning rush traffic thinned and waned. The levity the scare had brought to the inside of the vehicle faded as well. Matthew tried to initiate a conversation once or twice, but each time, I shot him a look, worthy of the girl I appeared, to convey just how much I was not in a talking mood. Likewise, each time he turned on the radio and to put on some music, I reached over to turn it back off.

My thoughts turned to the fate of 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 by strong hands, being stabbed with a syringe while another her stands on the curb watching.

Was the Order merciful when they realized they had the wrong person and ended her life? Did they sedate her before killing her? Or did they torture her for information on her identity and then put a bullet in her head?

Did she cry for her daddy to come and save her?

After twenty years of working grizzly crime scenes, I could easily think of a dozen horrible ways her young life could have been snuffed.

The swaying of the silent vehicle began to lull me back to sleep. More than once, I caught myself drifting off and responded with a startled jump that set my heart to racing for a few moments. I tried to remain more alert, occasionally pinching my thigh really hard whenever I noticed my eyes were drooping. The pain managed to push away the siren call of slumber. At least temporarily.

By late morning, I began to feel another call tugging at me. This one from nature. I tried to dismiss the increasingly growing urge, pressing my knees together tightly as I thought about anything and everything except liquids.

After I’d been fighting against the need for nearly twenty minutes, I relented. If we didn’t pull over someplace soon, I was going to have a very mortifying accident.

Matthew seemed oblivious to my constant shifting, focusing on the road. I sighed loudly to get his attention, already feeling my cheeks starting to warm.

“How are we doing on gas?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

He looked down at the gauges. “We have a little over a quarter of a tank. Probably need to stop sometime soon and fill up.”

I nodded silently, but then we hit a little uneven bump in the road which jarred my aching bladder and made me grit my teeth to keep from breaking the seal. I pressed my knees even tighter and stared straight ahead at the oncoming sign that indicated a fuel vendor and several restaurants were just ahead of us.

“"Do you think we, uh ... could stop up there?” I asked, swallowing the lump of pride caught in my throat. “Please?”

I shouldn’t have been embarrassed by the request. After all, the need was a matter of biology. Everyone experienced it. However, that knowledge didn’t stop my voice from sounding distraught or my face from feeling like it was under a heating lamp.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Matthew’s face turn to me. Then his gaze went down to my legs and the way they were positioned.

“Yeah,” he said as he changed lanes to put us in the lane that departed the highway. “Probably a good idea to go ahead and get some fuel while we’re here.”

Matthew drove the Hummer up the exit ramp to the stoplight at the top. From the intersection, I could see three large gas stations, five fast food joints, and a boarded up car wash.

"We should probably get something to eat as well,” he said, looking over at me. "I haven’t had anything since raiding the hospital vending machine yesterday. And you’re probably starving.”

I shook my head and opened my mouth to say that all I needed was a bathroom. However, at the mere thought of food, my belly growled as if it contained an unruly litter of wild dogs. Apparently the idea of eating something, anything, appealed to my traitor of a stomach. I quickly moved one hand down to try and stifle the noisy rumble, and the heat in my cheeks intensified.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said with that damnable smirk of mine.

When the light turned green, he made a left and pulled into a gas station that sat next to one of the nicer of the restaurants. Instead of stopping next to the pumps, he 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, now can I?" 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 car and into the closest restroom. I could feel the pressure approaching the breaking point.

Jesus, how small a bladder did this girl have?

"No," I snapped. "No preference. Call me 'Jackie', if you want. Or ‘Jane’. Or 'the Queen of fucking France'. Now, let go of my arm before I lean over and punch you right in the dick."

He released me as if I’d suddenly burst into flame and shook his head.

“Fine, Jackie,” he said in a pissy tone. “Go!”

Finally free, I scrambled out of the big SUV, darted across the parking lot, and rushed

into the restaurant. Praying to whatever gods or goddesses who might be listening that I would be able to hold out another thirty seconds.

The few workers I could see standing behind the serving counter gave me a strange look as I burst through the door like a maniac. I whipped my head back and forth, looking for the signage to indicate the location of my salvation. I spotted the universal logos at the end of a narrow tile hallway on my left, and bolted in their direction.

I had the first door halfway open before I remembered that I now had the wrong equipment to use that particular room. Spinning around in a quick about-face, I hopped across the hall to the one that wouldn’t get me kicked out of the place and went inside.

Thankfully, spacious room was completely 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, you dummy."

I turned and crossed the room, pushing open the door of one of the stalls. For a second, I paused to admire how clean the toilet seemed to be. 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 to actually sit down and do business.

Closing the door behind me, I hung my jacket on the door hook, 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 on my exposed legs.

Despite the overwhelming pressure in my bladder, I worried that I didn’t know how to perform this operation with my new bits. 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 completely different for girls, right?

Turned out, not so much.

Biology took over automatically, and I only had to relax the muscles I’d been tensing for the past several miles. 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 an over-filled 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 how to do it, rather than any leftover bit of Sasha.

I got re-dressed and washed my hands, nose crinkling at the overpowering antiseptic smell of the soap in the dispenser. Karen’s body wash had smelled of lilac. This smelled of industrial strength germ killer.

Matthew was waiting for me at the counter, perusing the menu with his hands clasped behind his back. When I stepped up next to him, I cut my eyes over to the Hummer.

“I thought we would just go through the drive-thru,” I murmured softly.

He looked down at me and shrugged. “I needed to use the facilities as well. However if it makes you feel better, we can get our food to go.”

I stared up at him, wondering if he was no longer capable of thinking critically.

“That’s not necessary,” I said in a totally sarcastic tone. “We can sit in one of the booths, enjoy our meal, have some conversation, and hope it’s the police who catch us first and not your buddies from the Order.”

Matthew glared down at me, obviously not a fan of my humor. I, however, couldn’t resist cracking a smile.

When it came time for us to order, I requested a bacon and egg white sandwich with hash browns and an orange juice. Matthew ordered two sausage biscuits, two orders 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 pretty good care of it most of my life."

The woman turned glanced back over her shoulder at us for a second, her eyes lingering on the two of us a little longer than I liked. Then she put the Styrofoam cups on the counter and went about getting together the rest of our order.

We took our food out in one large paper bag and walked back to Hummer. Once inside, away from curious eyes, I relaxed a bit and began to eat.

Matthew devoured every bit of his before I could get halfway done with my biscuit. When I managed to finally finish, I felt like a slightly sea-sick beached whale.

"Stupid tiny girl stomach," I grumbled.

He wiped his mouth with a napkin and grinned at me. "Think of how much you could save in groceries."

I narrowed my eyes at him, not appreciating the suggestion that I should count any blessings related to remaining trapped in my current form.

“I really hope this friend of yours knows more about our situation than you do. As much as it would decrease my food and alcohol expenses, I fear that any financial gains would be undone by the costs of jewelry, makeup, and clothes.”

Matthew nodded, still grinning. “Not to mention feminine hygiene products."

I nearly choked on my juice. It took me a few seconds of coughing before I could get enough air to respond to his jab.

“Fuck you, jerk. I am really not planning on being in here when that shit starts.”

He looked at me for a second, then dropped his humorous expression for one of sincerity.

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen, Jack. To you, to me, to Sasha. All I wanted to do was live a long, quiet life for a while. I had planned on staying Matthew for a couple of decades. If the Order hadn't come after me, our paths would never have crossed." He shrugged. "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."

Matthew gathered all of our trash and shoved it into the bag. I took it from him and climbed out of the Hummer while he started the engine and pulled around to one of the pumps. He walked over to me, his hand digging into his pocket.

“I’ll have to go in and pay in advance,” he said, pulling out a small wad of bills.

I put out my hand. “I’ll do it,” I said.

He studied me for a second, then handed the cash to me.

“Pump Ten,” he said, turning back around. “Get fifty dollars’ worth.”

I went into the store, nodding at the middle-aged man behind the counter who looked like he had been working the past two days straight without a break. Keeping the bills in a deathlike grip in my hand, I got in line behind a woman trying to buy a six-pack of beer and wrangle a four-year-old simultaneously.

She kept one hand wrapped around the little boy’s wrist while she fished around in her pocket with the other. The kid, a bit of dried snot clinging to the underside of his nose, kept complaining about wanting to watch Bubble Guppies.

I did my best to remain patient, fighting against the Sasha-born urge to begin tapping my foot.

After what seemed to be an incredibly long time, the woman finally retrieved enough money to pay for her booze and dragged her screaming child out of the store. However, she did take enough time to look back at me, and sneer with envy. At my youth and childlessness, I supposed.

I told the clerk to ring up fifty dollars on ten and handed him two twenties and a ten. His eyes widened a bit at the remaining amount of cash in my small hand. I quickly shoved the wad into my front pocket and looked away from his curious gaze.

Turning around, I made haste for the exit, nearly colliding with a girl a couple of years older than Sasha.

She was blonde, several shades lighter than I used to be, with lightly tanned skin and bright blue eyes. She was wearing a pair of black yoga pants and a green tank top that revealed to anyone with working eyes the fact that puberty had been more than generous to her. It was the kind of body that was built for turning heads and causing problems.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, bringing my gaze from her form to her face.

She glared at me, fury flashing in her eyes. “Watch where you’re walking, bitch.”

I blinked, instantly wondering why someone so pretty would be so hateful to someone for accidentally bumping into them. I returned her hard stare, gritting my teeth.

“What?” She said, taking a step closer. “You want to say something?”

I debated teaching her a lesson. Despite every cop instinct in me screaming that I was drawing attention, the pressures and trials of recent had my patience worn down to razor-thinness. Despite being younger and smaller, I knew six places where I could strike her with minimum force and leave her lying on the dirty floor gasping for air.

“No,” I finally said after a few seconds, turning my eyes away from hers.

“Good.”

I balled my hands up and stomped out of the store.

When I got back to the Hummer, I climbed inside and slammed the door closed behind me.

I wasn’t sure who I was madder with. The blonde, for action like a complete and total stuck-up bitch. Or myself, for rising to the challenge and behaving more like a spoiled mafia princess than a professional police officer.

The Hummer’s engine was off, so I rolled down the window to get some fresh air. Leaning my head on the frame, I swung my gaze across to a pick-up truck parked at the next island over. It was one of the newer models, with glossy royal blue paint, shiny chrome bumpers, and oversized tires.

Standing beside the vehicle was a boy about the same age as the tramp I’d collided with. He had the build of a natural athlete, and wore a pair of faded jeans and a black form-fitting tee. His shaggy brown hair was slightly messy and hung down into his face. One hand came up and pushed the bangs out of the way, revealing a pair of soft brown eyes that looked like pools of rich caramel.

Our gazes met, and the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile that set my heart to racing.

I continued to stare, unable to stop gliding my eyes down his body in a slow examination of appraisal. The muscular arms poking out of the sleeves of the tee were more than large enough to wrap around someone as petite as me, and the curve of his chest beneath the taut cotton covering screamed manliness. I bet he could have picked me up as easily as he could a doll. When he turned slightly to the side so he could check the status of the pump, I found my attention drawn to the way his butt looked in profile in the tight jeans.

My pulse quickened as new thoughts sprung immediately into my brain. How wonderful would it feel to be held by those strong 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 painted a startling vivid picture of the hot way his breath would tickle my neck as he whispered sweet words between bouts of nibbling on my neck.

The sound of pump shutting off rattled the Hummer, pulling me from my erotic daydream. I sat up with alarm, looking around as the sensual images resisted my attempts to banish them. A dazed and confused awareness surrounded me, 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 imagined out of my brain if I tried hard enough. Like I could convince myself that it hadn’t actually happened. However, there was no denying the way my heartrate remained elevated and there was a painful hardness in the nipples beneath my sweater.

I figured looking back at the boy might be an unwise decision, so I turned my attention to the front of the store as I attempted to splash some metaphorical cold water on my rampaging libido.

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. The tired-looking clerk stood beside her, also on the phone. His motions were less animated than the bimbo’s, but he kept repeatedly looking over at me.

Not me. The Hummer.

My heated arousal went out like a candle in a hurricane as I watched the girl turn to look at the street corner, leaning slightly to the side so that she could get a clear line of sight at the signs dangling over the intersection.

She wasn’t gossiping with one of her girlfriends about the redheaded brat who’d bumped into her. And even if she were, it wouldn’t help explain what the shopkeeper was doing. No, every fiber of cop in me told me they were both talking to someone official.

About us.

“Oh shit,” I breathed as I scrambled over to the driver’s side of the Hummer and threw open the door. Leaning out, I looked at Matthew as he was engaged with putting the gas cap back on.

“We've got to get the hell out of here." I said, pointing at the pair of phone users. “We’ve been spotted!”

Matthew looked to where I pointed, his eyes widening. He snapped the lid of the tank closed and practically leapt into the driver’s seat. I barely had time to put on my seatbelt when he fired up the engine and dropped the Hummer into gear as he stomped on the pedal.

The SUV took off like a rocket, zooming across the parking lot in the most direct route

to the highway 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 repeatedly.

“How?” he asked, not daring to look over at me.

“It was me,” I said, banging the heel of my hand against my forehead. “I was careless and drew attention to myself. I’m sorry.”

"How much of a head start do you think we have?"

I tried to calculate the answer to his inquiry. The problem was that I didn’t know how long the two of them had been on the phone before I spotted them. I’d been too busy salivating at the prospect of a little alone time with the truck-driving stud.

Fucking teenage hormones.

“I don’t know. Maybe five to ten minutes before anyone arrives at the store, depending on if there are any units in the area.” I shook my head, looking over at him. “The fact that we don’t completely match our descriptions might buy us another minute or two. Not long enough to get away.”

He narrowed his eyes at the windshield.

“Well, if we can’t run, then we’ll have to hide.”

I glanced over to see what he was talking about.

The sign that went zooming past us informed motorists that the next exit led to a museum, a park, and a mall.

“The mall?” I asked, realizing that just saying it made me sound like a clueless teen. Then I smiled. “You want to hide in the parking lot?”

He nodded. “If they have one of those multi-story decks, it would be even better.”

I shook my head, momentarily proud of him. He’d reacted with calm under fire, and been insightful enough to deduce a logistically sound plan that increased our odds of getting away. However, my moment of delight quickly faded as I realized that those were my traits. My skills. His inhabiting my body had provided him with access to the quick witted thinking that had served me well throughout my life.

A flash of fury rose up in me. Thanks to the swap, Matthew had acquired my professional abilities and I, well, I had acquired a ridiculous fashion sense and a penchant for having cute boys make my motor run.

We couldn’t Hop back fast enough.

Our luck held out, though, and Matthew pulled the SUV into the entrance of a large parking deck attached to one side of the mall’s exterior. The structure was three stories tall and filled with rows upon rows of cars. We ascended to the second level and stopped 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.

Still annoyed that he’d thought of something I should have, I rolled my eyes.

“Duh. If we wait here, we risk giving them time to set up a roadblock and begin canvassing the area. Eventually, they’ll look here.”

“Good point,” he said, opening his door.

We climbed out of the Hummer and stood next to the van.

“We need to wait and boost the car of someone who just got here,” I said, forcing myself to remain in detective mode. “If it’s reported stolen too soon, the cops will add it to a list of suspect vehicles.”

“Which means we’ll have to steal another once we’re further down the road.”

I nodded. “Yep.” Then I sighed, leaning my head back against the side of the van. “Twenty years of upholding the law and only one day to commit multiple felonies.” I looked up at him. “I really don’t want to go reform school as a girl.”

Matthew couldn’t suppress his grin. “You’ll go back to a life as a spoiled princess. Probably even more so due to the trauma of being kidnapped. I’m the one who will go to prison.”

“Not if the Order gets to you first,” I said, instantly regretting it.

He looked at me and frowned, nodding his head.

“If they do, Jack, chances are they will come after Sasha as well.” His voice dripped with serious concern. “They can’t afford to leave loose ends.”

“What about Sasha’s father? Crossing him wouldn’t be smart.”

“Any loose ends.”