"Why? Did something happen?" He put his beer on the coffee table and leaned on his knees.

"No, nothing happened. Your job is just so stressful. I don't know what I'm doing and I'm scared to death someone's going to notice. Then what will I say?"

Alex shrugged. "The same thing I'll say if one of your co-workers ever finds out I'm doing crossword puzzles or playing computer games all day." He took a swig from the bottle, leaned back and studied the dark circles she sported under his eyes. "Don't waste time worrying about what might happen. Let's deal with what's going on right now." He took another long draw, and then set the bottle back down. "Did you get a chance to check out Sorenson's address?"

Cynthia produced a crumpled piece from her pocket. "I did. Here it is." She handed him a sc.r.a.p of paper.

"Hmm, Washington, DC. With his birth date and license number, we can probably find out what Mr. Sorenson did when he lived there. Good work."

He paced while he sucked on a cigarette. Smoke puffed from his lips much like steam billowing from an old-time engine. The walls were closing in on him, and he craved sunshine. Strange that outside he found comfort in the warming rays, yet inside he preferred darkness to match his thoughts and plotting. The need to avenge mankind bubbled like a cauldron deep within his breast. Before long, he'd have to kill again to sate his appet.i.te and rid the world of another conniving b.i.t.c.h. He ground out his cigarette in the ashtray, leaving a smoldering b.u.t.t behind. Maybe tomorrow he'd pursue another unsuspecting victim, but today he'd sample the menu and plot his entree. The dessert came naturally in the feeling of satisfaction once the deed was done.

He cupped his stubbly chin and grinned. The blonde upstairs looked more and more delicious every day.

Cynthia readied for work. As she tied her shoes, she thought about what Alex said about the super. If he truly was Peter Sorenson, how could they find out what he did in Washington, DC? Short of making a trip there, what would give them a hint? Maybe if she could get into his apartment she could find something Alex missed. After all, he hadn't had much time. She glanced at her watch. It was still early but although she looked like Alex, she lacked his knack for breaking and entering. There had to be another way.

The stack of envelopes Alex had left on the table gave her an idea. Mail! She could always check the super's trash.

Scouring the garbage wasn't something she relished, but if the idea helped, she was game. She grabbed her own trash bag as an excuse to visit the dumpster, then locked the door and headed downstairs.

On the first-floor landing, she came face-to-face with someone she didn't recognize. The man fit Alex's description of Thomas Carpenter, balding, pointed nose, pock-marked face. Cynthia stepped to the side. "Excuse me."

"No problem. Hey." He grabbed her arm. "We haven't met before, but I like knowing my neighbors. Name's Carpenter, Thomas Carpenter." He extended his hand.

Cynthia switched her garbage bag to her other hand and reluctantly shook his. Despite the clammy feel, she managed a smile. "Nice to meet you."

"So, which is your apartment?"

"Two...E. I live in 2E."

"How fortunate for you! You're only a couple of doors away from that luscious Cynthia Freitas. I'd sure like to be the lucky man who gets into her pants on a regular basis."

Cynthia's mouth gaped. Carpenter was just as disgusting as Alex had said. She took a step toward him, and, puffing out every inch of Alex's broad chest, she glared. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't refer to my fiancee like that."

"Oh." He gasped. "My mistake. Sorry." Beads of sweat peppered his balding head.

"Just don't let it happen again." Cynthia thoroughly enjoyed Alex's intimidating size.

Thomas Carpenter backed away. "Believe me, I won't be so offensive again. I was just taken by her good looks," he babbled. "I've always had a thing for blondes."

Reminiscent of a weasel, he slunk in the door and down the hall toward his own apartment.

"Like I would ever consider someone like him," she mumbled while tossing her trash. "I'd rather be celibate for the rest of my life."

She eyed the nasty metal container and considered changing her mind about dumpster-diving. The idea repulsed her more than she'd imagined.

Chapter Fifteen.

A pillow under her head, Cynthia sprawled out on the floor, while Alex stretched out on the sofa. With the TV volume set so low, she barely heard the newscaster's voice. Pictures of the still-missing victim, flashed across the screen. Cynthia released a loud breath. "G.o.d, I can't even get away from your case at home."

Alex grabbed the remote, turning up the volume just in time for her to hear that no new developments had been reported. He turned the sound back down and tossed the remote on the end table. "At least they didn't find any more bodies."

"Thank G.o.d." Cynthia shuddered. "I get the creeps looking at dead people, and Mike's already told me it's my turn at the next autopsy. I can't go. I just can't...I'll be sick."

"Then hope no one else dies." Alex turned to his side and ma.s.saged his brow. "I wish I could shake the feeling that Sorenson is somehow tied to all this. Then again, we may be jumping to the wrong conclusion entirely. What if he isn't Sorenson and he had someone else's receipt?"

"Oh, great! You have no idea how rea.s.suring it is to think that maybe the murderer lives right beneath me...or, given your latest train of thought, maybe not."

"We don't know if the murderer even lives in the vicinity yet. Calm down."

Bothered by his att.i.tude, she fixed him with a stare. "How can you be so pa.s.sive?"

"Worry never solved anything."

"You know, Alex, I've always heard people talk about taking life with a grain of salt. But you're the first person I've met who actually does."

"What would you like me to do? Yell and scream. When I get upset, you complain about that, too."

She ma.s.saged her brow. "I don't know what I want. I'm so confused and scared."

"At least you don't have to fret about becoming a victim. You're not his type right now."

"You always have an answer for everything."

The phone rang. Alex picked it up. "h.e.l.lo? Kevin? Kevin who?"

Cynthia grabbed the phone and covered the mouthpiece. "It's my brother, you idiot." She thrust the phone back at him and mouthed. "Just make small talk."

He made a face at her. "Hey, Kevin. I was just jokin' with you. Sorry to keep you waiting, but my neighbor was here, and I had to get rid of him. So, what's up? No, it's not serious. Yes, we've been out once or twice. No, he isn't..." Alex rolled his eyes at her. "What say we not talk about my love life...or lack thereof?"

Straining to hear what was being said, Cynthia sandwiched the phone between their heads.

"Oh, Sara can't come?" Alex looked at Cynthia and shrugged. "That's too bad."

"His girlfriend," Cynthia mouthed.

Alex switched ears. "Well, it's too bad Sara can't make the trip. So...do you need directions?"

Cynthia waved her hands back and forth frantically. "He's flying," she whispered. "We have to pick him up at the airport."

Alex cleared his throat. "Oh, that's right, you said you were flying. I forgot. Give me the information and I'll meet your plane."

Cynthia scanned the room for a piece of paper. Seeing none, she jumped up and grabbed a paper towel and pencil and shoved them in front of Alex. He jotted down arrival time and flight number. She took a deep breath when he finally hung up.

Alex put the phone in the cradle and leaned against the sofa back. "G.o.d, that was awkward."

She began to pace. "I can't believe I forgot he was coming. What in the world are we going to do?" s.n.a.t.c.hing the paper with the flight info from Alex's hand, she stared at it. She held her forehead to still the throbbing ache that blossomed. "Oh, my Lord, he'll be here this weekend. Think, Alex, think!"

He shook his head. "I'm all thought out. Between thinking and scanning the internet I've all but given up. Can't we just call him back and tell him you're sick or something?"

"Right! How convincing would that be?" She pretended to hold a phone to her ear. "Hi, Kevin, I just talked to you and I've suddenly come down with a terrible illness." She threw up her hands. "That's just brilliant! And...don't you dare give up. I refuse to believe this switch is anything more than a temporary stumbling block in my life!"

"Then you think of something," he snapped.

She ran her hand along the back of her neck and rotated her head from side-to-side. "Well, we've managed to coach each other about our jobs and the people we work with, so why can't I cram your head full of information about me and my family? Once Kevin is gone we can concentrate on fixing us."

"Just how much information do you think my head can hold?" Alex complained.

"You already know some of it. It's not like I've lived the life of a celebrity."

"Well, I guess we don't have any other choice. If your brother is coming, we'd better get to work. We only have a few days for you to bore...uh, teach me. Is he going to ask things like how much did you weigh when you were born and how long you were?"

"Oh, knock it off! Just don't have any lengthy conversations when I'm not around."

"Gee, I can hardly wait."

Alex sat cross-legged on the floor and endured having Cynthia drill him for answers. If they went through the basics of her life one more time, he considered diving out the window headfirst.

"Where was I born?"

"Ord, Nebraska."

"What's my mother's name?"

"Phyllis."

"What's my father's name?"

"M... M...Daddy! h.e.l.l, I don't know." Alex threw his head back in frustration.

"You're doing fine. Don't give up," she encouraged. "Daddy's name is Mitch.e.l.l."

"Mitch.e.l.l...I'm tired, Cyn!" he moaned.

"How long were they married?" She ignored him and continued.

"Twenty-five years." He threw out an obvious guess.

"G.o.d, Alex, I'm older than that. Think about it. In their generation people got married before they had children."

"Okay, thirty-five." He covered his face with both hands.

"Right."

"I've had it, Cynthia. No more," he said uncovering his face. "You've been after me for hours. I think I know everything I need to know, and if he asks me something I don't, I'll hit myself with a hammer and fake amnesia." His frustrated tone signaled the end of his rope.

"Okay...no more about me. How about you? I don't know anything other than you've been on the force for ten years and that you have no family. Other than that, you're pretty secretive. Would it be rude to ask how your parents died?"

Alex stiffened. "I guess since I know your life story, you may as well know mine." He pulled a pillow from the couch and with bent knees, lay on his back looking up at the ceiling. "My mother was murdered for the little bit of money she had in her purse. Whoever killed her must have followed her home, beaten and robbed her. And, my father...my father gave up on life when he lost her. The police never caught the felon, and I watched my dad go from a virile man to an empty sh.e.l.l in a matter of months. They say you can't die from a broken heart, but that's not true. He did."

Guilt niggled her for having dredged up his pain. "I'm so sorry, Alex. I didn't know...."

"It's okay. Don't worry about it. They died a long time ago, and I'm used to being the only Carlyle left. I lived with my grandparents until they died, and then I was really on my own, but I haven't done so badly. For every sc.u.m bag I lock up, I'm making amends to my mother for never catching the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who killed her."

Cynthia touched his arm. "I wish I could say something to make things better, but just remember, even in this twilight zone we're in, you're not alone...I'm here."

Sat.u.r.day morning, Cynthia nervously dressed to accompany Alex to pick up her brother. She had spent the past four days cramming every bit of information she could think of into Alex's brain. Now, not only was he familiar with her body, he knew everything there was to know about her. The fact that he was sick to death of her made no difference.

The picture of Kevin on the bureau in her apartment provided the image that Alex would look for when people de-planed. If they managed to pull this charade off, they could hopefully find a way to get back into their own bodies.

As she ran a comb through Alex's thick, dark hair, she practiced what she would say if they didn't. "Well, you see Kevin. It's like this...I'm not really who you think I am." A giant exhalation pa.s.sed her lips. "How in the world did this happen to me?" She looked at the ceiling. "You hate me, don't you, G.o.d? What did I ever do to deserve this?"

Finished dressing, she locked the door behind her and made her way down the hall. She'd never get used to knocking on her own apartment door. When Alex answered, she looked at him and gasped. "You're not wearing that!"

He had on her tackiest pair of jeans and an old, faded t-shirt. His eyes widened at her disapproval. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

"That's what I wear when I clean. But, of course, you wouldn't know anything about that...."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You forget, I'm living in your squalor...I mean apartment."

"Okay, okay! So, I'm not as clean as you are. But I still don't see why what I have on isn't okay."

Cynthia's shoulders sagged and she sighed. "I guess I can't expect a man to understand."

"Understand what? Explain it to me." He lowered his gaze and exhaled. "I can't believe I asked you to do that," he mumbled.

"I heard that, but I'm going to tell you anyway. When I go out into public, I like to put my best foot forward."

"Yeah, and I'll bet it has on an uncomfortable shoe."

She crossed her arms. "Do you want to joke around or be serious?"

"Serious!"