RESIDENT EVIL PIERSHERRY

Chapter 3

SHERRY WATCHED WARILY as Piers, aka FBI Special Agent
Nivans, looked over at Officer Man-Boy.
"Thank you, Officer, I can take it from here," he said.
The police officer made a hasty retreat, leaving her alone in the hotel
room with Piers. His gaze was stone cold.
"This is quite a mess you've gotten yourself involved in."
Sherry straightened up. Three years had passed, and he still
managed to put her immediately on the defensive. "I wouldn't know. Thanks
to you, I have no clue what I'm involved in." She paused, hating being out of
the loop on whatever was going on. "What happened to the woman next
door?"
"She's dead."
Sherry nodded. The presence of CPD detectives had pretty much
given that away, but the confirmation of the woman's death shocked her
nevertheless. She suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to get out of that hotel
room. But she forced herself not to show any reaction in front of Piers.
"I'm sorry to hear that," she said simply.
He gestured to the chair in front of the desk. "Why don't you take a
seat? I need to ask you some questions."
"Do you intend to interrogate me, Agent Nivans?"
"Do you intend to be uncooperative, Ms. Birkin?"
She laughed hollowly. "Why? Are you going to get rough with me?"
His eyes remained steely and dark. Sherry swallowed and made a
mental note to be careful when taunting a man who carried a gun and
blamed her for nearly wrecking his career.
She remembered the day three years ago when they'd first met to
discuss the Martino case. She'd never worked with Piers before; at that point
she'd only been a prosecutor for a year and he had been working undercover
that entire time. She had been surprised--but eagerly so--when her boss assigned her the Martino investigation, one of the most high-profile cases in
the district. Rob Martin (aka Roberto Martino) was widely known by both the
Bureau and the U.S. attorney's office to be the head of one of the largest
crime syndicates in Chicago. The problem had always been getting enough
evidence to prove this.
Which is precisely where Special Agent Piers Nivans came in. Prior to
their meeting, Sherry learned from her boss that Piers had worked
undercover for two years to infiltrate Martino's organization, until the FBI had
been forced to pull him out when his cover was blown. Her boss had not told
her much about the extraction other than that Piers had been cornered in a
warehouse by ten of Martino's men, had fought his way out, and had been
shot in the process. She'd learned one other thing--by the time FBI backup
arrived, Piers had already managed to kill eight of Martino's men.
He made quite an impression on her the first time he and his partner
walked into her office. Sherry suspected nearly everyone who met Piers
Nivans had the same reaction: with predatory brown eyes, nearly black hair,
and dark facial scruff, he looked like the kind of guy that women--and
men--should avoid in dark alleys. He had a cast on his right forearm,
presumably an injury inflicted by Martino's men, and he wore a navy T-shirt
and jeans instead of the standard-issue suit and tie most agents were
expected to wear. From the look of him, she was not at all surprised the FBI
had chosen him for undercover work.
And three years later--as he stood across from her in that hotel room
that suddenly seemed far too small, with his eyes glittering with a
low-simmering anger, and, yes, even despite the standard-issue suit and tie
he wore this time--he looked not one bit less dangerous.
"I want to talk to a lawyer," Sherry said.
"You are a lawyer," he said. "And you're not considered a suspect, so
you're not entitled to one, anyway."
"What am I considered, then?"
"A person of interest."
This was bullshit. "Here's the deal: I'm tired and not in the mood to play
games. So if you don't start telling me what's going on, I'm walking,"
Sherry said.
Piers eyed her yoga sweats and Michigan T-shirt, looking unconcerned with her threats. Thank God she wasn't still hanging out in her underpants.
"You're not going anywhere." He pulled the chair out and gestured.
"Take a seat."
"Thanks, but no. I think I'll just stick with the plan where I walk out."
Before he could call her bluff, Sherry grabbed her purse and headed for
the door. The hell with her stuff, she'd get it later. "It was nice catching up
with you, Agent Nivans. I'm glad to see those three years in Nebraska didn't
make you any less of an asshole."
She threw open the door and nearly ran into a man standing in the
doorway. He wore a well-cut gray suit and tie, appeared younger than Piers,
and was African American.
He flashed Sherry a knock-out smile while precariously balancing
three Starbucks cups in his hands. "Thanks for getting the door. What'd I
miss?"
"I'm storming out. And I just called Agent Nivans an asshole."
"Sounds like good times. Coffee?" He held the Starbucks out to her.
"I'm Agent Wilkins."
Sherry threw a knowing glance over her shoulder. "Good cop, bad
cop? Is that the best you're capable of, Piers?"
He stalked across the room and stopped in the doorway, towering over
her. "You have no idea what I'm capable of," he said darkly.
As he reached over and took one of the coffee cups from Wilkins,
Sherry made a mental note to be careful when taunting a man who carried
a gun, blamed her for nearly wrecking his career, and who was over a head
taller than she was. She internally said a few profanities for her earlier
decision to put on gym shoes; she needed at least three-inch heels to face
off against Piers Nivans. Although that still would have only put her at his chin
level. Not to mention that she would've looked like a major Piersass wearing
Manolos and yoga pants.
Wilkins gestured with the coffee cups. "Do you two know each other?"
"Ms. Birkin and I almost had the pleasure of working on a case
together," Piers said.
"Almost? What does that mean?" Wilkins turned to Sherry with a
look of realization. "Wait a second--Sherry Birkin? I knew that name
sounded familiar. Of course, from the U.S. attorney's office." His light brown