RESIDENT EVIL PIERSHERRY

Chapter 18

THE STREET OUTSIDE Sherry's house was pure mayhem. There
were squad cars, unmarked police and FBI cars, an ambulance, and cops
and agents everywhere. Wilkins had arrived shortly after the paramedics
with several FBI teams. Quickly thereafter, Detective Slonsky had shown up
at the scene with his own men.
The paramedic who had bandaged Sherry's shoulder led her to the
ambulance parked against the curb. The back doors were open and Collin
sat inside, facing out toward the street. A second paramedic checked his
eyes, looking for signs of a concussion.
The instant he spotted Sherry, Collin pushed the paramedic aside
and vaulted out of the ambulance.
"Oh, thank God." He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. "They
wouldn't let me see you--they said they were keeping you isolated until they
were certain the guy was no longer in the area."
"Slonsky said the cops lost him in the alley."
Collin pulled back. His eyes fell on her bloody shirt. "When I heard
you'd been shot, I nearly lost it."
"I'm okay," Sherry reassured him. "The paramedic said I might need
a couple of stitches, but I was lucky. The bullet just grazed the top of my
shoulder." She reached up and brushed Collin's hair aside, being careful to
avoid the ugly bruise on his head. "How about you? How does your head
feel?"
Collin touched the bump. "Terrible. But my pride hurts far worse. I'm so
sorry, Cam. When I think about what could've happened . . . I should've
protected you better."
She took his hands and squeezed them. "It turned out okay."
"Luckily the cavalry came when it did," Collin said.
Sherry doubted she'd ever be able to forget the sight of Piers
bursting through the glass doors to rescue her. When they'd been on the
rooftop deck, right before the paramedics had arrived, she'd noticed a cut
above his cheekbone. And when he'd stood up to let the paramedics take
over, she'd seen several more cuts on his hands. Visible reminders of the
danger he'd put himself in. For her.
Detective Slonsky stood by one of the cop cars, talking to Officers
Harper and Regan. When he saw Sherry standing by the ambulance, he
headed over.
"We're finishing our check of the house now," he told her. "My guys will
follow you over to the hospital and get your statement there."
"Like hell they will."
At the sound of Piers's voice, Sherry looked over and saw him cut
through the front gate, followed by Wilkins. Piers strode over to Regan and
Harper. "Which one of you checked her bedroom?"
Harper straightened up, as if bracing himself for the worst. "I did."
"Did you go inside her closet?"
"I took a look in there, yes."
Piers waited, the anger visible on his face.
"But, no . . . I didn't actually go inside the closet," Harper admitted.
Slonsky walked over. "What'd you guys find?" he asked Wilkins and
Piers.
"Some of the dresses had been knocked off the rack behind the door,"
Wilkins answered.
"And there were two shoe imprints in the carpet. About a men's size
eleven, I'd guess," Piers said. "Your men are off this case, Slonsky. And don't
even think about giving me any crap about jurisdiction."
His eyes dared anyone to challenge him on this.
SHERRY SANK AGAINST the ambulance, needing a moment.
Collin's hand touched hers. "You okay?"
She nodded. "Just thinking." And trying not to throw up.
The killer had been hiding in her bedroom closet.
Oddly, more than anything else that had happened that afternoon, that
left her feeling violated. And the thing she kept coming back to was this:
she'd left work unexpectedly early that afternoon. She wasn't supposed to have been home at that time.
The cops and FBI had examined the doors and windows of her house
and found no visible signs of his entry, which meant the killer knew how to
pick a lock without leaving evidence behind. During the entire attack, he'd
been terrifyingly cold and in control and had never spoken once. Bottom line:
he was not an amateur. He knew what he was doing.
But Sherry would've thought that a professional would break into her
house at night. Four in the afternoon was a much riskier time--people walked
their dogs, picked up their kids from school, and started to come home from
work.
Which meant the killer knew that she was being watched. He was
aware that his only opportunity to get inside the house was while she was at
work. Once she returned home, she was under constant police surveillance.
Sherry thought back to the moment she'd first seen the man coming
down the stairs for her. The creepy black mask and gloves, the gun he'd
pressed against her temple and under her chin. The sound of the gun going
off. She'd have nightmares for weeks, of that she had no doubt. And now the
thought that he had been watching her, that he knew her daily routine . . .
well, she liked to think she was a strong woman, but this was almost too
much.
Almost, she emphasized to herself. She might have nightmares for
weeks, but she would not let this asshole, whoever the hell he was, turn her
into a helpless wreck. And if he did, well, she would just have to find a way
not to show it.
After finishing what looked like a pretty heated discussion with
Slonsky, Piers approached her. "I'm going to ride with you in the ambulance.
Wilkins will follow in his car. We'll get statements from you both at the
hospital."
"At least mine will be short, seeing how I slept on the floor through the
whole thing. How clever and brave of me," Collin said, his voice tinged with
disgust. He climbed into the ambulance.
"I spoke to Davis," Piers said to Sherry. "After we're finished at the
hospital, he wants to see you, me, and Wilkins in his office." His gaze fell to
her shoulder. "I heard you might need stitches."
He looked so serious right then.
"Oh no--not again," Sherry said. "If you keep up this whole nice routine, there's a good chance I'll lose it right here. And personally, I was
hoping to postpone all freak-outs over the attack until later, in the privacy of my own home."
Piers studied her for a moment. "You are something else, Sherry Birkin."
He held out his hand to help her into the ambulance.