RESIDENT EVIL PIERSHERRY

Chapter 28

SHERRY STOOD IN her closet, zipping her bridesmaid's dress into
a garment bag, when she noticed a figure hovering in the doorway.
"Were you just singing 'Bette Davis Eyes'?" Piers asked with a lazy
grin.
Sherry blushed, not having realized that's what she'd been doing.
Nice--a mind-blowing double orgasm and Piers literally had her singing.
"I might have been humming a little," she said nonchalantly.
He cocked his head. "I thought that was your song with Collin."
She laughed at this. "I don't have a 'song' with Collin. It's just a song I
like."
Piers appeared somewhat appeased by this. "Your Internet connection
is too slow."
Thank God--he was cranky about something. This Piers she could
handle. The Piers who cupped her face as he whispered the most romantic
and sexy things anyone had ever said to her as he made love to her on her
own staircase, on the other hand, was a force of a different nature.
"You mentioned that the other day," she said. "I've never had a
problem with my connection before. Are you trying to run some super-fast
secret agent program?"
"Yes. But it's slow even for that."
His teasing eyes made her stomach do a little flip. So this is what it's
like to fall in lov-- hold on--not going to go there yet, Sherry told herself.
She'd been dating Piers for all of--what--two days?
"I hope you're not looking to me for answers about this Internet thing,"
she told him. "If there's a problem, I turn the computer off and then on again.
If that doesn't fix it, I call Collin."
Piers folded his arms across his chest. "I think we need to talk about
this Collin dependency. Because there's a new sheriff in town."
"Hmm. That's a little alpha for my tastes," Sherry said with a
disapproving air.
She tried not to look totally turned on.
"I'm going to take a look upstairs at your computer," Piers said. "Maybe
one of your neighbors is tapping into your wireless signal. It's easy to do in
the city, with houses as close as they are. What's your password?"
"You won't need one. I leave the computer running and just let it go into
sleep mode whenever I'm not using it."
Piers threw her a look that said this was a big no-no. "I think I now know
why you're having Internet problems."
"What is it you're trying to do from your laptop, anyway?" Sherry
asked.
"Just a few things I want to have ready when Wilkins calls. I can log
onto the Bureau's network remotely--I want to take another look at
Lombard's cell phone records that we pulled a couple weeks ago. Plus I've
been thinking about setting up a trace on his phone, although I'll need one of
the tech guys to help me with that. Then we can track everywhere Lombard's
been--at least with his phone--over the last few days."
Sherry put the bridesmaid's dress back into its spot on the rack
behind the door. She glanced over her shoulder. "Without a warrant, that
sounds highly illegal."
"Legal, illegal, there are so many gray areas."
"I didn't hear that, Piers."
"Nothing to hear, counselor. I never said a word."
WHEN HE REACHED the third floor, Piers turned left and headed into
the office. Sherry's desk faced the window, overlooking her front yard and
the street below. Piers went over to the desk and took a seat. When he
moved the mouse, the computer sprang to life.
Possibly, he just needed to reboot the system since she'd left it running
for who knew how long. Still, he wanted to be sure. He checked to see how
many computers were linked to her router--as he'd said to her, maybe
someone was pilfering her wireless connection and that was slowing
everything down.
It took a second for the screen to open. What he saw threw him for a
loop.
That can't be right.
There were fifteen devices using Sherry's Internet connection. Piers was aware of two--his laptop and Sherry's desktop computer.
So what the hell were the other thirteen? It was possible that a
neighbor could be stealing her signal, maybe even a couple, but thirteen
neighbors using her Internet was extremely unlikely.
Then again, maybe it wasn't thirteen computers, but something else.
That was what Piers checked next. He pulled up the data stream for the first
device.
Strange.
It was transmitting an audio signal.
But Piers heard nothing. He turned up the volume on Sherry's
computer. Still nothing. He moved onto the next device--this one was also
transmitting an audio signal.
Again, nothing.
What the hell?
He quickly checked the other signals--all audio--and finally found
something being transmitted through the eighth one.
It was the sound of a woman singing softly. A smoky voice he
recognized well.
All the boys think she's a spy, she's got Bette Davis eyes.
Sherry. In her bedroom.
Piers could hear the sound of a drawer shutting, then a zipper, as she
continued unpacking her suitcase.
Son of a bitch.
He deliberately began drumming his fingers on the desk--making
enough noise for a test, but not too much--as he hurriedly checked the
remaining devices. He knew what he would eventually find. When he got to
the last audio signal, the sound of his fingers rapping against the wood
echoed through Sherry's computer, clear as day.
Piers would've sworn out loud if he could have.
The goddamn house was bugged.
His mind raced, dozens of thoughts all at once. The masked man . . .
Thursday afternoon . . . they had assumed he'd been waiting to attack
Sherry when she came home from work. Piers realized now that Mandy's
killer hadn't been in the house at four thirty in the afternoon to avoid police
surveillance; he'd been there because he was after something else entirely.He wanted to listen.
He wanted to know what Sherry knew.
Nowadays, microphones used for eavesdropping were smaller than
ever--less than the size of a button. And all one needed was a computer, a
wireless network, and the IP addresses of the monitoring devices. Not much
harder than setting up a nanny cam, particularly for someone who knew what
he was doing.
Piers pulled out his BlackBerry--luckily, now that they knew what the
guy was up to, they could turn things around. Assuming Mandy's killer was
actively monitoring the bugs, they could back-trace the link to the IP address
of the computer he was using to listen to them. And once they had that
information, they could pinpoint the location of that computer--and the killer.
Piers started to type a text message to Wilkins--obviously, he couldn't
call him or anyone else from the house with it being bugged. Then he
stopped, realizing it would be faster to simply take Sherry out to his car
and make the call from there. He'd have to slip her a note explaining the
situation, of course, because they couldn't say anything that would tip the
killer off--he could be listening to them right then.
Piers's stomach twisted into a knot.
The killer could be listening.
Assuming he'd been monitoring them, the killer would've heard every
word he and Sherry had said that evening. Fragments of their
conversations echoed through his head:
I'm pretty sure the guy who killed Mandy Robards was wearing a gun
the night he strangled her . . .
His name is Grant Lombard. He does private security for Senator
Hodges . . . He matches the physical description of the guy we're looking for
. . .
By any chance does Grant Lombard have an alibi for the night of
Mandy Robards's murder? . . .
Perhaps I need to ask him if he has an alibi for the time of your attack.
Then Piers recalled a separate conversation, an earlier one, and his
whole body went cold.
To disarm the alarm, you just enter the security code.
What's five-two-two-five?It spells "Piers" on the keypad. Should be easy enough to remember.
The killer knew the code to the alarm.
"Sherry," Piers whispered, his heart leaping into his throat. He'd left
her alone . . . he couldn't hear her right then . . . the second floor was too
quiet . . . Piers dropped his BlackBerry and reached for his shoulder
harness--
"Don't make a fucking move," commanded a low voice behind him.
The distinctive sound of the slide of a gun chambering a round echoed
through the room.
With his hand frozen at his harness, Piers looked over his shoulder. He
took in the man standing in the doorway, aiming a gun right at his head.
"Lombard," Piers growled.
"You almost had it there, Nivans. Almost," Lombard said. "Now take the
shoulder harness off. Slowly."
The first thing Piers noticed was that Lombard didn't have a silencer on
his gun. Which meant that Sherry was still alive downstairs. Lombard had
come after him first.
"I said take the shoulder harness off. Now," Lombard said quietly.
Piers read the look on Lombard's face and knew he wasn't bluffing. He
unhooked the harness and set it on the floor. He'd be no good to Sherry if
Lombard blew his brains all over the office wall right then and there.
"Kick it over here," Lombard said.
Piers complied. His eyes remained trained on the trigger of Lombard's
gun. One twitch and he'd be out of that chair. Dive to the floor, pull the desk
over, and use it as a shield. It wasn't the best plan, but it was something.
Then Lombard changed the game.
"Sherry Birkin," he called out loudly, his voice reverberating through
the top floor. "I have a gun pointed at your boyfriend's head. If you're not on
the landing in three seconds, I will kill him."
Piers forced himself to sound calm and controlled. "Get out of the
house now, Sherry. Let me handle this."
Lombard didn't so much as blink. "Three seconds, Sherry. One,
Two--"
"Don't."
The single, shaky word came from the landing a half a floor below flash of pain in his chest--he must have broken a few ribs. Fighting off a wave
of dizziness from the shock of the fall, he pushed away from Lombard, stood
up, and pointed the gun at him.
Piers caught his breath and wiped blood off his forehead with his
sleeve. One of the bullets had hit the wall so close to his head he'd been cut
by a flying piece of plaster.
"Almost had it there, Lombard," he panted. "Almost."
Piers heard footsteps above him. He looked up and saw Sherry
running down the stairs. Seeing him, she stopped on the landing between
the first and second floors and sank against the wall in relief. Piers realized
then that he and Lombard must've fallen through the stairwell right past her.
With a look of shock, Sherry peered up at the third floor, all thirty-five
feet up, then back at him. "My God, Piers."
She caught sight of Lombard through the moonlight and swallowed. He
lay on the floor before Piers with his right leg bent at a grotesque angle
beneath him. Breathing heavily, he clutched his right arm to his chest and
watched Piers warily.
With all the action, Piers had lost count of how many times Lombard
had fired at him. He popped out the clip of the gun to see if it was still loaded.
Three rounds left--more than enough. He slammed the clip back in.
He and Lombard had some unfinished business to discuss.
"Go upstairs to your bedroom, Sherry. Don't come out until I tell
you," Piers said.
She nodded. "Right. I'll call for backup and an ambulance."
"Don't call anyone. Just go upstairs."
Her eyes widened. "What are you going to do?"
"You don't need to know. You're an assistant U.S. attorney--you can't
be a part of this."
Lombard's eyes widened nervously.
Sherry hesitated on the landing, and for a moment Piers thought she
wasn't going to listen to him. "Okay," she finally said. She left, and a few
seconds later Piers heard the door to her bedroom shut.
He turned his attention to Lombard, who was sweating profusely as he
lay on the floor at his feet.
"When we were upstairs, you talked about the person who told you about Sherry's involvement in the Robards case. I want to know who it
was."
Lombard coughed, wheezing in pain. "Fuck you, Nivans."
"You might want to save that for later. I haven't even gotten started
yet."
"Fuck you anyway."
Piers squatted down at Lombard's side. "You've been listening to
Sherry and me this whole time," he said quietly.
Lombard tried to laugh, but it came out sounding hollow. "Almost every
word. Loved the part where you wouldn't fuck her after I shot her. You're as
weak as the rest, Nivans. All because of a woman."
Maybe Lombard saw him as weak because of Sherry, Piers thought.
But tonight she was his greatest strength.
"Since you've been listening, you know what she means to me. I would
kill anyone who harmed her," he said with cold simplicity. "Give me a name,
and I'll make an exception."
Lombard didn't say anything. But he didn't look so smug anymore,
either.
Piers brought the gun in closer. "You shot her. I watched as you took
this very gun and held it under her chin. Like this." He grabbed Lombard's
jaw and shoved the gun right under his chin. Lombard flinched, breathing
heavily through his nose.
Piers pushed the barrel harder, digging into Lombard's skin. "Give me
an excuse to pull this trigger. I want to do it so badly I can taste it."
"I want a deal," Lombard blurted out through clenched teeth.
Piers nodded. "I believe you actually mean that this time." He pressed
the gun to Lombard's forehead. "Here's the deal: tell me what I want to know,
and I won't have to tell the medical examiner that I shot you between the
eyes in self-defense."
Lombard swallowed hard. He said nothing at first, but Piers saw it in his
eyes.
Defeat.
Lombard sagged against the floor and finally gave Piers the answer
he'd been waiting for.
"Silas Briggs."
LESS THAN TEN minutes after Piers called for backup, the house was
teaming with people--some in uniforms, some not. He told the paramedics
what had happened to Lombard, then spoke briefly to both Wilkins and the
cops.
Piers stood side-by-side with Wilkins, watching as the paramedics
placed a neck brace onto a handcuffed Lombard and slid a backboard
underneath him. He glanced up at Sherry. She'd been sitting on the steps
of the landing ever since the cops and FBI had arrived. He sensed she hadn't
wanted to get too close to Lombard as he lay on the floor at the bottom of the
staircase. He hoped she wasn't trying to avoid him as well.
"I'd like a minute alone with Sherry," Piers said to Wilkins. "Could you
see to that?"
Wilkins nodded. "Of course. I'll make sure everyone stays down here."
Piers grabbed a blanket the paramedics had brought in, slipped past
Lombard on the stairs, and headed up. He knelt down and wrapped the
blanket around Sherry's shoulders. "Are you okay?"
She shook her head. "No."
Piers noticed she was trembling. He helped her to a standing position,
then led her up the stairs and into her bedroom. He closed the door behind
them, took her by the hand, and sat her down on the bed.
"Say something, Sherry. Anything."
She sounded distant when she answered. "When he called down from
upstairs, I was standing right here by this bed." She frowned. "I was trying to
decide what underwear I was going to wear to bed that night, wondering if
you liked black or red better." Her voice cracked. "Then this strange voice
shouted down that he had a gun pointed at your head and that you had three
seconds to live."
Piers knelt at the floor in front of her. "You did so great. Cutting off the
power was the smartest thing anyone could've done in that situation."
She wiped her eyes. "Right, I'm such a hero. You dove off a
thirty-five-foot staircase. I turned off a light switch."
"It . . . was a very key light switch."
She sniffed. Her nose was red and her mascara was smudged
underneath her eyes. Piers thought he had never seen anyone look so beautiful. When he thought about what could've happened . . . how close
he'd come to losing her . . .
"You're doing the serious face again." Sherry touched his cheek,
looking him over with concern. "Are you hurt? You have to be, after that fall."
"I might've broken a few ribs," Piers said.
"What? We need to get one of the paramedics to check you out. You
could have internal bleeding or something."
"It's fine. I'll have someone take a look later, when I'm finished with all
this."
She shook her head. "Not later, Piers. Now. You're not invincible, you
know."
"Shh . . . I've been trying to keep that under wraps for years."
That finally got a slight smile out of her. Piers got up and sat next to her
on the bed.
She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I didn't go into my room,
you know. I stayed in the upstairs hallway to listen."
"I figured as much."
Sherry turned her head to look at him. "Those things you said to
Lombard . . . were you bluffing?"
Piers thought about his response to this. He'd said a lot of things to
Lombard. But right or wrong, the man she'd heard down there was him.
"Does it matter?" he asked her.
She paused for a moment before shaking her head.
"No."