Resident Evil 6: together #Piersherry

Chapter 15

He'd spotted Sherry several houses down the street, the sight of her both pissing him off and causing a chemical reaction that had his blood heating by a few degrees.
It's called "lust," Nivans.
He'd watched her progress as she went door to door, enjoying the sway of her hips in her navy blue skirt, the bounceof her golden curls against her tailored jacket, the feminine shape of her legs. And he'd wondered what in the hell he was going to do with her.
She walked to the back of the house, saw the police tape, and stood there, staring at it. Then she ducked beneath it.
And then Piers knew.
Chapter 6
Piers made a call on his radio. Then he grabbed a pair of cuffs, slipped them into the pocket of his jacket, climbed out of his truck, and walked round to the back of the house. He knew the DA would drop the charges, but at least he could teach her a lesson.
She was at the bottom of the back stairs, peering through the door's little window, so preoccupied with her prying that she didn't hear him approach.
"Be damned glad the three bears aren't home, Goldilocks. You're under arrest."
She gasped, whirled about, looked up at him. Then her big, blue eyes narrowed. "You!"
He lifted the yellow tape, motioned for her to come up and out. "Crossing police lines is a municipal offense, but obstructing government operations is a felony."
"What government operations?" She climbed the stairs, her heels clicking on the concrete, then ducked under the tape.
"Hands behind your head. Fingers laced, feet apart. You know the drill."
"You can't be serious!" She stared up at him as if he'd gone insane.
"I've never been more serious." He rested his hand on the small of her back, propelled her away from the hazard of the stairs, the silky softness of her curls beneath his palm.
She knocked his hand away. "Don't touch me!"
"Assaulting a police officer, resisting arrest, failure to follow a lawful order." He looked at her over the top of his sunglasses, entertained by the look of astonishment on her face. "You're building quite the rap sheet, Ms. Birkin."
She gave a little feminine cry of rage, dropped her purse onto the ground, and assumed the position, fury on her pretty face. "Chief Irving is going to have your head!"
She was probably right. Still, he couldn't help but smile. Compared to the hardened killers he usually dealt with, this was going to be like arrestingBarbie. "I think he might demand to know why you were snooping around on a case he's asked you to drop."
"I don't answer to Chief Irving! You do!" She turned her head and glared at him. "Besides, I wasn't 'snooping around'! I thought the girl's family lived here. I wanted to offer my condolences."
"You should have sent flowers." He walked up close behind her to search her, saw her stiffen. She really didn't want him to touch her. Or did she?
He reached around to feel between her breasts with the edges of his hands. "You have the right to remain—"
The moment he touched her, she gasped and jerked her arms down to her sides, tottering on her heels and falling back against him.
Had an adult male done that in the middle of a bust, Piers would have assumed the suspect was gearing up for violence and would have subdued him. But Sherry wasn't the murderer-rapist he was used to frisking, and he found her skittishness both amusing and strangely appealing.
He steadied her, placed her back on her fancy feet. Then he grasped her wrists and forced them back to her head. "Easy, Sherry, I'm not going to molest you."
He worked quickly, his hands finding their way over her narrow rib cage and her gently rounded belly, down her slender waist and the flare of her hips, up the sleek length of her calves and thighs. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."
The words came automatically—and it was a good thing, because the thinking part of his brain had shut down. It didn't help that everywhere he touched her, she tensed—her shoulders, her belly, her thighs. As an agent, it was second nature for him to be aware of even the subtlest motions of those he took into custody; it was a skill that had kept him alive. But this was something different.
It was physical. It was chemical. It was damned distracting.
And it told him something he didn't necessarily want to know: Sherry Birkin might look cool and aloof, but inside she was fire.
Down, boy.
"You have the right to speak to an attorney and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense. Do you fully understand these rights as I have explained them to you?"
"Go to hell!" Her voice had lost some of its defiance.
"Use of fighting words." He took her wrists, bent her arms behind her back, and slipped the cuffs onto her wrists, leaving them looser than he wouldotherwise. "I hope you've got a good lawyer. A cozy stay at Club Fed is looking more likely by the minute."
A black-and-white slid up to the curb, its lights flashing.
Right on time.
"Maybe while I'm in booking I should file charges against you. How about kidnapping, false imprisonment, sexual assault, and false arrest for starters? That might make an interesting news brief, don't you think?"
He jerked her about to face him, leaned down close, and lowered his voice to the tone that frightened grown men with guns. "This isn't a game, Ms. Birkin. I know things about kidnapping and sexual assault that are beyond your worst nightmares. If I see my name in your paper, heads will roll, starting with yours."
Her eyes grew wide, and her breath caught, but her chin came up.
Piers felt an absurd impulse to kiss her.
He thrust the impulse aside, reached down, picked up her purse, and searched it, while Petersen escorted her to the cruiser. Wallet. Sunglasses. Lipstick. More lipstick. Nail file. Tampons. Keys. Half a dozen pencils. Loaded .22. Notepad. Digital camera.
He scrutinized the last two and saw she was looking into a gang angle—a fact that bothered him. He didn't like the idea of her on the streets tangling with gangbangers.
"Sorry to see you under these circumstances, Ms. Birkin," Petersen said, his hand on the top of her head to guide her inside the vehicle. "We'll get you down to the station and get you processed."
Piers placed her purse in the front seat. "She's got a loaded double-deuce in her purse, Petersen, though I'm not sure she knows how to use it. And be sure to book her on one count of falsifying information on a driver's license while you're at it."
"What?" she cried. "You're just making stuff up!"
He pulled off his shades, met her gaze, saw the outrage and disbelief in her eyes. "It says you weigh one-fifteen, but I know for a fact you're not a pound under one-twenty."
Her cheeks flushed crimson. "Oooh!"
• Barbie

• Cool games online
• Free online romance novels
Hungry and thirsty, Sherry sat in booking on a molded chair of orange plastic that was bolted to the floor—and which desperately needed to be scrubbed—her legs and feet bare and freezing. A few chairs down, a filthy man with a scraggly red beard and tangled blond hair sat in dirty jeans and an even dirtier plaid shirt, his gaze sliding over her body as if she were naked.