Resident Evil 6: together #Piersherry

Chapter 17

"Don't pretend you're not attracted to her, Nivans. I've worked with men my entire life. I can smell it when a cop gets a hard-on for a woman involved in one of his cases."
Piers hid his surprise. "Okay, I won't deny she's attractive." An understatement. "But / didn't just let her walk out of here without so much as a citation. She's interfering with my investigation, and I can't let her do that. There's too much at stake—including her life!"
"All true." Irving nodded. "But we poor city cops can't throw our weight around and bend the rules like you federal boys do, and I can't have you compromising my department's relationship with the media."
Feeling pissed off now, Piers stood. "What would you have had me do? Sit there while she scared off potential suspects?"
"I'm not sure what I would have done, but it's pretty clear that her stumbling over the crime scene was an accident. She was looking for information on gangs and got lucky."
"Yeah, lucky. How lucky would she have been had they come home?"
'They're not coming back, and we both know it. But I get your point, and so does she."
"What did you tell her?"
"Only that she'd be floating in the Platte River tonight if the occupant of the apartment had found her instead of you."
"That's why she was upset?"
Irving nodded. "And the fact that she's still traumatized by the shooting—can't sleep, has nightmares, keeps remembering the girl's last words. Survivor guilt."
Piers knew all about survivor guilt.
"I told her I'd make this up to her by having one of my men offer her some practice using that twenty-two of hers after work on Tuesday. That's you, Nivans."
Piers sat, gave a snort. "No way! Sorry, Chief, but I've got more important things to do than teach—"
"You'll do it, because I'm asking you to do it. I've done more than a few favors for you these past months—letting you call the shots, keeping my own men in the dark, concealing certain activities from your real boss. How much longer do you think I can sit on the murdered girl's autopsy report or deflect attention off Zoryo's arrest and suicide?"
Irving had him by the balls.
"Okay, I'll do it—once. But Sherry Birkin  is not my responsibility. I have a job to do, and it doesn't include babysitting a reporter."
"Keep her alive, Nivans. Howyou work out the conflict is up to you. In the meantime, just remember what the good book says."
Piers had never read the Bible. "What's that?"
Irving stepped into the hallway, looked back at him. "Never pick a fight with someone who buys ink by the barrel."
Sherry accepted a ride back to her car from Chief Irving, then drove home. She'd have some explaining to do on Monday, but she didn't feel like dealing with Tom tonight. Right now, all she wanted was to devour a pint of chocolate chip ice cream and watch mindless television.
She pulled into her assigned parking space, let herself in through the front entrance, and checked her mail. Nothing but junk.
She took the elevator to the seventh floor, let herself into her apartment, flicked on the lights, and locked the door tight behind her. All was as she'd left it. She dropped her briefcase by the door, let out a sigh of relief.
What had she been expecting? Fifteen armed gang members?
She went about her after-work routine, trying to shake the sense of foreboding she'd felt ever since Chief Irving had told her—off the record, of course—that it was the killer who'd lived in the basement apartment, not the girl's family.
"You'd be dead by now—or you'd wish you were," he'd said. "We'd eventually find you floating down the Platte."
She'd seen in his eyes that he was trying to scare her, but she'd also seen he was telling her the truth. And she'd done the most unprofessional thing she'd ever done—she'd confided in a source. She'd told Chief Irving how much trouble she'd had sleeping. She'd told him how every little noise made her jump. She'd told him about her nightmares.
She'd been certain he'd think she was a big wimp, and she'd said as much, only to have him lay a fatherly hand on her shoulder.
"Witnessing cold-blooded murder is no small thing, Ms. Birkin . I've seen grown men who were bigger wimps than you—men with badges. Take some time off. Go visit your folks. Get out of town for a while. You'll feel better for it."
Then he'd offered to have one of his men guide her through a bit of practice shooting at the police shooting range.
She'd been reluctant at first, not wanting to make this any more real than it was. Besides, how hard could it be to point a gun at someone and pull the trigger? But then she'd remembered how quickly Piers had disarmed her, and she'd accepted. It wouldn't hurt to become more comfortable with the gun, to take a few practice shots. She'd studied the owner'smanual, but she'd never once pulled the—
Down the hallway a door slammed, made Sherry jump.
And abruptly she knew what she wanted to do. She hurried to her phone and dialed Kara's cell phone, hoping it wasn't too late. Kara answered on the third ring.
"Oh, thank God I caught you! Can I please, please, please take you up on that invitation and come up to the cabin with you? I need to get out of town for a while."
There were so many ways to savor women, so many ways to control them, to own them. Alexi had mastered them all— and become a very wealthy and powerful man because of it. He'd lifted himself from the frigid, gray streets of Moscow to a life of luxury in America. Few men could comprehend the control he had over the lives of others—or the great burden he felt when something went wrong.
He'd come close to losing everything three years ago. Piers Nivans had infiltrated his organization like a virus. But Alexi had turned the tables, manipulating Nivans to rid himself of two tiresome partners, using him to ferret out the weaknesses of his organization. It was a risky but symbiotic relationship—Nivans kept Alexi on his toes, and Alexi gave Nivans a life purpose. Alexi knew.more about Nivans than the bastard knew about himself, and Alexi used it to his advantage. One day Nivans would have to die, but for now Alexi found him a useful, if formidable, opponent.
Still, he could not afford for any of his employees to make stupid mistakes.
He lowered the .44, watched the idiot he'd just shot slump to the floor. Then he shifted his gaze to the others, enjoying the scent of fear that permeated the warehouse. "One of my girls is dead, and I think this is good. She should be dead. But I wonder—how did she get away? She runs three blocks to a gas station, and no one stops her until witnesses are thick like flies on shit. Do you have an explanation for this?"
He lifted the pistol again, smiled when his target sank in a puddle of piss to his knees, hands raised in supplication.
"I-I don't know how she got out! Oh, God! Jesus! I was asleep, I fucking swear it! It was Toby's turn to watch the door!"
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Alexi considered shooting this one, too. His business was only as strong as its weakest link, and this fool had crumpled so easily. What would he do if the police got hold of him—or, worse, Nivans. "You are nothing! Look at you—groveling in your own urine. Can you not even look death in the face?"