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Let's meet the second half of this duo.

There were a few cars parked in the lot nearby, but the lights in the building were dark and there was only one woman in the lot. She was a cute little thing, standing perhaps five-foot-six with decent hips and a rack he couldn't help noticing hidden in a tight little button-down. He never understood why women wore white when they had only dark-coloured bras to wear underneath, but this one was doing precisely that. Her neat little skirt was gray and colourless, nothing fancy to it at all, yet she was wearing tennis shoes - probably orthopedics or something, as they didn't seem to fit with the rest of the outfit.

When she turned around to unlock the door to her Prius, a little white number that looked yellow in the light from a streetlamp, he caught one hell of a look at her ass. That was all the inspiration he needed, and he pulled around the corner as soon as the light turned green. He pulled into the parking lot and stopped near her. The woman straightened up, clearly wondering why he was stopping. He noted her dirty blonde bun as he got out but it was too dark to see her eyes; she was tanned and toned, this one - perfect for what he wanted. He closed the door on his squad car, put his hand on his gun, and told her to get on her knees. She was startled by this, and James delighted privately in that. He had to repeat himself to get her to do it, forcing her to set her little black purse on the ground next to her in the process. She put her hands in the air, thought not very high.

"Cross your legs," he told her, "interlace your fingers on your head."

She did so but asked what was going on. With his hand still on his gun, he approached her and pulled out his handcuffs. Slapping one of the bracelets on her left wrist, he grabbed her other and pulled her wrists together. He told her to get on her feet, and she asked to know why he was arresting her. He didn't tell her. He just pulled her over to his squad car, bent her over the hood, and told her not to move or he'd be forced to shoot her. Terrified, she stayed there while he went behind the squad car and opened up the trunk. He unlocked the padlock on his toolbox there, a little gray number that was old and rusted, but the metal was still sturdy enough for a good many years of use. He pulled out a roll of silver tape and came back to her. Setting her jaw upon the squad car, presumably so that she wasn't looking anywhere but where he wanted her to, he moved to tape her mouth from behind. She started protesting at once, but he didn't care. He grabbed her neat little bun and leaned in close to whisper softly in her ear.

"If you move from this spot, I will gut you like a fish," he told her.

Now she was TRULY terrified, and she didn't dare move as he returned the duct tape to his tool box. He locked up the box and slammed the trunk lid before going to close her car door and collect her purse. He set it upon the hood and rifled through it. There wasn't much here that interested him - red lipstick, a compact, blue eye shadow, her keys and cell phone, and a wallet that had about forty bucks in it and not much else. There were credit cards - those would come in handy, if she had anything on them - and her ID in the wallet. But otherwise, it was useless. He put the cash in his own wallet but dropped the purse - remaining contents and all - onto the passenger floorboard in the front. Then he gave the woman a very thorough search.

He pulled her around to where the trunk was and bent her over that.

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