88
Valdez hustled inside, two agents flanking her. Mike was behind the three of them, beaming like a kid on Christmas morning, but his eyes widened when he saw Anthony pressing a blood-stained towel against his shoulder.
“Hand it over, Thorne,” Valdez said, ignoring his injury. “Or else you’re facing charges on all the carnage you guys left behind on the church’s property.”
“No need to make threats.” He gave her the flash drive. He’d let her find out later that every piece of damning evidence it held had already been leaked to the media. He doubted it would hurt her case, and might even speed the process along.
She gave the device to one of her agents. He plugged it into a PDA, watched the handheld’s screen for a few seconds, nodded at Valdez. “We’re good.”
“You guys are clear,” Valdez said. “We’ll clean up the collateral damage.”
“Got one more piece of collateral damage waiting for you in the living room,” he said. “Your old partner.”
“You’re shittin’ me.” Her eyes sharpened. “Cutty came here?”
“Who the hell do you think shot me?” Anthony said.
“Hey, sorry. We’ll call our crew, get this squared away ASAP.”
Anthony stepped aside, and Valdez and her agents entered the house. Reuben directed them to Cutty’s corpse, which Danielle had covered with a blanket.
Mike came inside, too. He checked out Anthony’s wound. “How serious is this one?”
“I think my luck’s still good,” he said. “It’s feeling like another flesh wound.”
“You better get it checked out.”
Anthony nodded. “We’re planning to make ourselves scarce shortly, get away for a while. You wanna come with?”
“You kiddin’?” Mike winked. “I’m hanging around—I got a date tomorrow with the senorita. We’re going to the firing range.”
“Lucky you,” Anthony said. “Make sure I get an invite to the wedding.”
“You’ll get more than an invite, AT. You’re gonna be the best man.”