For a moment what might have been pain flashed across Cruz’s face. “I understand. I believe they do too, but I’m afraid they won’t stop asking. Your experience would be… useful.”
What? A compliment? From Cruz?
“We have what we need, now to tighten the net. Diaz is up to his neck in this, and he’s not getting away, even if he chose to avoid the meeting and send Garrison.” Cruz stepped into the bathroom, leaving the door open.
“Neither is O’Donoghue.” Lucky spoke louder to be heard over the whoosh of Cruz flushing Garrison’s microphone down the toilet, where it belonged. Lucky spat out the plastic thingy in his mouth, that he hadn’t needed after all, because his didn’t turn out to be a speaking role.
Hmm… He perused the room. Ah, there. The appliance made a satisfyingthunkwhen it hit the trash can next to the coffee pot.
“Good. I’m counting on you to stop him. We need you hidden, give your target time to sweat, and keep you out of harm’s way.”
“How do you propose to do that?” Please let it not involve a safe house. Lucky might lose his ever-loving mind, sitting around doing nothing while others took down O’Donoghue.
Cruz slapped Lucky on the shoulder. “You, my friend, will drive the truck. Besides, Abuela Graciela wants to see you.”
Driving a truck. Like old times. And Graciela? At least he might finally get fed.
