CHAPTER FORTY SIX
Reid looked at his hand.
He couldn’t actually see it, wrapped as it was in layers of gauze and tape, beneath which were metal braces to hold three of his fingers still while they healed. Of the twenty-seven bones in his right hand, nine of them were broken. He had already had one surgery to set the bones and the braces, and he would likely yet need another to ensure the bones were fusing properly. The doctors had warned him that there would be some long-term nerve damage, and that while function would return, the hand might not ever be the same.
He had grimly joked that he could shoot just fine with his left.
“So,” said Strickland, breaking the silence of the car. “What are we going to say?”
The four of them were seated in a black town car—Watson behind the wheel, Re
