Before Mitchell could even complete the thought, two tactical agents closed the distance. One grabbed Mitchell’s right arm, twisting it viciously behind his back with enough force to make his shoulder joint pop. The other agent kicked the back of Mitchell's knees.
Mitchell let out a yelp of pain as his legs buckled. He was driven hard into the asphalt, the gravel biting into his cheek. A heavy tactical boot pressed firmly between his shoulder blades, pinning him to the ground. The cold steel of handcuffs ratcheted tightly around his wrists, biting into the skin.
"Officer Mitchell," Thorne said, holstering his weapon and looking down at the man writhing on the ground. "You are under arrest for the assault of a federal officer, deprivation of rights under color of law, and interfering with an active federal investigation. You have the right to remain silent, and I highly suggest you start using it immediately."
While Mitchell was being dragged to his feet, stripped of his weapons and his badge, a tactical medic had rushed to Valerie’s side.
"Agent Ross, let me look at you," the medic said, quickly uncapping a large bottle of sterile saline solution. "Tilt your head back. This is going to cold."
Valerie tilted her head, enduring the flood of cold water washing over her burning skin. As the orange sludge was rinsed away from her eye, the searing pain began to dull to a throbbing ache. She blinked her left eye, the vision blurry but returning.
She grabbed a towel from the medic, dabbing her face, and walked slowly toward Mitchell. The local officer was now pinned against the side of the black Tahoe, his face pale, sweating profusely, the realization of his ruined career and imminent prison sentence crashing down upon him.
Valerie stopped a few feet from him. She didn't shout. She didn't gloat.
"I told you," Valerie said softly, her voice barely carrying over the idling engines. "I didn't care who you pretended to be. Out here, you thought that badge gave you a blank check to terrorize people. You mistook authority for power."
Mitchell looked down, unable to meet her gaze. The bully had been broken.
"Take him to the local field office," Valerie told Thorne, turning away. "Put him in a federal holding cell. Let him sit there and think about his choices."
The arrest of Officer Mitchell was swift and utterly unceremonious. He was shoved into the back of one of the black Tahoes, the doors slamming shut on his law enforcement career forever. He would face federal prosecution, his pension would be stripped, and he would become a cautionary tale in police academies across the state.
But the mission was not over.
Valerie stood by her white SUV, finishing the bottle of water the medic had given her. The skin on her face was still bright red, and her eye throbbed painfully, but the adrenaline in her system pushed the discomfort to the background.
Thorne walked over to her. "Valerie, you need to go to the hospital. Get that properly checked out. We have chemical burn protocols."
"The cartel isn't going to wait for my medical clearance, David," Valerie said, checking her sidearm and securing her vest. She reached into her vehicle, pulled out an FBI windbreaker, and zipped it up over her ruined uniform shirt. "Vance is still inside that house. He didn't come out during the commotion. He's either oblivious or he's shredding documents right now."