Tag (The Golden Team #9)

Faron

I followed behind in a stolen truck, keeping distance, eyes scanning every curve of the road.

We were heading south—to a contact Tag said might have a dossier on Graves’ early operations. A man off-grid, deep in the desert, who owed Tag more than a few favors.

But none of that mattered if we didn’t survive the night.

And that woman?

Sable?

She wasn’t chasing us.

She was herding us.

Toward something.

A trap.

I gripped the wheel harder. “This ends with her bleeding in the dirt,” I muttered.

But I didn’t believe it.

Not yet.