Page 77 of Faron (The Golden Team #8)

Aponi

I circled back to the front of the building, slow and deliberate, one hand on my weapon.

Nothing.

Just the hum of traffic and the glow of early morning casting long shadows across the pavement.

Still, I felt it—that wrongness crawling up the back of my neck. The kind of sixth sense that keeps a detective alive.

I slid into my car, started the engine, and merged into traffic. But I didn’t go straight home. I took turns that made no sense. A zigzag of side streets and back alleys. I looped through a grocery store parking lot, pulled into a car wash, then back out again.

And that’s when I saw him.

Black sedan. Windows tinted too dark. Keeping pace two cars back. I pulled over.

“Not very subtle,” I muttered, grabbing my phone and snapping a photo of the license plate.

I texted it to Tag.

Me:

You up?

Check this plate. Possible tail.

Tag:

Damn. You always drag me into your messes before I’ve had coffee.

Gimme a sec.

I didn’t go home. Instead, I parked in front of the precinct and walked inside like I owned the place.

The car didn’t follow.

Coward.

Good.

I was done playing defense.

Two hours later, Tag showed up in person—hoodie, tactical boots, and a scowl like the sun offended him.

“Your mystery sedan belongs to a shell corp linked to the same offshore account you flagged last month. Wanna guess who co-signed that withdrawal?”

“Don’t say Caleb.”

“Oh, I wasn’t gonna.” He smirked. “I was gonna say his lawyer. Caleb might be dead, but the money’s still moving.”

I leaned back against my desk. “So someone’s still protecting whatever he was involved in.”

“Or still profiting off it.”

That made me pause.

If Caleb was just one cog in the machine, and that girl saw something bigger…

Then this wasn’t about revenge anymore.

This was about exposure .

“I need to find her,” I said. “I don’t care how long it takes.”

Tag nodded, his smirk fading. “You got it. I’ll scrub facial recognition databases. Hospital records. Runaways. Trafficking reports from that year.”

I blinked. “You think she was trafficked?”

“I think she was hiding barefoot in a warehouse full of blood money and secrets. Yeah, I think it’s possible.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “If she’s alive, she’s the only witness left.”

“And if she’s not…”

“Then I find out why.”

I pulled out the photo I took of the graffiti and set it on the desk between us.

“I saw what you did.”

Tag studied it. “That a threat?”

“No.” I shook my head. “It’s a survivor.”

He looked at me. “You sure you’re okay doing this?”

I hesitated. Then: “I thought I killed a man. Turns out, he lived. Now someone’s hunting me, and I might’ve left a girl to die. So no—I’m not okay. But I am ready.”

Tag leaned forward, voice low. “You want backup?”

“I want justice.”

He smiled grimly. “Then let’s burn the whole thing down.”