Page 108 of Tag (The Golden Team #9)

Carter

B y the time I got home, the snow had started to fall — fat, lazy flakes that muffled everything in sight. My little house outside Boise had never felt so empty.

I didn’t pack much. Just the essentials: clothes, tools, my sidearm. The rest could rot.

Southern California had been whispering to me for a while now — warmer weather, ocean air, a chance to start fresh where no one knew my name or the story behind it.

The Golden Team was based there, and Faron had told me more than once they could use another set of hands.

I wasn’t planning to call in that offer, but… hell, plans change.

I tossed my duffel in the back of my truck, the weight of it hitting with a dull thud.

When I closed the door behind me, I didn’t look back.

The road out of Idaho was slick and dark, headlights carving through the snow as the miles peeled away. I didn’t know if I was running toward something or just running away.

Maybe both.