Page 18 of Tag (The Golden Team #9)

Tag

W e sat around a folding table in one of the rec center’s back rooms. Someone had brewed coffee that tasted like tar, and Gideon was passing out incident reports like Halloween candy.

Aponi hadn’t said much.

She sat beside me, shoulders straight, hands still. But I could feel the storm inside her.

Gideon tapped the folder in front of us. “We confirmed four girls rescued, two transported elsewhere before we arrived. One of them matches a girl missing from Arizona—been gone six months. This ring stretches across multiple states.”

Aponi’s jaw clenched. “So we were only seeing the tail end.”

“Yeah,” Gideon said. “And there’s something else.”

He slid a photo across the table.

It was grainy, taken from a traffic camera. A man stepping into an SUV.

But I recognized him.

So did Aponi.

“That’s Malik Voss,” she said. “He’s supposed to be dead. Shot in a gang war two years ago.”

Gideon shook his head. “New name. New face. And apparently, a new business model.”

I muttered a curse under my breath. Malik had been one of the worst—smart, ruthless, and always three steps ahead. If he was involved, this went way deeper than some abandoned warehouse and a couple of hired thugs.

“What now?” Aponi asked.

Gideon leaned back, expression grim. “Now we follow the money. And the kids. You two lit a fire tonight. Let’s see where it spreads.”

He stood and handed Aponi a copy of the surveillance still. “Keep this. You’ll need it.”

After he left, the silence wrapped around us again. Heavy. Quiet. Real.

Aponi turned the photo over and laid it face down on the table.

“I thought he was gone,” she said softly. “I thought we ended him.”

“You thought wrong,” I said. “But now we know he’s alive. And he has no idea we’re coming.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “We’ll get him.”

I didn’t doubt it for a second.

But right now, I didn’t want to talk about Malik Voss, or Kaylie’s bruises, or how close we’d come to losing everything.

Right now, I just wanted her.

“Come on,” I said, pushing to my feet. “You need sleep.”

“Don’t think I can.”

“Then sit with me,” I said. “Just for a while.”