Page 37 of Tag (The Golden Team #9)

I found the tracker tucked inside the seam of the spare duffel bag.

Tiny. State-of-the-art. Designed to broadcast through dense terrain.

Someone had planted it.

And not just anyone—someone who knew how to hide things from Special Forces.

I yanked it free and crushed it beneath my boot just as the back window of the cabin shattered.

CRACK!

“Sniper!” I shouted, diving for the ground. “MOVE!”

Aponi tackled Tag off the porch. We rolled down the slope behind the cabin, landing hard in the scrub.

Another shot ripped through the railing, splintering it into pieces.

Tag pulled her against his chest, shielding Aponi while I crawled to cover and scanned the ridge.

Nothing.

Too clean. Too far.

Whoever was out there wasn’t sloppy. They were surgical.

Professional.

“Graves hired someone,” I called.

“No,” Aponi said, breathless. “He didn’t hire someone. He unleashed someone.”

Tag’s jaw clenched. “You think it’s Project Redwood?”

I met his eyes. “I think it just found us.”