Page 42 of Tag (The Golden Team #9)

Tag

T he truck bucked hard as we tore off the asphalt, suspension groaning under the shift. Gravel and sand hammered the undercarriage. Somewhere behind us, engines roared, tires shredding the quiet night.

I stole a glance at Aponi.

She was braced against the door, gun in hand, eyes locked forward like she’d already calculated every escape route I might take.

God help me, she looked calm.

“They’re closing,” Faron’s voice clipped in over the radio. “Two vehicles behind, one ahead just cut its lights. Classic pincer move.”

“She’s driving them,” I said.

No one argued.

We shot between two ragged mounds of rock, the headlights catching sharp edges and deep shadows. Kaylie was curled down low in the back, my jacket thrown over her like a shield.

“On my mark,” I told Faron. “Light ‘em up.”

“Copy.”

The ridge ahead opened into a wash—narrow, deep, and just wide enough for one vehicle. I hit it at speed, the truck dropping hard before bottoming out on the dry riverbed. Dust mushroomed around us.

In my mirror, the lead pursuit vehicle followed, bouncing into the wash—right into Faron’s line of fire.

The night exploded.

Muzzle flashes sparked from the ridgeline as Faron opened up with controlled bursts. One tire blew, then another, the vehicle fishtailing into the bank.

But the second one didn’t slow.

“They’re coming in hot,” Aponi said.

“Not for long.” I cut the wheel hard left, tires grinding against stone. We shot up the side of the wash, suspension screaming, and skated along the top ridge.

That’s when I saw her.

Sable.

Standing on a flat rock twenty yards ahead, black gear blending with the night, rifle tucked tight against her shoulder. Even through the dust, I knew that stance, that stillness.

The calm before the kill.

She aimed—

Not at me.

At Aponi.

“Aponi—DOWN!”

I yanked the wheel, throwing the truck sideways. The shot punched through the rear window where her head had been a split second earlier. Kaylie screamed, glass raining over her.

“Eyes on her!” I barked.

Aponi was already pivoting in her seat, gun up, firing through the shattered rear glass. Two shots sparked against the rock where Sable had been.

She was gone.

“Tag, we’ve gotta move,” Faron said, engine roaring behind us.

“Yeah,” I muttered, slamming the truck back into gear. “But not before I finish this.”