Page 57 of Tag (The Golden Team #9)

The area reeked of gunpowder and smoke. My ears still rang from the last burst of fire. Sable lay sprawled in the middle of it all, eyes glassy, blood pooling under her head. The shooter—a man from her own team—stood over her, gun still in hand, his expression unreadable.

No one moved. No one breathed.

Tag’s voice broke the silence. “Grab the drive. Now.”

I shook myself out of the frozen moment and dropped to my knees beside Sable’s body. Her fingers were locked around the small, battered flash drive as if it were worth her soul. I pried it loose, every muscle screaming for me to hurry before her men decided we were next.

The shooter glanced at me, then at Tag. “We’re done here.” Without another word, he walked away, boots echoing on the concrete until the sound disappeared.

I shoved the drive into my pocket and pushed to my feet. Tag’s hand found my lower back, steering me toward the exit. The rest of the Golden Team closed in around us, a living shield as we moved.

Once outside, Tag gave a sharp nod to Gideon, who fired up the SUV. I climbed in beside Tag, my pulse still hammering.

He held out his hand. “Drive.”

I hesitated for half a beat, then dropped it into his palm. He studied it, jaw tight, before tucking it into his vest.

“This goes straight to Intel,” he said. “If Graves is on it, we’ll find him.”

I stared out the window at the retreating building, my chest tight. “And when we do?”

Tag’s gaze cut to mine, hard as steel. “Then Graves finally learns what fear feels like.”

Somewhere deep inside, I knew—he wasn’t talking about fear for himself. He was talking about fear for the man who’d hurt so many and thought he’d never be caught.

For the first time in hours, I let myself breathe. But not too deep. Because this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.