Page 68 of Tag (The Golden Team #9)

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T he first shot was ours.

The second was theirs.

After that, it was a storm.

Muzzle flashes lit the night in violent bursts, throwing jagged shadows across the mine’s entrance. Dirt and rock sprayed under the impact of rounds, the air thick with the metallic tang of gunpowder.

“Aponi—left flank!” I barked, shifting to cover her as she darted behind a pile of rusted ore carts. She moved low, fast, her pistol already spitting back at the figures spilling out from Graves’ SUVs.

Gideon’s voice came over my radio, sharp and controlled. Three down. Two still on the ridge.

“Keep them off our backs,” I ordered.

We pushed forward in short bursts, firing, ducking, moving. Graves’ men were disciplined, using the terrain to their advantage, trading ground for position. I didn’t like it.

Then I saw why.

They were falling back—not retreating—pulling us toward the mine’s mouth.

I motioned for Aponi to stop, but it was too late. She’d already cleared the last cart, her line of sight opening straight to the yawning black of the entrance… and the man standing in it.

Graves.

Even in the flicker of gunfire, I knew it was him. The black jacket, the calm, almost casual stance, the way he seemed untouched by the chaos raging around him.

He didn’t raise his weapon. Didn’t have to. His eyes were locked on Aponi like the rest of us didn’t exist.

“Aponi.” My voice was low, warning.

She froze. Her finger tightened on the trigger, but I saw the way her breath caught.

Graves smiled—slow, deliberate—and took one step forward into the light. “Detective Hartman.” His voice carried over the noise, smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. “You’ve been a very hard woman to find.”

Her jaw tightened. “Not hard enough.”

I shifted my aim to center mass, my gut screaming that the second I fired, his men would close in. But the way he was looking at her, I knew this wasn’t about killing.

This was about taking her.

And if I didn’t move now, he just might.