Page 75 of Tag (The Golden Team #9)

Tag

B y the time Gideon, Faron, and Callahan reached us, Graves was facedown in the dirt, his wrists bound behind him with zip ties, his breathing ragged.

Aponi stood a few feet away, her back to the wall, hands on her knees as she pulled in air like she’d run a marathon. Her hair was dusted white from the mine, her cheeks streaked with grime, but her eyes were steady when they met mine.

“You okay?” I asked.

She straightened slowly, nodding. “Better than him.”

Graves didn’t say a word, didn’t look at either of us. His silence wasn’t relief or defeat—it was calculation, the kind that made my instincts itch.

“Let’s move,” Gideon said, already pulling him to his feet. “I want him on the chopper before his people realize we’ve got him.”

The walk out felt longer than it should have, the air growing cleaner with every step until the pale light of dawn broke over the jagged mouth of the mine. The wind hit my face, cool and sharp, and for the first time in hours, I let my shoulders ease.

Aponi came up beside me, her arm brushing mine. “You kept your promise,” she said quietly.

“I told you nothing would happen to you.”

She gave me a small smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “Graves isn’t finished, Tag. You saw it too.”

I didn’t answer because she was right.

At the SUV, Callahan loaded the evidence—the detonator, Graves’ weapons—into a secure case. The second the lid clicked shut, Graves finally spoke.

“You think you’ve won,” he rasped, his voice raw but steady. “But while you were chasing me, I set something else in motion.”

Gideon shoved him into the vehicle before he could say more, but the words lingered in the air like smoke.

I glanced at Aponi. “We’ll deal with it.”

She nodded, but I saw the tension in her jaw. This was a win, sure—but not the end. Not yet.

For now, though, we’d take the win.

And breathe.