Page 21 of Tag
Aponi
Iwoke up to the sound of rain tapping softly against the window.
And warmth.
A heavy arm draped across my waist. A steady heartbeat beneath my cheek. The scent of cedar and something purelyhimwrapped around me like a second skin.
Tag.
My lips curved before my eyes even opened.
His hand was splayed low on my stomach, the slow rise and fall of his chest rocking me gently with every breath.
I turned my head, just enough to watch him sleep—his dark lashes brushing his cheek, his jaw rough with stubble, one lock of hair falling across his forehead.
He looked… peaceful.
Like the kind of peace I’d never believed I could have.
And God help me, I wanted to stay like this forever.
But forever didn’t exist in our world.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I stiffened.
Tag’s eyes cracked open. “Ignore it.”
“I can’t.”
He groaned as I slid out from under his arm, grabbing the phone.
Unknown number. Secure line.
“Detective Lightfoot,” I answered.
A low, female voice came through. “Your name is still good in certain circles, Aponi. Word on the street is that Malik Voss is moving again. Tonight. And he’s not running girls—he’s buying weapons.”
My blood ran cold. “Where?”
“Dockside, Warehouse 37. Midnight meet. No cops. No heat. He’s paranoid.”
“And who the hell are you?”
“Someone who remembers when you used to fight dirty. Don’t lose that edge.”
The line went dead.
I lowered the phone slowly, staring out at the rain.
Tag was sitting up now, the sheet draped across his hips, eyes locked on mine. “Trouble?”
I nodded. “Malik. Tonight. Weapons deal. Dockside warehouse. No backup allowed.”
His jaw tightened. “Sounds like a trap.”
“Probably is.”
