Page 98 of Tag
“Guess I don’t need to ask how late you’ll be working.”
I walked away before she could say another word. If I stayed, I’d say things I couldn’t take back — and I’d already lost enough today.
93
Carter
By the time I got home, the snow had started to fall — fat, lazy flakes that muffled everything in sight. My little house outside Boise had never felt so empty.
I didn’t pack much. Just the essentials: clothes, tools, my sidearm. The rest could rot.
Southern California had been whispering to me for a while now — warmer weather, ocean air, a chance to start fresh where no one knew my name or the story behind it. The Golden Team was based there, and Faron had told me more than once they could use another set of hands. I wasn’t planning to call in that offer, but… hell, plans change.
I tossed my duffel in the back of my truck, the weight of it hitting with a dull thud.
When I closed the door behind me, I didn’t look back.
The road out of Idaho was slick and dark, headlights carving through the snow as the miles peeled away. I didn’t know if I was running toward something or just running away.
Maybe both.
94
Carter
The first breath of Southern California air hit me like a challenge — warm, salted by the Pacific, humming with city noise.
Carlsbad was nothing like Idaho. No snowbanks, no pine trees heavy with frost. Just wide streets lined with palm trees, the ocean stretching endlessly and blue on the horizon.
Faron was waiting when I pulled into the lot beside the Golden Team’s main building. He looked the same as the last time I saw him — tall, solid, eyes sharp enough to see right through you.
“Long drive,” he said, clapping a hand to my shoulder.
“Worth it,” I answered.
Inside, the place was buzzing — voices over comms, maps spread across a table, Tag leaning over Aponi as she pointed out something on the screen. I caught the faintest nod from Tag when he saw me, but no small talk.
Faron led me to an empty desk. “You’ll get a locker and a gear check. We’ve got a situation brewing — girls going missing. Closer to home this time.”
That same itch I’d felt for years — the need to be in motion, to make a difference — flared hot.
“Then let’s get to work,” I said, shaking hands with everyone.
And just like that, Idaho felt like another lifetime.
95
Carter
They didn’t ease me in.
Faron briefed me on the move—three girls missing from the same two-mile radius. Same lure, different day: promises of cash for promo work, a ride to “an audition,” nothing that sounded scary until it was. One of them had slipped free last night and staggered into the ER with zip ties torn to floss and a story sliced into half-sentences.
We were rolling ten minutes later—Faron driving, Aponi in the back scrolling through street cameras, me riding shotgun and learning San Diego County by instinct. Freeway hiss, palm shadows, salt air. Idaho felt a thousand years away.
Scripps Encinitas sat close enough to the ocean that the air in the parking lot tasted like it. The wind tugged at the flags out front, bright against an unbothered blue sky. It made me think of how the world kept turning while your life tipped over.
Inside felt colder. Hospitals always do.
