Page 47 of Tag
The tapping came from the far corner of the main room—an old ceiling fan struggling to turn. Beneath it sat the contact. Or what was left of him.
Miguel “Ghost” Herrera. Ex–special operations, intel broker, and one of the only people I trusted in this desert. His body was slumped forward in a chair, wrists bound. A neat hole through his forehead. No signs of a struggle.
Pinned to his shirt was a single Polaroid.
Aponi’s face.
Not a surveillance shot from the past few days—this was older. At least a year or more. She was laughing at something outside the frame, her hair longer, a few streaks of sunlight catching it.
Underneath, in red marker, was one word:
RETURN
Aponi’s breath caught, barely audible.
I took the photo from the body, turning it so she could see. “You want to tell me why she has this?”
Her eyes stayed on the picture, but her voice was flat. “Because that’s the last day I saw the thing Graves is looking for.”
“What thing?” I pressed.
Her gaze lifted to mine, steady but unreadable. “The flash drive. The one with names. And before you ask—it’s not here. And I’m not telling you where it is.”
Faron stepped in from the doorway, his expression grim. “We’ve got tire tracks leading west. Looks like she was here less than an hour ago.”
I looked back at Miguel’s body, then at the photo in my hand.
Sable wasn’t just hunting us.
She was leaving breadcrumbs.
And if she wanted Aponi toreturnsomething… we were running out of time to figure out what else she’d take instead.
37
Aponi
The air inside Miguel’s place felt heavier with every breath—heat from the rising sun mixing with the copper tang of blood.
I wanted out.
But the second I stepped toward the door, Faron blocked the way.
“We’re not going anywhere until you start talking,” he said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it had that deep, immovable edge that told me he meant it.
“I’ve already told you—”
“You told us nothing,” Faron cut in. “Sable didn’t kill Miguel for sport. She left your face here for a reason. You think Tag and I don’t see the pattern?”
“I’m not—”
“You’re not protecting yourself,” Faron snapped. “You’re protectingsomething. And if you don’t tell us what, you’re gambling with everyone in this room.”
I clenched my jaw, feeling the prickle of heat behind my eyes. I hated this. Hated being cornered. “You don’t understand—”
“I understand fine,” Faron said, stepping closer. “Graves has wanted that drive for years. People died over it before you evenknew it existed. Now Sable’s on your trail, and she’s not going to stop. If you’ve got a play, I want to hear it.”
Tag’s voice cut through before I could answer. “Faron, enough.”
