Page 133 of Tapped

He takes over my kiss. It’s not fast. It’s slow and lingers on my lips in a way I wish it would last forever. There’s nothing I want more than to crawl out of my covers, wrap my arms and legs around him and beg him to stay.

When he finally lets me go, he tips his forehead to mine. “Just found you, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

He kisses the tip of my nose and tries to stand, but I catch his hand one last time. “Are you sure that you’re not a cowboy? I could totally be a doctor in the mountains and you could chop wood.”

He gives my hand a squeeze. “I’ve got to go, Evie. I can’t be late to my own party. It’s a big one.”

“Be careful,” I say, but it comes out on a plea.

He says nothing.

But he does lift his chin.

Then, he’s gone.

* * *

Micah

Five doors kicked in.

Twenty-four in custody.

Six cars.

Four boats. We knew about one, but not the rest. But, then again, everyone in Miami has a boat, so why wouldn’t they have four?

And guns.

A fucking armory.

What was more of a surprise was what was in the warehouse. We knew about the cars. What we found was a dummy wall packed from floor to ceiling with cocaine.

We’re still processing it, but so far it’s over seven-hundred kilos and counting.

That’s a lot of fucking cocaine. That’s not including the loads we took down when they were shipped across the country before it hit the streets.

Now I can tie the case to the cash house.

The group has been dismantled in the U.S. Their revenue streams and transportation are severed for good. We have so many charges on these guys, they won’t smell freedom for decades.

But in that long list of shit that we seized and people we arrested, we did not find Teddy Koening.

In the last couple of days, Brax and the team have pinpointed two locations where Koening hangs. He goes back and forth.

But, today, he was nowhere.

I need to start interviewing targets. Someone will want a deal and spill what they know about him. They always do.

I go back to my government car and open the back hatch. They’re clearing the warehouse and processing drugs and evidence across town. I just finished up at one of the houses.

“Not bad.”

I look over my shoulder to see King Jennings stalking toward me in his own BDUs and POLICE tee. He rips off his vest he borrowed, pulls it over his head, and tosses it in the back of my car.

I hike a brow and rip the Velcro of my own vest. “It’s not Panama, but I’ll take it for Miami.”

He sets his long gun and helmet next to mine.

---