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Raven

I didn’t sleep.

Not with him still out there.

After the Code Pink was lifted and the kids were resting, I kissed Beatrice’s forehead and whispered, “Stay with them. I’ll be back.”

She looked up at me, eyes worried. “Where are you going?”

“Hunting.”

* * *

I slipped through the side stairwell, bypassing the main exits. If he was still nearby, he wouldn’t be inside the hospital anymore—not with that kind of heat on him. But predators like him? They circle back. They always do. To finish what they started.

The hospital grounds were bathed in shadows. Motion lights clicked on as I moved past hedges and loading bays, my boots silent on the concrete. I scanned each corner, ears straining for movement.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

I reached the rear ambulance bay and crouched, resting my hand on the ground. Still warm from sun exposure. Tire tracks. Shoe prints. And—there.

A cigarette butt.

Fresh. Still faintly smoldering.

Someone had been here. Watching.

I slipped around the edge of the parking structure, ducking behind a van. The scent of engine oil hit my nose, but underneath it—sweat. Sour. Nervous.

Then I saw him.

* * *

He was crouched low behind a row of parked cars, dark hoodie, jeans, ballcap pulled low. Face partially turned away.

But I recognized him from the surveillance stills Tag had shown me.

The second kidnapper.

The bastard who tied up two little kids and lit a fire around them.

He didn’t see me. Not yet.

I crept closer, knife still sheathed, hand loose by my thigh. He shifted, glancing toward the hospital windows.

He was watching the pediatric wing.

I stepped out from behind the car.

“Looking for someone?”

He spun. Saw me. And ran.

* * *

I chased him around the back of the building, dodging equipment carts and dumpsters. He was fast—but I was faster. Trained for terrain like this. For worse.

He cut across the maintenance yard. I launched forward, tackling him from behind.

We hit the dirt hard. He threw an elbow into my side. I took it, rolled, and came down on top of him, knee to chest.

He reached for something—maybe a knife, maybe a gun. I slammed his wrist to the pavement.

“Not tonight.”

He spat blood and snarled. “They were worth a lot, those kids—”

I punched him.

Hard.

“You are going to prison for the rest of your life,” I growled, “and I’ll make sure you never speak another word.”

* * *

Footsteps thundered behind me.

Gage, Tag, and the Hospital security.

I stood, breathing heavily. “He was watching the window. Planning to come back.”

“Jesus,” Gage muttered, cuffing the bastard. “You good?”

“I’m better now.”

Tag gave me a nod. “Bea’s gonna want to know.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, I stepped back into Room 312.

Beatrice was still sitting between the kids, Mandy curled up at her feet. She looked up, heart in her eyes.

“You found him?” she asked, carefully getting up.

I nodded. “He was watching from the back lot. He’s done now.”

Beatrice sagged in relief, then stepped into me, arms sliding around my waist. “Thank you.”

I held her close, resting my cheek against her hair.