Another tries to run—Rhett takes him down, brutal and controlled.
I don’t look at them. I rip open the van’s side door. Inside, it’s cramped and dark and reeks of cheap cologne and fear. Kayley is there—bound, gagged, eyes wide and furious and wet with tears.
Alive.
My chest caves with relief so sharp it almost drops me to my knees. “Kayley,” I rasp.
Her eyes lock onto mine and something in her face breaks—relief, terror, trust, all tangled. I climb into the van, hands shaking as I cut the restraints at her wrists. “Are you hurt?” I demand, voice rough.
She shakes her head fast, gag muffling her words. I yank it free gently. She sucks in a breath like she’s been drowning. “Gavin.” Hearing my name from her mouth—raw, shaken—nearly kills me.
“I’ve got you,” I swear, pulling her into my chest. “I’ve got you.”
She clutches my jacket like it’s the only solid thing in the world.
Behind me, I hear a scuffle—boots, curses.
Ford.
My blood turns to acid.
I pull back just enough to see him being forced to his knees in the snow, Silas and Chase holding him down. Ford’s face is split with a cut, but he’s smiling.
Smiling.
Like this is a game.
“Commander,” Ford calls out, voice smooth. “You’re very attached.”
I see red. I step out of the van, keeping Kayley behind me, one arm still around her like a shield. “You don’t get to speak,” I snarl.
Ford chuckles. “You think you won?”
I take one slow step forward. “You’re breathing, so no. Not yet.”
Chase tightens his grip. “Say the word, boss.”
I stare at Ford—at the man who would steal a baby, who would traffic children like they’re currency, who touched Kayley?—
My hands shake with the need to end him.
But the FBI is here. Witnesses. Procedure.
And Kayley is watching me. She needs me steady. She needs me not to become the monster I’m hunting. So I force myself to step back. “Cuff him,” I bite out.
An FBI agent moves in, snapping cuffs onto Ford’s wrists. Ford doesn’t resist. He just keeps smiling like he knows something we don’t.
I hate him.
I hate him enough to burn.
An agent approaches Silas with a phone in hand. “We’ve got multiple in custody. But Renshaw wasn’t on site. Local law enforcement is being notified. We’re issuing a BOLO. He’s on the run.”
Silas’s jaw tightens. “He’ll run hard.”
Rafe steps up beside me, eyes scanning the road. “Let him run. We’ll catch him.”
But the immediate threat—the one that mattered most—is in my arms.
