Page 39 of Nanny for the Firefighters

Ella meets us halfway, her face pale but composed. "He's over there," she whispers, nodding toward a man standing by the swings. "I'm sure it's him."

I follow her gaze, noting the man's nervous glances and the way he keeps shifting from foot to foot. "Good eye, Ella," I say, squeezing her shoulder. "Stay with Lily. We'll handle this."

Marcus leans down and plants a kiss on the top of Lily's head. "You know how much I love you, don't you?"

She looks up at him with her wide eyes and nods with a sweet little smile.

Marcus fixes his stance and gives Ella a brief nod. "Thank you. You're… you're something else."

Ella chuckles low in her throat. "I'll be asking you what you mean by that a little later, once this rescue mission is complete."

I see how Ella looks at Marcus, and how he looks at her. It makes a small smile appear on my lips, even in this situation. The captain doesn't know yet, but he's smitten.

"Come on," Marcus calls out to us, and we begin moving toward the man as stealthily as possible. There's something off about him, that's for sure. Ella has a good eye—odd, considering she's only been around children.

Or maybe she's become so attuned to human emotions that it's made her sharper.

The park is bustling with families enjoying a sunny afternoon. Kids are laughing, parents are chatting, and the air is filled with the sounds of carefree play. Amid this idyllic scene, he is an eyesore.

It's not about what he's wearing, though. The catch is in how he's carrying himself, like he has a bunch of secrets we'd be better off not knowing. The malice in those eyes could double as poison.

The most unsettling thing about him, though, is the way he's watching the children, his gaze lingering just a little too long on each one.

We move closer, keeping our distance but positioning ourselves to intervene quickly if necessary. The man's eyes flicker nervously, darting from side to side as if he's aware of being watched. His movements are jerky, almost twitchy, as he shuffles closer to the playground. He wipes his hands on his jacket repeatedly.

"It looks like a nervous tic," Ethan mutters beside me.

I clench my palms into fists. "Just makes him look like a bigger creep."

Then, he makes a mistake that confirms our suspicions. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, battered notebook, scribbling something furiously while his eyes keep darting back to the children.

"Definitely him," Ethan murmurs, his voice taut with controlled anger. "What's he writing?"

"Probably nothing good," I reply, my jaw clenching. "We need to move in, now."

We close the distance, taking utmost care to be cautious, light on our feet. The man notices us too late. Panic flashes across his face, and he shoves the notebook back into his pocket, turning to flee.

"He's making a run for it!" I shout, adrenaline surging as the man bolts toward the park's exit.

Theo is off like a shot, his athletic build moving with lightning speed. Marcus and I follow right behind, our boots pounding against the pavement, hearts racing with the thrill of the chase. The park falls away as we sprint after the suspect, weaving through the crowd.

Theo's agility is incredible. He hurdles a bench without breaking stride, his eyes locked on the fleeing man. "He's heading toward the alley!" Theo shouts over his shoulder, not missing a beat.

"Stay on him!" Marcus barks, his voice a mix of command and adrenaline.

We charge down the alley, the narrow passage echoing with the sound of our pursuit. The suspect glances back, panic etched across his face as he realizes we're gaining on him. He veers sharply into a back yard, crashing through a flimsy wooden gate.

"Cut him off on the right!" I yell, anticipating his next move.

Marcus nods and splits off, aiming to flank the man and drive him toward me and Theo. I follow Theo through the broken gate, my eyes scanning for any potential obstacles. The back yard is cluttered with toys, a rusted swing set, and a dog that barks furiously as we pass.

"He's heading for the fence!" Theo warns, and I see the man scrambling up a six-foot wooden barrier.

I surge forward, reaching the fence just as the man drops to the other side. Theo is already over, his movements fluid and precise. I haul myself up and over, landing in a crouch and taking off again. We're in another alley now, the smell of garbage and the echo of distant traffic surrounding us.

"Damn, he's fast," I mutter, pushing harder. My legs burn, but I won't let up.

Theo and I burst out of the alley into an abandoned lot, a wasteland of broken concrete and overgrown weeds. The man stumbles, looking around wildly for an escape route. Marcus is closing in from the right, corralling him toward us. I can taste the tang of the suspect's desperation, heavy in his frantic and uncoordinated movements.