Hawk half-smiled at the memory of when Mako had taken in Bull, Gabe, and Caz—and him. He’d been a lying little shit back then. But he’d changed. Doc Grayson had talked about the damage a lie could cause in a family. Caz had pointed out that hawks and eagles were the most upfront of the winged species. But, most of all, the sarge had hated dishonesty, and there was nothing Hawk wanted more than to win Mako’s regard.
It’d still taken Hawk a year to kick the lying habit.
Aric wouldn’t have that problem; his abusive stepfather and the other PZs hadn’t turned him into a liar. Maybe because the boy had spent his time hiding and rarely spoke. No need to lie if no one expected an answer.
Over on the cot, Aric pulled his covers up.
Duty done.
As Hawk opened his mouth to say good night, he saw the way Kit’s hands were still clenched on her blanket, the tenseness of her shoulders. He could almost hear the fears running through her head. A big half-dressed stranger in her bedroom. A scary one.
Then her pointed chin came up, and she shocked the hell out of him with a sweet smile. “Thank you for bringing him back. I hope you’re able to get to sleep.”
Brave woman. The faint twilight through the window highlighted the ragged scar over her left cheekbone where a fist had ripped the skin.
The light showed more than that. Beneath her loose flannel pajamas, she had high, sweetly rounded breasts.
Not something he should be noticing.
“No problem.” Turning his gaze away, Hawk straightened. “Night.”
He headed down the hall, across the living room, and out the deck door, attempting to set aside the wish to join her. To touch her, to feel her warmth against him, maybe even have her smile at him again.
Talk about a forlorn hope. After what she’d lived through, the woman would want nothing more to do with the male gender.
And, if she ever did, it’d be a cold day in hell before she would want him.
The nice ones never did.
Chapter Three
People who use the phrase “sleep like a baby” must have never had one. ~ Unknown
Captain Grigor Nabera walked out of the small farmhouse in the Matanuska Valley north of Anchorage.
Hiding out like a coward was offensive, but necessary until he knew what needed to be done. When their leader, Reverend Parrish—the Prophet—had been arrested, the members of the militia here and in Texas scattered after a raid on their compound. Although the weak in spirit had abandoned the cause, the faithful went to ground and maintained contact.
When the Prophet called, they would answer, and Nabera would lead them to victory.
“Morning, Captain.” Walking up from the barn, Alvin joined him on the small porch. The balding farmer brushed a few strands of hay from his flannel shirt. “Have you heard from Reverend Parrish? How is it going?”
Nabera scowled as he looked out over the fields of beets. “He’s been denied bail…because of the women who’ve accused him of rape and murder.”
And other crimes. The list was long.
Nabera glanced at Alvin and added, “Untrue, of course. He’ll be cleared, but until then, our course is uncertain.”
“Of course.” Alvin shifted his weight from one foot to another. Unwilling to give up everything to join the compound, he’d kept his farm and sent money as his way of supporting the cause.
He hadn’t been pleased when Nabera showed up three weeks ago.
No matter.
“The missus will have breakfast for us soon.” Alvin took a step back. “I need to move the cows to a new pasture.”
It was time for a new pasture for Nabera too. He’d had Alvin rent a house in Anchorage. Nabera and his lieutenants would move in there.
If only he could figure out how to help the Prophet. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do when Parrish was imprisoned all the way south in Texas, and Nabera was stuck here in Alaska. The state troopers, FBI, and DEA were on the alert, so getting to Dallas was impossible.
Meanwhile, Parrish was waiting for his trial where the women from the Texas compound would testify against him. The blasphemous bitches.
A cold wind swept across the farm, rustling the red and green leaves of the beets, waving the grasses in the pastures. Summer was getting on. Time was passing too quickly.
When running the compound, Nabera would normally make a bloody example of one woman—or child—to frighten the rest into silence.
Nabera growled under his breath. Times weren’t normal.
In Texas, the Patriot Zealots had managed to locate and punish one bitch. After seeing one of their own broken and hospitalized, the rest of the cunts should have shut the fuck up. Instead, they’d let the Feds hide them away in safe houses.
Their testimony would land Parrish behind bars for years.
What could Nabera do from here to change that? Would an example made in Alaska be effective in silencing the harlots in Texas?
Perhaps… If the example was shocking enough.
Despite Aric’s late-night visit to Hawk’s place, the kid didn’t seem any the worse for wear.
How many times this morning had the boy snuck into his cabin to reassure himself that Hawk was still around?
The kid had skills.
Grabbing a Coke, Hawk headed outside and settled into a chair on his deck.
The frequent checks weren’t because the boy loved him or anything. It was because Hawk had killed Aric’s abusive stepfather, saved his mother, and carried the boy to safety.
Doc Grayson had said, “Even when she is ready to take him back, she can’t give him the same sense of safety that he gets with Hawk. Not right away.”
From the kid’s point of view, Hawk was strong enough to protect him, and his mother wasn’t.
Before last night, Hawk had planned to resume a full workload. He and his buddy, Bishop, had served together as helicopter pilots in the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment—the Night Stalkers—and had recently pooled their money to buy a helicopter. They had a contract with McNally’s Resort to fly tourists to hard-to-reach locations. Bishop usually took the helicopter since Hawk also loved flying his floatplane.
Tourists from the Lower 48 loved floatplanes.
But returning to full time piloting would have to be delayed. It seemed the kid wasn’t ready for Hawk to be gone long hours or overnight.
From the chicken pen came the sound of Regan’s laughter and chatter. Caz’s daughter had drafted Aric to help her gather eggs. With a heart as big as her father’s, Regan had taken the boy under her wing.
Since she was out of school for the summer, everyone at the Hermitage had been taking turns babysitting her. Caz said Kit had volunteered for today.
Speaking of which, Hawk spotted the woman walking a circuit around the courtyard perimeter. Her expression was that of an army recruit gutting through morning PT, determined to get stronger, no matter the pain involved. Guess he knew where Aric’s stubbornness had come from.
He had to respect her willpower.
Unlike Aric, she looked tired today. Shoulders sagging slightly, dark circles under her eyes. Her arm was in a sling, although he’d seen her take it out when trying to do anything. At least the damage from her husband’s fists had healed.
Every time he’d seen her bruised face in the hospital, he wanted to dig the bastard up and kill him again.