She leaned forward to hug him. “Honey bear,” she whispered into his soft hair, inhaling the unique scent of little boy.
He nestled close, and his adorably crooked smile appeared. “We checking the happy-men.”
“The…what?” Happy men? “What happened to the sad men?”
“No, no, mijo, they’re handymen,” Caz corrected Aric. “People who fix buildings.”
“Handymen,” Aric said agreeably and whispered to her, “They have hammers ‘n’ saws ‘n’ everyt’ing.”
“Kid.” Hawk took a coffee from Sarah. “Choose something.”
Aric ran back to the counter. With his usual thoroughness, he studied the display of pastries, moving ever so slowly.
Kit tensed, then realized she’d let her fears mess with her perceptions.
Even though Hawk totally looked as if he snapped necks for a living and would garrote someone who delayed him, he was sipping his coffee and waiting for her son’s decision with apparent infinite patience.
Her heart melted a bit.
Napkin-wrapped donut acquired, Aric carried it carefully over to the table while Hawk brought a glass of milk, coffee, and his own apple fritter.
He nodded to Caz and her. Seeing her pastry, his lips quirked. But he didn’t speak.
She smiled at him. The PZ men were constantly giving the women orders or lecturing. They’d inflict their opinions on everyone. Hawk’s silence was so refreshing.
It was also tempting to nudge him a bit to get him to talk.
Bad Kit. He might not be nearly as patient with her as he was with Aric.
Only, somehow, despite his deadly appearance, he didn’t frighten her nearly as much as other men did. If anything, she felt safer when he was nearby.
Usually. There had been a few times when he’d move unexpectedly, and her body would take over, swamping her with panic.
“You upsetting her?” Hawk asked Caz as he sat down.
What? Kit blinked at the irritation in Hawk’s voice.
“No, no, not me, ’mano. Life is.” Caz gave her a smile. “She doesn’t enjoy being forced to accept help.”
“Why’s today different?”
Hawk’s question was easy to interpret. After all, she’d been accepting help ever since she’d been beaten into the ground.
His sharp gaze dropped to her coffee and pastry. “Ah. Sucks to be broke.” He’d figured it out in two seconds.
Caz nodded. “Her husband gave his money—and hers—to the PZs.”
“The pissers.” Aric gave a tiny heheheh laugh.
“The what?” She tried to smother her own laugh, but how she’d missed his infectious high giggles.
“Regan renamed the PZers to pissers.” Hawk’s teeth flashed white in a quick grin—and his face went from rather terrifying to compellingly masculine.
She blinked, realizing she’d forgotten to breathe. Until Aric giggled again. Pissers. “Oh, heavens. As a mother, I should disapprove, but…” She could only laugh.
Hawk met her gaze, sharing her amusement at her son. Then he frowned. “Parrish has the PZ money?”
“He’s probably using it to pay his lawyers.” Caz looked as if he’d bitten into something nasty. “What if Nabera has access to the accounts?”
“Wouldn’t be good.” Hawk pushed the glass of milk closer to Aric.
Have access. Kit’s mouth dropped open. “I forgot to tell the Feds about the cash.”
Hawk raised an eyebrow. “Cash?”
“Obadiah oversaw the militia’s money. And they were always talking about war or being attacked by the Feds, so they kept a stockpile of cash in a secret spot.” She tried to smile. “It reminded me of pirates and their treasure stash.”
Obadiah hadn’t found her comparison funny.
“So Nabera does have money.” Caz made an annoyed sound.
“Maybe?” Kit frowned. “He wouldn’t have had time to get it before the PZs fled the compound.”
Hawk snorted. “It’s buried or something?”
“The money’s in a cave in the forest. It takes a while to get there.”
“Nabera might not have retrieved it then,” Caz said. “The alphabet agencies only left yesterday. Before that, it was like an ant hive, and the road was blocked off.”
“Really?” Nabera wouldn’t risk getting caught by the Feds, but he might go after it now. If she moved fast… She sighed. She could barely move, let alone fast. She slumped back in the chair.
Hawk studied her. “You know where the cave is?”
“I’m surprised the cabrón who was your husband would share that with you,” Caz said.
She hesitated, then decided she wouldn’t go through her life distrusting people. These men had risked their lives to help her. “Obadiah needed an extra person to help carry.”
She’d been his beast of burden.
“The asshole,” Hawk muttered under his breath.
His comment kind of made her day.
Money would come in so useful right now. For her and… She bit her lip. “If I retrieved the hoard, could I share it with the other women rather than turning it over? They’re in the same fix I am.”
“Hmm.” Caz tapped his fingers on the table. “Perhaps. You were a member of the PZs; it’s your money too. Legally, as a victim, it should be yours.”
Hawk took a sip of his coffee. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
It took her a second to realize they were agreeing with her.
“However,” Caz added, “we will not share this information with the chief of police.”
Hawk half-laughed, then his gaze ran over her in open assessment. “Sounds like it’s a hike.”
There was no way she’d be able to get there. Or be able to tell them how. Her shoulders sagged. “I think we walked for miles.”
His eyes narrowed. “Did it have a clearing nearby?”
Jesus. Three hours later, the simple helicopter trip had expanded from three people to five. Hawk had planned to take Kit along after her counseling appointment as well as Aric, who was still attached to his side.
He’d figured the chance of running into the PZ bastards was slim. How would they even know the Feds had left?
To be safe, though, Caz said he’d come along.
Of course, Caz told Bull, who invited himself on the trip. Hawk snorted. The nosy big bastard just wanted to see the site.
In the helicopter, Kit was in front next to Hawk. Bull and Caz were in back. So was Aric who was buckled in with the kid restraint system and wearing child-sized headphones. The boy pouted at losing his shotgun position, but to give directions, Kit needed to see out the front.
Hawk got everyone arranged for an equitable weight distribution. At least one thing had gone right—since there was fog in the lowlands, the helicopter hadn’t been booked for any tourist flights.
Accompanied by Aric’s muted squeal of joy, the helicopter lifted off from McNally’s Resort landing pad.
I agree, kid. With an unspoken whoop, Hawk took the helicopter straight down the mountain toward the compound. Fuck, he loved this machine. The Airbus H125, aka the Squirrel, was a hell of a workhorse.