Never. She’d never let him get his hands on her again. Death would be better.
He read her unspoken answer, and his face darkened with fury.
In a huddled cluster, the women hadn’t moved, and she heard the same resolve in their whispers. I’d rather die.
“Fucking bitches, get down here.” Frustrated, the PZs started shooting.
Bullets peppered the steep sides of the V. As the sharp fragments of shingles and wood tore into their skin, the women flattened down even further into the security of the lowest part between the two roofs. Children whimpered and sobbed.
Kit’s face and arms stung and bled where shards had hit.
In a pause during the gunfire, there came the sound of a car in the street. The vehicle stopped.
A PZ yelled, “Incoming, Captain.”
“Finish planting the explosives. We’ll hold them off,” Nabera shouted.
A car door slammed. Another.
“What the fuck.” Bull’s booming bass came clearly.
Her friends. Yes!
The relief flooding Kit drained away even faster. Aric was in the car. No, no, no. Her hands clenched. Get Aric away. Please.
Bull snapped, “Get the fuck out of here, Frankie.”
“Leave, Yorkie.” Hawk’s dark bitter order brought fresh fears. He wouldn’t leave—he could get hurt. Killed.
The car engine roared, and then tires squealed. As the sound of the vehicle receded, Kit sagged in relief.
She might die here; they all might die here. But her baby would live. And Frankie would be alive to care for him.
Chapter Eleven
Anything worth shooting is worth shooting twice. Ammunition is cheap; life is expensive. ~ Rules of a Gunfight
Hawk took the paddle holster with a Glock 19 and an extra magazine his brother handed over. Bull had grabbed weapons from his SUV “armory” before Frankie sped away.
At least the yorkie was safe. Now to extract Kit from the clusterfuck of undoubtedly PZs. Hawk shoved the holster onto his belt and tucked the magazine away. Bull had already donned his in-town firearm—an M1911.
Sporadic shooting came from somewhere near the rear of the house. A man shouted something about explosives.
Explosives. Talk about complicating the hell out of a clean assault. Dammit, Kit, stay safe.
Needing info, Hawk swung up onto the privacy fence, using his arms to hold him high enough to see, hoping he didn’t get his head shot off.
Fuck. Thick hedges divided the outside area into small, contained spaces. There was no way through the damn bushes.
He could barely see the heads of men in the back left corner. Why were their weapons pointed upward?
Oh, fuck. Hawk dropped down to the ground. “The women are on the roof.”
Bull’s eyes narrowed. “I go inside; you go around.”
“Roger that.” Hawk jogged to the corner to scan down the fence line. He could… Yeah, a tree at the far corner had branches overhanging the fence. Perfect.
Bull disappeared into the house.
Time to move.
Hawk sprinted down the outside of the privacy fence, jumped, caught a branch, and swung himself up.
A PZ was already in the tree, pistol in hand, trying to get a good angle to shoot at the women. He saw Hawk and fired.
Missed.
Dropping onto his belly over the branch, Hawk swung his legs around, nailed the asshole’s shoulder, and knocked him into the trunk. Hawk followed up with a fist to the PZ’s jaw and sent him nighty-night.
One down.
After far-too-fucking-gently dropping the man onto the ground, Hawk drew his Glock. The whole area held the sulphuric stink of gunpowder, and men dotted the contained space inside the fence.
Target-rich environment for sure.
He snapped a bullet at the farthest one out, then another. Two down.
Bull’s big Colt .45 cracked loudly.
In the distance, police sirens wailed.
“Call for pickup.” Nabera yelled. “Head out.”
As the chickenshits jumped the fence, Hawk swung down on the branch and kicked the nearest in the head with a solid thunk. The man dropped, out cold.
The rest sprinted away and piled into two vans that had drawn up to the curb.
As the vans peeled away, Hawk holstered his Glock and scowled. The vans’ rear license plates were covered with mud and unreadable. They’d be on the Spenard Thruway and gone before the cops made it here.
Not his concern. He needed to check on Bull—and get the women to safety. Fuck knew if the bastards had finished planting the explosives.
On the roof, the women were moving the ladder. On the other side of the house, Bull’s voice boomed, directing them to put it out in front.
Good enough. He’d join them there. After tying up the two unconscious PZs, he dragged them closer to the fence and away from the house, then glanced around. The two he’d shot were dead.
Back over the fence, he jogged to the front of the house.
At the foot of the repositioned ladder, Bull was helping the women off and directing them to the house across the street. The shelter’s staff and other residents were already clustered there.
The sirens were closer now. The PZs wouldn’t risk returning.
Where was Kit? His gut clenched when he didn’t see her.
No, there she was, still on the roof, waiting for the others to go down. Face dead white, eyes wide. He scanned her quickly. Scratches, mostly. Right sleeve was bloody.
She was upright and moving, though. His gut unclenched.
She saw him. After looking him up and down, just as he had her, relief filled her expression. The last to leave, she came down the ladder after an older woman.
Just as she set foot on the ground, a loud explosion shook the building.
Scooping her up, Hawk sprinted after Bull, who’d grabbed the older woman
On the other side of the street, Hawk set Kit on her feet, keeping a hand under her arm, just in case. “You good?”
“Yes.” She leaned against him for a moment. “Thank you. Again.”
“Can’t think of anyone I’d rather rescue.” The words were out before he could recall them.
She blinked, then color swept across her face.
And she smiled at him.
Another boom sounded.
“Seems the bastards got their explosives planted.” Bull set the older lady down. “You okay, ma’am?”
“No. But thank you.” Tears streaked the woman’s face. She hurried over to join the others.
Unhappiness filled Bull’s expression. “I must have hurt her when I—”
“You didn’t hurt her, Bull,” Kit said softly. “Mary’s husband is the explosives expert in the PZs. It’s hard to realize your husband of thirty years is willing to kill you rather than let you go.”
Hawk froze. The fucking son of a bitch.
He saw the same fury in Bull’s expression. And the sadness in Kit’s face. She’d only been married to her bastard of a husband for a few months, but yeah, she must know what Mary was feeling.
Fuck if he knew what to say. Instead, he ran a hand down her back and then set himself to checking out the damage to her arm.
Kit wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Rather than traumatize the women with a trip to the station, the police had interviewed them at the neighbor’s house where they had the support of the shelter staff and each other. It wasn’t as if there was any mystery to what happened. During the questions, Arella, a shelter volunteer, had burst into tears and confessed she’d let a “boyfriend” inside.