Hawk stayed on guard until they disappeared into the taller foliage.
Still talking to Kit and Bull, Nabera sounded increasingly frustrated. Yeah, the bastard was going to snap. And when he did, he’d pull his fucking pistol and start shooting.
Hawk checked the AR-15’s magazine, pleased it had a full load. Bringing it up into firing position, he winced. His arms were less than optimal after being wrenched behind his back for so long. His aim would be crap.
Where was a tripod when he needed one?
His eyes narrowed as he studied the van. Yeah, the roof would provide adequate arm support.
At the back door, he went up onto the van’s bumper step pad and leaned forward, propping his elbows on the roof. Good thing he was tall.
He found a stable position. Resting his cheek against the stock, he zeroed-in on Nabera.
Target acquired.
“You are stupid—a real dumbass,” Kit shouted, even as she edged even closer to Bull. She couldn’t help herself. It was taking all her courage to keep yelling at Captain Nabera.
His face had darkened, his expression furious.
More fear welled up inside her. Her whole body kept trying to sink into the dirt. The heavy body armor Gabe had insisted they wear didn’t help.
Her throat was so dry, her voice cracked.
Hearing it, Bull took over. “We can’t let anyone know we handed you the politicians, so…”
Tuning out the discussion, she darted a glance at the white van. Was their scheme working?
The two PZs in the road between them and the van were staring at her and Bull… probably waiting for Nabera to hit her. No woman ever raised her voice around him, let alone called him names.
If Bull hadn’t been with her, and if Nabera hadn’t agreed on safe conduct, she’d be dead.
With a hard breath, she made herself taller. “No.” She flipped her hand in the air at Nabera. “That’s not acceptable, you moron.”
“Woman, we’re talking,” Bull said loudly and gave her shoulder a shake before telling Nabera, “We’ll bring out the politicians if—”
“Stay on guard, people,” someone shouted from behind the lined-up SUVs.
As if reminded of his hostages, the captain turned toward the white cargo van.
No!
“The big bad Nabera doesn’t know what to do with real women,” Kit snapped out and almost laughed as his attention whipped back to her. “The PZs are terrified of women. There’s no other reason they’d try to make sure we don’t talk.”
As angry retorts came from the PZs behind the SUVs, fear blasted through her, and her bones felt as if they’d turning to water. Had she and Bull stalled long enough?
Get free, Hawk.
“Or maybe the PZs just have tiny dicks, and that’s why you joined.” She made herself smirk. “I know that’s true for nubby Nabera.”
“I changed my mind, you fucking cunt.” Nabera yanked his gun free of the holster. “You’ll be my prize and—”
Before he could raise it, a shot rang out from the SUVs even as something slammed into Kit, knocking her backward.
And then there was pain.
One of the bastards shot Kit.
No, fuck, no! He couldn’t live without her. And Aric. Blackness clamped down on Hawk’s mind.
She was still staggering—falling—when Bull plowed into her, taking them both into the far too shallow ditch next to the road. Hawk gritted his teeth against a scream of rage.
Training and long experience had kept him immobile despite his shock. The rifle sights were still centered on his target.
He softly pulled the trigger.
Nabera dropped like a rock.
One.
Hawk aimed at his second target—the leftmost PZ guard in the road. Pulled.
Two down.
Before Hawk could move to the other guard, someone took the bastard out.
Fine, then.
Hawk went for his fourth choice, the PZ near the center of the SUVs. With the floodlights on, Milo’s shiny scalp was easy to see. Damn him, he was shooting at Bull and Kit.
A wave of fury seared along Hawk’s nerves. Was Milo the bastard who’d shot her?
Die.
Hawk breathed out. Pulled.
Milo, aka Lieutenant Conrad, wouldn’t be doing any more carpentry.
Hawk’s next shot took out Luka.
And then the entire area erupted with gunfire.
Grief bitter in his mouth, Hawk glanced at Bull. Still flattened in the dubious cover of the ditch with Kit beneath him.
But…wait.
Had she moved? Was she…squirming?
She was alive.
Dear heavens, she couldn’t breathe! Gasping for air, Kit tried to move but was totally pinned down. Was she buried? Was she dead?
“Stay put, Kit.”
Bull’s deep voice came from just over her head. She could barely hear him what with the shooting.
Oh. He was on top of her, pressing her into the dirt.
No wonder she could barely pull in a breath, and her shoulder hurt like heck. But she was alive to complain.
She blinked. “Where’s Nabera?”
“Dead,” Bull muttered. “I’m guessing Hawk got loose.”
As hope rose inside her, so did her fears.
Because all around them, it sounded like World War III had begun.
Lying in the brush to one side of the road, Gabe grinned at the sweet effectiveness of one of the finest snipers he’d ever known.
The hawk was flying free. In fact, he’d beat Gabe to killing Nabera by a fraction of a second, then taken out one of the two guards without missing a beat. Gabe got the other.
Despite heavy fire from the Hermitage, Kit and Bull were still in a lot of danger. The PZs were after revenge for Nabera’s death.
Gabe turned his rifle toward the SUVs. He’d get as many shots off as possible before his muzzle flash would pinpoint his location and end his effectiveness.
Suddenly, headlights of multiple vehicles barreled down their private road, drawing up behind the white cargo van. Doors were slamming and a hailstorm of shooting began—all aimed at the PZs.
The cavalry had arrived.
JJ pulled in a breath and tried to get a sense of the battle.
With their cars fanned out on the dirt road, her volunteers were picking off the well-lit PZs like they were in a shooting gallery. From this angle, the pissers had no cover.
Even though JJ almost shook with the need to check on Caz, she knew he was probably safe inside the Hermitage. Regan would be even safer down in the tunnel system.
When JJ reached the white cargo van, she recognized Hawk. He was standing on the van’s back step-pad and shooting over the roof. The thin moonlight also showed the blood that soaked his sleeves and matted his sand-colored hair.
“You look like shit, Hawk,” she yelled over the noise of gunfire. “You okay?”
“Yep. Am now.” He fired again, then stepped down beside her, avoiding the body that lay in the dirt.
Behind a pickup on the left, Uriah fired twice and made a satisfied sound.
On the right, Tucker shot and grunted. “Three.”
“Loser,” Guzman retorted from beside him. “I got four.”
Hawk eyed the vehicles and the men. “No state troopers?”